“Didn’t he?” I press gently. “From what I understand, Don Augusta pressured Leo into taking his place as Don when Leo didn’t want it. Miko was stolen from his birth parents and brought into your home but never treated like part of the family because of his heritage. Your fatherkidnappedGio’s girlfriend to control him and left her for dead when things went south. And you—” My voice catches. “He beat you as achildbecause you couldn’t speak the way he wanted you to.”
Sandro’s eyes narrow slightly. “Where did you hear all that?”
“I’ve gathered it in bits and pieces, from Raf after the wedding—and Anika while we were staying at Miko’s house. From the way you all talk about him. Tell me I’m wrong.” I take a breath when Sandro stays silent, then forge ahead, trying to help him see the trauma of his childhood. “Your father didn’t make you strong, Sandro. You made yourself strong in spite of him.”
He stares at me, like he’s not sure if he should be angry or grateful.
“I don’t—” He rubs a hand over his stubbled jaw. “You don’t understand how things were.”
“Thenexplainit to me,” I plead.
He exhales, the sound ragged. “He expected perfection. From all of us. And he gave everything to make us that way. His time, his money, his blood. He believed the world would chew us up if we weren’t harder than it. But if we could learn to control it, no one could hurt us.”
“Maybe,” I say quietly. “But he also chewed you up to make his point. And in the end, look at where it’s gotten you.”
The silence after that is long. He looks away, jaw flexing.
When he finally speaks again, his voice is quieter. “You really think he was cruel.”
“I think he was human,” I say. “But I also think you’ve spent so long justifying his actions that you’ve forgotten it’s okay to admit he hurt you.”
He doesn’t answer.
Instead, he shifts his gaze to the darkness across the cell. “If he hadn’t, I wouldn’t be the man I am. And right now, that’s the only thing that might keep us alive.”
I reach out, touching his face gently. “I don’t want to be kept alive by your pain, Sandro. I just want you.”
His hand finds mine again, and for a heartbeat, the hard lines in his expression soften.
“I don’t deserve that,” he murmurs.
“Yes, you do.”
We sit there in the dark, pressed close together, our breaths tangling. His thumb moves over my wrist in small, slow circles. I can feel the tension in him, the weight of what he’s never said.And underneath it, something warmer—something he doesn’t know how to name.
When he finally speaks again, his voice is barely audible. “You shouldn’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m worth saving.”
I swallow hard. “You are.”
For a moment, he just stares at me, his polished hematite eyes fathomless and mesmerizing, and I swear the world outside the cell disappears. Then, quietly, he pulls me against him. His arms come around me, solid and sure, and I melt into him without hesitation.
There’s nothing romantic about this dungeon, nothing safe or soft—but when he holds me, I feel all of those things anyway.
I rest my head on his chest again, savoring the rise and fall of his breaths. “Do you ever wish things had been different?” I ask.
“Sometimes,” he admits. “But if they had, I might not have met you.”
My breath catches. I want to tell him something then—everything, maybe. The secret I’ve been keeping, the one that grows heavier with each passing hour. The truth about the tiny life inside me, the one I’m terrified will never see the world outside these walls.
But I can’t. Not now. Not when he’s already carrying so much.
So instead, I whisper, “I’m glad you did.”
He tilts his chin resting his cheek on the crown of my head. “Me too.”
