Because if Eraldo Romano has been running his mouth about the Sartori family then we have a much bigger problem than a gambling addict with impulse control issues.
I wheel myself toward the door.
Voices.
I stop.
The living room is ahead. The door is open. And I can hear Antonella's voice, soft and warm, mixed with another voice I don't recognize.
Younger. Higher. Excited.
Gianna.
I should l go straight to the garage and head to Lorenzo's restaurant. Should deal with Eraldo and figure out what the hell is going on before I face anyone else.
But my hands are already moving. Wheeling me forward. Toward the sound of Antonella's voice.
I stop in the doorway.
Antonella stands near the windows. She's wearing a soft green sweater that matches her eyes and jeans that hug her curves. Her face is animated, alive, as she talks to the girl beside her.
Gianna Romano.
I study her.
She's small. Taller than Antonella by several inches, with the same dark hair their father has. Her features are softer, rounder, still holding the last traces of baby fat in her cheeks. She looks young. Too young. Despite being nineteen, she could pass for fifteen or sixteen.
Where Antonella carries herself with quiet strength, Gianna bounces on her heels like a child. Her hands move constantly as she talks, gesturing wildly, her voice rising and falling with dramatic emphasis.
"—and then Oliver said the funniest thing, you should have heard him, Nella, I almost died laughing?—"
"Gianna." Antonella's voice is patient. Fond. "Breathe."
"I am breathing! I'm just excited!" Gianna grabs Antonella's hands. "I missed you so much. The house is so quiet without you. Claudio barely talks, and Papa?—"
She stops.
Her expression shifts. The excitement drains away, replaced by something darker. Older.
"Papa still isn't answering his phone." Gianna's voice drops.
"Gianna." My voice cuts through the room.
Both women spin toward me.
Antonella's eyes widen.
Gianna stares at me with open curiosity. Her gaze drops to my wheelchair, then back to my face. No pity in her expression. No fear either. Just... interest.
"You're Bruno." She says it like a statement, not a question.
"I am."
"Antonella's husband."
"Yes."
Gianna tilts her head. Studies me the way a child might study a new toy.
