What would have happened to him without her. If there would be anything left of my brother at all beneath the enforcer he’s become.
Movement at the other end of the table catches my attention.
Cassia is leaning toward Marco, who’s saying something I can’t hear. Her expression is intent. Interested. Like whatever he’s telling her matters.
Marco’s whole face changes. The tension bleeds out of his shoulders. The hungry, desperate edge softens. He laughs again, quieter this time, and I see the kid he used to be. Before the anger calcified. Before he started mistaking being overlooked for being dismissed.
She sees him.
Cassia sees Marco. The way she sees everyone. The way she saw me, that first night, when I was drowning in duty and grief and she offered herself like it was nothing.
She notices the ones who think they’re invisible.
My youngest brother. The one I underestimated. He saw what I missed. Did the work I should have done. And he went to my wife because he didn’t trust me to listen.
Dio.Another thing I need to fix. Later.
Cassia asked. In the space of weeks, she asked. And now my youngest brother is laughing at Sunday dinner like he belongs here. Because he does. He always did. I just stopped seeing it.
Cazzo.
I’ve been so focused on keeping this family alive that I forgot to let them live.
I reach for my wine again, but my hand pauses halfway to the glass.
Cassia is looking at me. That quiet, steady gaze that strips me down to nothing. That sees past the Don, past the duty, past every wall I’ve built.
She smiles. Small. Real.
I want this. Not just tonight. Not just until Romano is dead and the threat is neutralized. I want Cassia at my right hand. In my bed. In my life. For as long as I can keep her.
My jaw sets. My grip tightens on the stem.
I raise it anyway.
The table falls quiet. All of them looking at me. Waiting.
“To family.”
Simple. Two words. But they feel like a vow.
“To family,” they echo.
Glasses lift. Crystal rings against crystal.
I drink. The wine is rich, full-bodied, one of the bottles Papa kept for special occasions.
Cassia’s hand finds my knee beneath the table. Squeezes once.
I don’t look at her. Don’t need to. I know what I’d see.
After the threat is gone. I’m going to tell her. Everything.
Twenty minutes later, Nico is finishing another story. I’m not listening.
My body knows before my mind catches up.
It starts small. A blur at the edge of my vision. I blink, and it clears. Tiredness. Stress. Less than six hours of sleep in the past three days.
