I hunch forward, bracing my hands on my knees, trying to breathe through the pressure crushing my ribcage. Blood drips from my knuckles onto my shoes. The warehouse spins slightly, or maybe that's just me.
"I don't know what to do." The admission comes out rough, barely above a whisper. "I don't know how to fix this. Any of it." And it'sdestroyingme.
I'm a fixer. It's what I do. I can manage any problem—but not this time.
I feel rather than see Stellan move closer. He doesn't touch me—we're not those kinds of brothers—but his presence is solid beside me. Grounding.
"The hospital bills are destroying her." I keep talking because if I stop I might actually shatter. "She lost her job. She's going to have to sit out next semester because she can't afford tuition. Every day she's in more pain and trying to hide it because she doesn't want to seem weak. And underneath all of that she's grieving something she didn't even know she wanted until it was gone."
My voice cracks on the last word. I straighten up, swiping at my face with the back of my hand, leaving bloody streaks I don't care about.
"And I can't help her." That's the worst part. The thing that's eating me alive. "She won't take money from me. Won't let me fix the bills or pay for school or do anything that makes her feel dependent. She thinks she's burdening me. That she's costing me too much."
"You told her about Uncle Vittorio." Stellan says it flat, statement not question.
"She pushed." I meet his eyes. "She knew something was wrong. I couldn't lie to her."
"So now she knows you're giving up everything for her."
"I'm not giving up everything." The denial sounds hollow even to me. "Just the title. The official position. That's all."
"That's everything you've been working toward since you were fifteen." Stellan's voice goes quiet. "That's your entire future, Dec. And we both know it."
I do know it. Know exactly what I'm sacrificing and why it matters. But Zola matters more. She's always mattered more. From the moment she looked at me across that community center gym three years ago, unimpressed and sharp-tongued and so fucking beautiful it hurt, I was gone. Everything else is just details.
"I'll do anything to keep her." The words come out raw. Honest in a way I'm not usually capable of. "Whatever it takes. I don't care what it costs."
Stellan exhales slowly, running a hand through his dark hair. He looks tired suddenly, older than twenty-one. "We don't have to figure this out today."
"But—"
"We don't," he repeats, firmer this time. "This is complicated. Political. There might be angles we're not seeing yet. Give it time."
"We don't have time." I gesture vaguely toward where Donnelly's body slumps in the chair. "Everything's falling apart right now."
"Then we'll deal with it." Stellan's expression shifts into something that might be determination. "We're in this together. You and me. We'll figure out something."
He's trying. I can see it in the way he's forcing himself to engage with emotional complications he doesn't understand. Stellan doesn't get love. Doesn't get why someone would upend their entire life for another person. But he's my brother, and he's trying anyway.
"Okay." I nod, throat tight. "Okay."
"I'll handle the cleanup here." He tips his chin toward the body. "Go home. Check on Zola. Make sure she's resting."
The suggestion makes something ease in my chest. Home. Zola. The only things that feel real anymore.
"Yeah." I flex my bloody knuckles, already thinking about the shower I'll need before I see her. "Thanks."
"Don't thank me yet." But there's something almost warm in his voice. "We still have to figure out how to solve this mess, but I'll be there. We don't have to do it all right now."
I leave him there with the body and the blood, walking out into afternoon sunlight that feels too bright. My hands throb. My shoulders ache. Everything hurts in that bone-deep way that means I pushed too hard, but at least the restless energy has finally burned out.
The drive home passes in a blur of familiar streets and muscle memory. I stop at a red light on Girard—the same intersection where Donnelly hit Zola—and have to grip the steering wheel hard enough to hurt. Four days ago she wasdriving to class and some careless fuck destroyed everything. Four days and my entire world shifted off its axis.
But she's alive. Healing. That's what matters. That's what I have to focus on.
I pull into my drive, jogging up to the front door despite the exhaustion dragging at me. I need to see her. Need to make sure she's okay, that she took her medication, that she's not pushing herself too hard.
The door swings open to silence.
