Chapter 41
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Vittoria
Istare at the half-empty drawer in my bedroom. Clothes folded neatly. Waiting to be packed.
The wedding is in three weeks. Then I'll be living at the Baganov estate full-time.
I pull out another stack of sweaters. Set them in the box beside my bed.
My phone buzzes. Amanda asking if I want to get coffee later.
I text back that I'm busy packing.
She sends back three eye-roll emojis and a gif of someone dramatically fainting.
I smile despite myself.
The drawer is almost empty now. Just a few random items left. Old receipts. A broken bracelet I keep meaning to fix. A photo of me and Riccardo from years ago.
I pick up the photo. We're both laughing. I don't even remember what was funny.
My chest tightens.
I set it carefully in the box. Not sure if I should bring it to Dmitri's or leave it here.
Everything feels complicated lately.
I close the drawer. Move to the next one.
This one has tech supplies. Cables. Hard drives. USB sticks. Things I definitely need to bring.
I start sorting through them. Checking labels. Making sure nothing important gets left behind.
But my mind keeps wandering.
To Bruno.
We haven't spoken since our fight. The one where I told him Giulia left because of him.
I regret it. The words. The anger.
He's my brother. And he's hurting.
I should apologize. Or at least try to talk to him.
I set down the cable in my hand. Stare at the wall.
Maybe I should go now. Before I lose my nerve.
I stand. Smooth down my jeans. Take a breath.
Then I walk out of my room.
The hallway is quiet. Everyone's out. Pietro at the office. Lorenzo at the restaurant. Nico doing whatever Nico does.
Nora went shopping with Sophia and Kristen.
It's just me and Bruno in the house.
And the staff. But they don't count.
I walk slowly toward his room. My heart beating faster with each step.
What am I even going to say?
Sorry I told you the truth?
Sorry you're an asshole?
No. That won't work.
I reach his door. It's slightly open. A sliver of light spilling into the hallway.
I raise my hand to knock.
Then I see movement through the gap.
I freeze.
Bruno is standing.
Actually standing.
His hands gripping the arms of his wheelchair. His legs supporting his weight.
I blink. Convinced I'm seeing things.
But no. He's definitely standing.
He shifts his weight. Like he's testing his balance.
Then he lowers himself back into the wheelchair.
My brain can't process what I just saw.
Bruno can't walk. He's been paralyzed for two years.
Unless...
I push the door open.
It swings wide. Hits the wall with a soft thud.
Bruno's head snaps toward me. His eyes widen.
For a second, neither of us moves.
Then I laugh. A short, disbelieving sound.
"I thought—" I shake my head. "I thought you were standing."
Bruno's expression shifts. Hardens.
That look. The one that means I've crossed a line I didn't know existed.
"You thought wrong," he says flatly.
"But I saw—"
"You saw me shifting in my chair." His voice is ice. "That's all."
I stare at him. At the wheelchair. At his legs.
"Bruno—"
"Why are you here?" He cuts me off. "Come to lecture me again? Tell me more about how I've ruined everyone's lives?"
The words sting. But I deserve them.
"No," I say quietly. "I came to apologize."
He scoffs. "For what? Telling the truth?"
"For how I said it." I step into the room. Close the door behind me. "You're my brother. I shouldn't have—"
"Don't." He holds up a hand. "Don't do this. Don't pretend you care."
"I do care."
"Then why haven't you visited in weeks?" His jaw clenches. "Why haven't you called? Texted? Anything?"
Because I was angry. Because I was hurt.
Because it's easier to avoid him than deal with his cruelty.
But I don't say any of that.
"I'm sorry," I repeat. "I miss you."
Something flickers in his eyes. Too fast to identify.
"You miss who I was," he says. "Not who I am."
"That's not true."
"Isn't it?" He wheels closer. "You miss the brother who could walk. Who was going to be Don. Who wasn't broken."
"You're not broken."
"Don't lie to me, Vittoria." His voice drops. Dangerous. "I can see it in your eyes. The pity. The disappointment."
"I don't pity you."
"Then what do you call it?" He gestures at himself. "This? You standing there looking at me like I'm some wounded animal?"
"I'm looking at you like you're my brother." My voice cracks. "The one I love. The one I'm worried about."
Bruno sighs. A long, heavy sound that seems to come from somewhere deep in his chest.
"I'm mad, Vittoria." His voice is quieter now. Less sharp. "I'm mad at the entire world."
I wait. Not sure what to say.
"And I can't change this feeling." He looks down at his hands. "I've tried. But it's always there. This rage."
My throat tightens.
"I'm mad at myself too," he continues. "For being like this. For pushing everyone away. For hurting you all."
