I look at the tablet screen. At the building layout. At the entry points and surveillance positions and the room where they're most likely holding her.
This needs to happen the right way.
Not fast. Not reckless. Not the way I would have done it two years ago, charging in with guns blazing and no regard for whether I lived or died.
The right way.
The way a Don would do it.
I grip the armrests of my wheelchair.
And I stand.
"Bruno—" Valentino's voice cuts across the room. "Don't even think about it."
"Watch me."
I straighten my spine. I lock my knees. I force my weight onto legs that haven't held me upright in front of my brothers in two years.
The room goes completely still.
Nico's face drains of color. His mouth opens, closes, opens again.
"When the hell did that happen?"
Valentino sighs. The sound is heavy, exhausted, like a man who's been carrying a secret for too long.
"Months. He’s had real progress in the last weeks though."
Pietro stares at me. His expression is unreadable, but I can see the shock beneath the surface. The disbelief. The hope he's trying not to feel.
"Bruno..."
"This is the moment."
My voice comes out steady. Stronger than I feel. Stronger than I have any right to feel with my legs trembling and my muscles burning and my body screaming at me to sit back down.
"This is the moment I need to walk."
I take a step.
Another step.
I don't stop.
Another step.
Valentino moves toward me, hands outstretched like he's ready to catch me when I fall.
I won't fall.
Another step.
I'm at Pietro's desk now. Close enough to see the moisture in his eyes that he's trying to hide. Close enough to see Nico's hands shaking at his sides.
Another step.
I reach the edge of the desk and grip it with both hands. I'm standing. And I will be standing until I get her back.
