Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Bruno
The dining room is empty when I wheel in at eight forty-five.
Good.
I need the silence. Need a moment to prepare myself for what's coming.
For most of the days, I've eaten breakfast alone. In my room. On my schedule. No one watching.
But Pietro made himself clear last night.
"If you want to be Don, you need to act like one," he said. "That means showing up. Being present. Leading by example."
He's right. I hate that he's right.
I position myself at the head of the table.
Father's seat.
Riccardo's seat after him.
Pietro's seat now.
But not for much longer.
I run my hands along the armrests of my wheelchair. I've gripped these armrests so many times the finish has started to fade.
Footsteps in the hallway.
I straighten my spine. Lift my chin. Arrange my face into something neutral.
Pietro appears in the doorway.
He looks tired. Dark circles under his eyes. Stubble thicker than usual. His suit jacket is missing, sleeves rolled to his elbows.
"You're early," he says.
"So are you."
He crosses to the sideboard where Giulia has laid out coffee. Pours himself a cup. Takes a long drink before turning back to me.
"Couldn't sleep?"
"Could you?"
A ghost of a smile crosses his face. "Nora had a rough night."
I glance at the empty doorway behind him. "She's not coming?"
"Morning sickness." He settles into the chair to my right. Not at the head of the table. Not in the Don's seat. "She can't keep anything down before noon."
"That bad?"
"The doctor says it's normal. Should ease up in a few weeks." He takes another drink of coffee. "She's frustrated. Wants to be here. Wants to meet your wife properly."
My wife.
The words feel strange. Foreign. Like they belong to someone else's life.
"There's time," I say.
Pietro nods. Sets down his cup. Studies me with those calculating eyes that see too much.
"You showed up," he says.
"You told me to."
"I've told you a lot of things over the past two years. You've ignored most of them."
I don't respond. He's not wrong.
"What changed?" he asks.
Everything. Nothing. I don't know how to explain it. Don't know if I want to.
"You said if I want to be Don, I need to act like one."
"And you want it? Still?"
"I've always wanted it."
"Wanting and being ready are different things."
My jaw tightens. "I know."
Pietro leans back in his chair. He's only thirty-six, but the past two years have aged him. Running the family. Managing the business. Dealing with threats from every direction.
And dealing with me.
"I never wanted this position," he says quietly. "You know that."
I do know. Pietro was always the strategist. The planner. The one who preferred to work behind the scenes. Riccardo was supposed to lead. Then me. Pietro was supposed to advise.
Pietro stepped up because someone had to.
"Nora's pregnant," he continues. "I want to be present for that. For her. For our child." He meets my eyes. "I want to step back, Bruno. I want to hand this over to you."
Something shifts in my chest. Something I don't want to name.
"Then do it."
"It's not that simple."
"Why not?"
"Because the others aren't convinced." He holds up a hand before I can interrupt. "Nico has concerns. Valid ones. Lorenzo wants to believe you're ready, but he's cautious. And Valentino—"
"Valentino supports me."
"Valentino supports the idea of you. The Bruno you were before. He's not sure the Bruno you are now can lead without destroying everything we've built."
I grip the armrests. Feel the wood bite into my palms.
"I won't fail."
"I hope not." He picks up his coffee again. "For both our sakes."
We sit in silence. The clock on the wall ticks. Somewhere in the house, I hear Giulia giving instructions to the kitchen staff.
"She hung up on me," I say.
Pietro's eyebrows rise. "Who?"
"My wife."
A pause. Then, unexpectedly, Pietro laughs.
It's a real laugh. The kind I haven't heard from him in months. His shoulders shake. His eyes crinkle at the corners.
"It's not funny," I growl.
"It's a little funny." He wipes his eyes. "What did you do?"
"Nothing. I was explaining the rules—"
"The rules?"
"Of our arrangement. How things would work. And she just... hung up."
Pietro shakes his head. Still smiling. "What rules exactly?"
"Security. Protection. Basic safety protocols."
"Let me guess. You ordered her around like one of your soldiers."
I don't answer. Which is answer enough.
"Bruno." Pietro sets down his cup. "She's not a soldier. She's not an employee. She's your wife."
"In name only."
"Doesn't matter. She's a person. With her own thoughts. Her own will." He pauses. "Her own ability to hang up on you when you're being an ass."
"I wasn't—"
"You were." His voice softens. "I know you. I know how you get when you're trying to control a situation. You bark orders. You make demands. You forget that other people have feelings."
"Feelings are irrelevant."
"Feelings are everything." He leans forward. "Nora taught me that. Before her, I thought I could run this family like a business. Cold. Efficient. Emotionless." He shakes his head. "I was wrong. People need to feel valued. Respected. Heard."
"This isn't a love match, Pietro. It's a transaction."
"Every relationship is a transaction of some kind. The question is what you're willing to give." He stands. Moves to refill his coffee. "She volunteered for this, you know."
I know. Lorenzo told me.
"That tells you something about her character," Pietro continues. "She's not weak. She's not passive. She made a choice. A sacrifice." He turns back to me. "The least you can do is treat her with basic respect."
Before I can respond, footsteps sound in the hallway.
Light. Hesitant. Nothing like the confident stride of my brothers.
I know who it is before she appears.
Antonella stops in the doorway. Her eyes sweep the room. Land on Pietro. Then on me.
She's wearing jeans. Simple dark denim that hugs her hips. A white blouse tucked in at the waist. Nothing fancy. Nothing designed to impress.
She looks better than she did in that wedding dress.
"Giulia said I should come down for breakfast." Her voice is steady. "But I can eat in my room if that's easier."
Pietro stands immediately. Crosses toward her with that easy charm he's perfected over years of negotiations.
