But nothing about this is like before.
Sophia sits pressed against Lorenzo's side. Her hand grips his arm. Her knuckles are white. She hasn't stopped touching him since he walked through that door.
She won't stop for a long time.
Bruno takes the chair across from me. His eyes haven't left my face. The grief that cracked him open minutes ago has hardened into something else.
Rage.
I know that look. I've seen it before violence. Before blood. Before broken bones and shattered trust.
He's going to hit me.
Not now. Not in front of everyone. But soon. When this is over. When the dust settles and the danger passes.
He's going to make me pay for every tear Sophia shed. Every scream. Every moment she believed her husband was dead.
I deserve it.
Aria sits at the head of the table. Pale. Shaking. Dmitri brought her back to consciousness, but she still looks like she might faint again. Her eyes keep darting to Lorenzo. Checking. Making sure he's real.
Everyone is waiting.
Waiting for an explanation.
Waiting for me to justify the unjustifiable.
I stand.
The chair scrapes behind me. The sound is too loud in the silence.
"Everyone needed to believe it," I say.
My voice comes out rough. Scraped raw.
"The funeral had to be real. The grief had to be real. If anyone suspected—if anyone doubted for a single second—it would have been over."
Sophia makes a sound. A small, wounded noise.
Lorenzo's arm tightens around her.
"I know what I did," I continue. "I know what I put you through. All of you."
I look at Sophia. At the devastation written across her face. At the way she's still trembling against her husband's side.
"I'm going to regret this for the rest of my life."
The words taste like ash.
"But the alternative was worse."
Bruno's jaw clenches. His hands curl into fists on the table.
"What alternative?" His voice is low. Dangerous. "What could possibly be worse than watching my sister-in-law try to throw herself into an empty grave?"
I meet his eyes.
"I can't tell you."
