Natalia stirred against me, finally lifting her head. Her eyes were swollen nearly shut from crying.
I helped her to her feet, guided her toward Karolina who appeared behind Dmitri. The sisters embraced, fresh tears spilling down both their faces.
Dmitri walked me to the door. He didn't speak. Didn't need to.
At the threshold, he stopped me. His hand cupped the back of my head, and he pressed his lips to my hair. Just that. A kiss on my head.
Then I left.
"How many guards did the compound have?"
Bruno's voice yanks me back to the present.
I turn and look at him.
The brother I grew up with is gone. This stranger wears his face.
"Are you trying to be heartless?" The question comes out quiet. Genuine. "Or were you always like this and just hid it from all of us?"
Bruno's expression flickers. Just for a second. Then the mask slams back down.
"I'm asking a strategic question?—"
"That family is grieving." I stand up, my hands shaking. "Their father just died. Dmitri watched him take his last breath. His sister fell apart in my arms." My voice cracks. "Maybe you can remember what that feels like. Maybe you can stop being like this for one goddamn minute."
He doesn't say anything.
Neither does Nico.
I walk out of the living room without looking back. The stairs stretch before me, and I climb them on autopilot, my body moving while my mind stays trapped in that dim room at the Baganov estate.
Dmitri's shattered eyes. Natalia's broken sobs. The weight of grief pressing down on everything.
I reach my bedroom door and push it open. The familiar space welcomes me.
I make it three steps before my knees buckle.
A sound tears from my throat. A sound between a scream and a sob. I press my fist against my mouth, trying to hold it in, but it's too late. The dam has cracked.
Natalia's grief unlocked something I've trying to control.
Giuseppe Sartori. The man who taught me to ride a bike. Who called me hisprincipessa. Who made me believe I was special, loved, protected.
The tears come faster now. Hot. Angry.
I loved my father. Iworshippedhim.
And he was a fraud.
My fist slams against the carpet. Once. Twice. The impact barely registers.
Riccardo. My big brother. My protector. The one who stepped into Papa's shoes after he died. The one who held me when I cried, who threatened any boy who looked at me wrong, who made me feel safe in a world that wanted to devour us.
Riccardo. Who had an affair with Lorenzo's fiancée. Who lied and cheated and betrayed the family he claimed to love.
I'm sobbing now. Ugly, gasping sobs that shake my whole body.
I hate them.