"Nonsense." He gestures to the table. "You'll eat with us. Please, sit."
She hesitates. Her gaze flicks to me.
I should say something. Welcome her. Acknowledge her presence. Do something other than stare at her like an idiot.
My mouth won't cooperate.
Pietro coughs. Loud. Pointed.
"Good morning," I manage.
The words come out rough. Strained. Like I've forgotten how to speak.
"Good morning." She moves to the table. Chooses a seat across from Pietro. Three chairs away from me.
Smart. Keep your distance from the beast.
Pietro pours her coffee without asking. Sets it in front of her with a warm smile.
"How did you sleep?" he asks.
"Fine. Thank you."
She's lying. I can see it in the shadows under her eyes. The slight pallor of her skin.
But her face.
Dio.
She reaches for the coffee cup. Wraps both hands around it.
Her hands.
Long fingers. Short nails. No polish. No rings except the simple gold band I put on her finger yesterday.
I watch her lift the cup to her lips. Watch her throat move as she swallows.
I'm not attracted to her.
I'm just... observing. The way I would any new variable in my environment.
Her blouse is modest. Buttoned to the collar. But the fabric pulls slightly across her chest when she moves. Hints at curves underneath.
I remember last night. The wedding dress half-unzipped. The bare skin of her back. The way she clutched that pillow to her chest.
My hands tighten on the armrests.
Antonella
Bruno keeps staring at me.
I feel his gaze like a physical weight. Every time I lift my coffee cup. Every time I shift in my seat. Every time I breathe.
He's angry.
Of course he's angry. He had to marry me. Some stranger his family forced on him to settle a debt. No man would want that. No man would choose to be shackled to a woman he's never met, especially not a man like Bruno Sartori.
I keep my eyes on my coffee. Easier to look at that than at him.
Pietro asks me something about breakfast preferences. I answer automatically. Toast. Fruit. Whatever is easiest.
Bruno's stare doesn't waver.
What did I do wrong? Hanging up on him last night? Refusing his rules? Existing in his space?
All of the above, probably.
I take another sip of coffee. It's good. Rich and dark, nothing like the instant stuff we had at home. Another reminder that I don't belong here.
Footsteps in the hallway.
Nico enters first. A woman walking behind him.
"Good morning." His voice is flat. Assessing.
"Morning." Pietro gestures toward me. "Antonella, you remember Nico."
I nod. "Yes."
The woman steps forward. Her smile is warm, genuine.
"I'm Kristen." She takes the seat next to Pietro, across from me. "We met briefly yesterday, but everything was so rushed. How did you sleep?"
The question is simple. Normal. The kind of thing a friend might ask.
I don't know how to respond to normal.
"Fine," I say. "Thank you for asking."
Kristen's eyes soften. She sees through the lie. I can tell. But she doesn't push.
"The first few nights are always strange," she says. "New place. New people. It takes time to adjust."
Nico sits beside her. His gaze moves between me and Bruno.
Another man appears in the doorway. Tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair too. He nods at the room before taking a seat at the far end of the table.
I saw all of them yesterday. At the church. During the brief reception that wasn't really a reception. But names and faces blurred together. I was too focused on Bruno.
"I'm sorry," I say. "I know we were introduced yesterday, but I'm still sorting out who everyone is."
Pietro sets down his coffee cup. "Of course. Let me help."
He gestures toward Nico and Kristen. "Nico is our brother as you already know. He handles security for the family. Kristen is his wife. Kristen has a daughter," Pietro continues. "Lily. She's five. You'll meet her soon. She'll love you."
A child. Something warm flickers in my chest. Children are simple. Honest. They don't play the games adults play.
"I'd like that," I say.
Kristen smiles again. "She's with the nanny right now, but she'll probably find you before lunch. She's curious about everyone new."
Pietro points to the man at the end of the table. "That's Valentino. Our cousin. He usually manages things in Sicily, but he's staying here for a while."
Valentino lifts his coffee cup in acknowledgment. "Welcome to the family."
His voice is warmer than Nico's. Less guarded. But there's still something watchful in his eyes.
"Thank you," I say.
"My wife Nora is resting," Pietro continues. "She's pregnant. The first trimester has been difficult for her, but she wanted me to tell you she's looking forward to meeting you properly."
Pregnant. Resting. I remember Vittoria mentioning something about that yesterday.
"Please give her my congratulations," I say.
Pietro's expression softens. "I will."
"Vittoria lives with her husband Dmitri," he adds. "And Lorenzo and Sophia are married as well. They live in another house."
I try to map the family in my head. Pietro and Nora here. Nico and Kristen here, with Lily. Valentino visiting. Vittoria and Dmitri nearby. Lorenzo and Sophia separate.
And Bruno.
Bruno, who sits three chairs away from me. Bruno, who hasn't said a word since his strained good morning. Bruno, who keeps staring at me like I'm a problem he doesn't know how to solve.
"It's a large family," I say.
"It is." Pietro's voice carries something like pride. "We look out for each other."
The implication is clear. I'm part of that family now. Whether I like it or not. Whether Bruno likes it or not.
I glance at him.
He's still watching me. His jaw is tight.
I look away first. Reach for my coffee again. The cup is almost empty, but I need something to do with my hands.
Kristen leans forward slightly. "If you need anything, please ask. I know how overwhelming this can be."
There's something in her voice. Understanding. Like she's been where I am.
"Thank you," I say. "I appreciate that."
Nico's phone buzzes. He checks it, frowns, and stands.
"Business," he says to Pietro. "I'll handle it."
He leaves without another word. Kristen watches him go, then turns back to me.
"He's not as cold as he seems," she says quietly. "It just takes time."
I wonder if she's talking about Nico or Bruno.
Maybe both.