"Who the fuck are you?" Bruno's voice is low. "And why are you touching my wife?"
Oliver's hands are raised, palms out. His face has gone pale, but his voice stays remarkably calm. "I'm Oliver. Antonella's best friend since we were eight years old. And if you could maybe not push quite so hard with that gun, I'd appreciate it. It's going to leave a mark."
I want to slap Bruno. I want to scream at him. I want to grab that gun and throw it across the room.
"Bruno." I step forward, putting myself partially between them. "Put the gun away. Now."
His eyes finally flick to me. Something shifts in his expression. Pain. Betrayal. Jealousy so raw it takes my breath away.
"Get in the car, Antonella."
"Not until you?—"
"Get in the fucking car." His grip on the gun doesn't waver. "Or I end this idiot's life right here."
"Nell." Oliver's voice is quiet behind me. "Get in the car. I'll call you later."
The gun presses harder against Oliver's temple.
"You won't be calling her," Bruno growls. "You won't be seeing her. You won't be?—"
"He's my best friend." I step closer to Bruno, close enough to touch his wheelchair. "He's family."
"Antonella." Oliver's voice is firmer now. "Please. Just go. I'll be fine."
I look at Bruno. At the gun. At the terrified people around us who are probably seconds away from calling the police.
"You're unbelievable," I say.
I turn and walk toward the door.
Behind me, I hear Bruno's wheelchair moving.
I push through the door and step onto the sidewalk. The SUV is parked at the curb, Liam standing beside it with his hand on his weapon, scanning the street.
I don't wait for anyone to open the door. I yank it open myself and climb inside, slamming it shut behind me.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Bruno
Three days.
Three days of silence. Three days of locked doors. Three days of Antonella refusing to look at me, speak to me, acknowledge I exist.
I sit in my wheelchair outside her bedroom door. Again. Like I have every night since the coffee shop.
Liam delivered his report this morning. Oliver is twenty-one years old. Assistant manager at The Langham hotel downtown. Known Antonella since third grade. No criminal record. No connections to rival families. No threat whatsoever.
Just her best friend.
If she had mentioned him. If she had said one word about meeting a childhood friend, none of this would have happened. But she didn't. She left the compound without telling me who she was seeing, and I found out from Carlo that she was embracing some man in a coffee shop.
What was I supposed to think?
I stare at her door. The wood grain. The brass handle. The silence on the other side.
She's been taking meals in her room. Giulia brings them. Antonella thanks her politely, closes the door, and doesn't come out. She hasn't attended a single family dinner. Hasn't spoken to anyone except Kristen, who visited yesterday and shot me a look that could have stripped paint.