"Bruno—"
"I didn't want to." He meets my eyes. "I didn't want to hurt you. Or Giulia. Or anyone. But I can't seem to stop."
I take a step toward him.
"So if you could please leave me alone." He turns his wheelchair away. Faces the window. "I don't need any company."
The words hit like a slap.
I stand there. Frozen.
Wanting to argue. To tell him he's wrong. That he does need someone.
But the set of his shoulders tells me everything.
He's done talking.
I nod. Even though he can't see me.
"Okay," I whisper.
Then I turn. Walk to the door.
My vision blurs. Tears threatening to spill.
I blink them back. Refuse to cry in front of him.
The hallway feels longer than before. Each step heavier.
I make it to my room. Close the door.
Then I lean against it. Let the tears come.
Not loud sobs. Just silent streams down my cheeks.
I hate this. Hate seeing him like this.
Hate that I can't fix it.
I slide down to the floor. Wrap my arms around my knees.
The image of him standing flashes through my mind.
His hands on the wheelchair arms. His legs supporting his weight.
It looked so real.
But maybe he's right. Maybe I saw what I wanted to see.
Maybe he was just shifting. Using his arms to lift himself.
I've seen him do that before. Adjusting his position in the chair.
It could have been that.
I wipe my eyes. Try to think logically.
If Bruno could walk, he would tell someone. Wouldn't he?
He wouldn't hide it. Not from the family.
Unless he was ashamed. Or scared.
Or maybe he's not ready yet. Maybe he's still learning. Still testing.
I shake my head. This is ridiculous.
I'm making up stories. Seeing things that aren't there.
Bruno is paralyzed. The doctors were clear about that.
The bullet damaged his spine. Permanently.
There's no coming back from that.
I stand. Walk to my bed. Sit on the edge.
My phone buzzes again. Amanda asking if I changed my mind about coffee.
I ignore it.
I can't think about coffee right now. Or packing. Or the wedding.
All I can think about is Bruno.
Standing there. In his room.
Or not standing. Because I was wrong.
I have to be wrong.
I lie back on the bed. Stare at the ceiling.
The tears have stopped. But my chest still aches.
For Bruno. For what he's lost.
For the brother I used to know.
The one who would laugh. Who would tease me. Who would protect me.
That Bruno is gone. Buried under layers of anger and pain.
And I don't know how to bring him back.
Maybe I can't.
Maybe no one can.
I close my eyes. Try to push the thoughts away.
But they keep circling back.
To that moment. That split second.
When I saw him standing.
Or thought I did.
I roll onto my side. Pull a pillow against my chest.
My phone buzzes a third time.
This time I check it.
Dmitri asking if I'm okay. If I need anything.
I type back that I'm fine. Just tired.
He responds immediately. Telling me to rest. That he'll see me tonight.
I set the phone down. Close my eyes again.
But sleep doesn't come.
Just more questions.
More doubts.
More images of Bruno that I can't shake.
I lie there for what feels like hours. Though it's probably only minutes.
Eventually, I sit up. Look at the boxes of clothes waiting to be packed.
I should finish. Get it done.
But I can't bring myself to move.
Instead, I grab my laptop. Open it.
Maybe work will distract me.
I pull up the security footage from the compound. Start scrolling through the feeds.
Not looking for anything specific. Just watching.
The front gate. The gardens. The driveway.
Normal activity. Guards patrolling. Staff moving between buildings.
Nothing unusual.
I switch to the interior cameras.
The kitchen. The living room. The hallways.
Empty. Quiet.
Then I pull up the feed for Bruno's hallway.
My finger hovers over the timestamp. The time I was there.
I could watch it. See what really happened.
Confirm that I was wrong.
Or prove that I wasn't.
My heart pounds.
Do I want to know?
What if I was right? What if Bruno can walk?
What would that mean?
Why would he hide it?
I close the laptop. Shove it away.
No. I'm not doing this.
I'm not spying on my brother.
If he's hiding something, he has his reasons.
And if I was wrong, then there's nothing to see anyway.
I stand. Walk back to the boxes.
Start packing again. Forcing myself to focus.
One sweater at a time. One cable. One hard drive.
Mechanical movements. Mindless tasks.
Anything to stop thinking about Bruno.
About what I saw.
Or didn't see.
Dmitri
The meeting with Pietro and Nico drags longer than expected.
Territory disputes. Distribution routes. The usual complications that come with running an empire.
I lean back in Pietro's leather chair, watching him sign the final document.
"That settles the northern routes," Pietro says, sliding the papers across his desk. "Your men can start moving product through there by next week."
I nod. "Igor will coordinate with your people."
"Good." Pietro stands, rolling his shoulders. The weight of leadership sits heavy on him. I recognize the posture. The tension that never quite leaves.