"Then why is Valentino still here?"
Silence stretches between us. Valentino's dark eyes flick to Bruno, then back to me. He doesn't speak—just crosses himself in that automatic Catholic way of his, like he's asking God for patience.
The truth sits heavy in the room, unspoken. Bruno tolerates Valentino because our cousin doesn't treat him like he's broken. Doesn't offer help or pity or those careful glances the rest of us can't seem to control. Valentino justis. Solid. Present. Asking nothing.
The rest of us? We remind Bruno of everything he lost.
"Pietro sent you to check on me," Bruno says flatly. "Tell him I'm still breathing. That should satisfy his guilt."
"Pietro didn't send me."
Bruno finally turns his chair. The movement is sharp, he's gotten terrifyingly good at maneuvering that thing. His dark eyes pin me in place, cold and cruel in ways they never were before. "Then Mamma did. Wanting to make sure her poor broken son hasn't done anythingdrastic."
My chest tightens. "I came because I wanted to see you."
"Cazzate." Bullshit. He spits the word like a weapon. "No one wants to see me, sorellina. They want to see who I used to be. The golden boy. The heir. The one who was supposed to lead this family before—" His voice cuts off. The wheelchair arm creaks under his grip.
Valentino moves then. Not toward Bruno, but to the small bar cart against the wall. He pours two glasses of whiskey. Without a word, he sets one on the table beside Bruno's chair.
Bruno stares at it for a long moment. Then his hand closes around the glass.
"Grazie," he mutters.
Valentino nods once. Nothing more.
This is how they communicate.Valentino doesn't fill silence with reassurances. Doesn't tell Bruno things will get better. Hejust stays. Pours drinks. Sits in the corner cleaning his gun while Bruno rages at the walls.
It's more than the rest of us have managed.
"The security upgrades are done," I say, steering toward safer ground. "Your clearances are active, Val. Biometrics, access codes, everything."
Valentino's jaw twitches. He still hates the nickname, which is exactly why I use it. "Bene. And the perimeter sensors?"
"Installed yesterday. Motion-activated cameras on the north fence, thermal imaging on the east. Anyone approaches within two hundred meters, I'll know."
"Thermal imaging." Bruno's lip curls. "You're turning this place into a prison."
"I'm keeping us safe."
"From what?" He laughs, and the sound scrapes against my skin like broken glass. "The bullets already found me, Vittoria. Two years too late for your cameras."
I force myself not to flinch.
Valentino sets down his own glass with a sharpclink. "Basta." Enough. His voice carries the weight of old-world authority, the kind that comes from running security for our grandmother's Sicily estate. "She's protecting the family. That's what we do."
Bruno's eyes narrow. For a moment, I think he'll lash out at Valentino too. But something passes between them and Bruno looks away.
"Fine," he mutters. "Play with your cameras. Won't change anything."
I stand, smoothing my hands over my jeans to hide their trembling. "I'll leave you two to your brooding contest. Try not to out-miserable each other."
Bruno doesn't respond. Valentino catches my eye as I pass, his expression unreadable. But he gives me the slightest nod.
Keep trying, that nod says.He's still in there somewhere.
I wish I believed it.
The door clicks shut behind me, and I lean against the hallway wall, pressing my palms to my eyes. My phone buzzes in my pocket.
