"Can you send me your address too? In Salt Lake? Just in case I—in case I need to reach you before the wedding."
"Of course. But Bia, you have my number now. You can call me anytime."
"I know. I just—it would make me feel better. Having your address. Knowing where you are."
Something was definitely wrong. But pushing her would only make her retreat.
"I'll text you everything after we hang up," I said. "Address, wedding details, hotel information. And Bia? If you need anything—anything at all—you call me. Day or night. Understood?"
"Understood." Her voice was small. Young. Like the little sister who used to crawl into my bed during thunderstorms. "Thank you, Quin."
"For what?"
"For still wanting me there. After everything. After I left and didn't call and—" Her voice broke. "Thank you."
"You're my baby sister. That doesn't change."
"Even if I've made mistakes?"
"Everyone makes mistakes. The question is what we do about them."
"What if the mistakes are really bad? What if—" She stopped herself. "Never mind. Forget I said that."
"Bianca—"
"I have to go. Someone's at the door. But I'll think about the wedding. I promise. Really think about it."
"You do that. And Bia?"
"Yeah?"
"I love you. No matter what."
Silence. Then, barely a whisper: "I love you too, big brother."
The line went dead.
I stared at my phone, every instinct screaming that something was wrong. Bianca asking about security. About Julia's family. About my address. Acting like she was gathering information for some purpose I couldn't see.
And that moment when she'd asked about mistakes. About things being "really bad."
I pulled up Stone's number, then stopped.
What would I even say? My sister called and acted weird? Asked too many questions? Maybe I was reading too much into it. Maybe she was just anxious about coming back to New York.
Or maybe she was in trouble and too scared to ask for help directly.
I sent her the information I'd promised—address, wedding details, hotel confirmation. Added a note at the end:
The offer stands. Anytime, day or night. If you need me, I'm here.
I didn't expect her to respond.
After I finished up with Bianca, I scrolled through my contacts, stopping at a number I hadn't called in over a year.
Uncle Riccardo.
My father's brother who'd stayed in New York when we’d moved west. Who'd chosen to leave the business entirely and build something legitimate.
