"Careful?" Nico laughs. It's not a pleasant sound. "You want to lead this family? You can barely stand to be in the same room with us. You've spent the last year treating everyone who tries to help you like they're the enemy."
"I don't need help."
"That's exactly the problem." He steps closer. Close enough that I have to look up at him. I hate looking up. Hate the angle. Hate what it represents. "You hate everyone, Bruno. Every single person who walks through that door. The staff. The soldiers. Your own brothers."
"That's not?—"
"You hate yourself most of all." His voice drops. Quiet now. More dangerous than when he was shouting. "And you want us to follow you? You want to lead this family into war with that kind of poison running through your veins?"
My hands are shaking. I can feel it. Can't stop it.
Control. Breathe. Don't?—
"If you put yourself in charge," Nico continues, "we're all going to end up dead. Every single one of us. Because you don't give a shit about anything anymore. Not the family. Not the business. Not yourself."
The words hit like bullets. Each one finding its mark.
I knew someone would say no. Knew there would be resistance. I prepared for this. Rehearsed my responses. Had logical arguments ready.
But I can't find them now. Can't find anything except the rage building in my chest like a wildfire.
"You want to know what I think?" The words spill out before I can stop them. Poison, just like he said. "I think you'll be the first dead person if you push me a little more."
Nico doesn't flinch.
"That." He points at me. "That right there. That's why you can't lead. Why the hell do you think you can be a good leader when you hate every single human being in this room? When you hate yourself so much you can't even look in a mirror?"
"Fuck you."
"Brilliant response. Really inspiring. I'm sure the soldiers will follow that kind of leadership straight into their graves."
I'm moving before I realize it. Wheeling toward the door. Away from his words. Away from the truth in them.
"Bruno—" Pietro's voice.
"Go fuck yourself." I don't know if I'm talking to Nico or all of them. Doesn't matter. "All of you."
The wheels spin against the hardwood. I'm through the doorway. Down the hall. Past the library with its leather and old books. Past the kitchen where Giulia's cooking fills the air with memories of a life I can't have anymore.
I find an empty room. Some sitting area I don't remember. Don't care.
I stop. Grip the armrests until my knuckles go white.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
I knew this would happen.
I knew it.
And I still wasn't fucking prepared.
CHAPTER TWO
Antonella
Gianna sits at the table, phone in hand, face twisted into that expression she gets when the world isn't cooperating with her plans. At nineteen, my sister still believes problems are temporary inconveniences rather than permanent fixtures.
I envy that.
