Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Antonella
Aweek passes.
Seven days of Bruno avoiding me like I carry some disease he might catch.
I notice it first at breakfast. The morning after the party, I walk into the dining room expecting... something. A nod. A grunt. Maybe even a continuation of the conversation we started by the windows.
Instead, Bruno keeps his eyes on his plate. Chews. Swallows. Never once looks up.
Kristen tries to fill the silence. Asks about my plans for the day. Whether I've explored the gardens. If I need anything.
I answer. Smile.
But I feel Bruno's absence like a cold draft.
He's right there. Three chairs away. And he might as well be on another planet.
By day three, I stop expecting anything different.
Breakfast. Lunch. The occasional dinner when Bruno bothers to show up. He sits. He eats. He leaves.
Not a single word directed at me.
I tell myself it doesn't matter.
But something about the silence stings.
We had a moment. At the party.
I thought maybe...
It doesn't matter what I thought.
Bruno has made his position clear. Whatever crack appeared in his walls that night, he's sealed it shut.
I am furniture again. Something in the room. Not someone.
The silence becomes routine.
I learn the rhythm of this house. Breakfast at nine.
I learn which hallways lead where. Which doors stay locked. Which guards nod when I pass and which ones pretend I don't exist.
I learn that Kristen takes Lily to the garden every afternoon at three. That Pietro works late most nights.
I learn that my husband wants nothing to do with me.
Fine.
I have other concerns.
On the fourth day, I call home.
Gianna answers on the second ring. "Nella! I was just thinking about you."
"Good thoughts, I hope."
"Always." She pauses. "Are you okay? You sound tired."
"I'm fine." The lie comes easy now. "Is Papa there? I need to talk to him about something."
Silence stretches across the line.
"Gianna?"
"He's not here."
My stomach tightens. "Where is he?"
"I don't know. Claudio might. Hold on."
I hear muffled voices. Footsteps. Then Claudio's voice replaces Gianna's.
"Nella."
"Where's Papa?"
Claudio sighs. The sound carries exhaustion. Frustration. Something else I can't name.
"He left three days ago."
Three days.
"Left where?"
"New York." Claudio's voice drops lower. "Said he had business there. Something the Sartoris asked him to handle."
The Sartoris.
I grip the phone tighter. "What kind of business?"
"He didn't say. Just packed a bag and told me he'd be gone for a week. Maybe two."
Two weeks.
My father. Alone. In New York.
Far from anyone who might watch him. Far from anyone who might stop him.
"Did he seem..." I trail off. I don't know how to ask. Did he seem like he was about to destroy everything again?
"He seemed fine." Claudio reads my silence. "I know what you're thinking."
"Do you?"
"You're thinking he's going to find a card game. A casino. Something."
I don't answer. I don't need to.
"Nella, he doesn't have any money. The Sartoris control everything now. His accounts. The business. He couldn't gamble if he wanted to."
The words should comfort me.
They don't.
"He's found money before," I say quietly.
Claudio goes quiet.
"I'll keep an eye on things," Claudio says finally. "If anything seems off, I'll call you."
"Promise me."
"I promise."
I want to believe him. I want to trust that this time will be different. That Papa learned his lesson.
But I've wanted to believe before.
I've trusted before.
And every single time, Papa has proven that his addiction is stronger than his love for us.
"Call me if you hear from him," I say. "Even if it's nothing. Even if he just checks in."
"I will."
We say goodbye. I hang up.
The phone feels heavy in my hand.
New York.
Business for the Sartoris.
I should ask someone. Pietro. Lorenzo. Someone who might know what my father is doing there.
But asking means admitting I don't trust him.
Asking means showing weakness.
And in this house, surrounded by people who already see me as nothing more than a transaction, I can't afford to look weak.
I set the phone down on my nightstand.
The room feels smaller than it did this morning.
I think about my father in some New York hotel room. Alone. Bored. With nothing but time and old habits whispering in his ear.
The only comfort is that Claudio is right.
Papa has no money.
The Sartoris took everything. The accounts. The business. The house, for all practical purposes.
He couldn't gamble if he wanted to.
Unless he finds someone willing to extend credit.
Unless he makes promises he can't keep.
Unless he does what he's always done—charm his way into debt and leave someone else to clean up the mess.
I press my palms against my eyes.
Stop.
I can't control this.
I can't control him.
I can't save him from himself.
But God, I wish I could.
A knock at my door pulls me from my thoughts.
"Come in."
Giulia enters, her silver hair pulled back in its usual neat bun. She carries a tray with tea and small sandwiches.
"You missed lunch," she says. Not accusatory. Just stating fact.
I glance at the clock. Two-thirty.
"I lost track of time."
Giulia sets the tray on the small table by the window. "Kristen mentioned you seemed distracted this morning. I thought you might need something."
Kristen noticed.
Of course she did.
"Thank you." I move to the table. "That's very kind."
Giulia watches me for a moment. Her eyes are sharp despite her age. Observant.
"Is everything alright, Mrs. Sartori?"
The name still sounds wrong. Like a costume I haven't grown into yet.
"Everything's fine."
Giulia doesn't believe me. I can see it in the slight tilt of her head. The way her lips press together.
But she doesn't push.
"If you need anything," she says, "you only have to ask."
"I know."
She leaves.
I sit by the window with my tea and sandwiches.
Outside, the gardens stretch green and manicured. Perfect hedges. Perfect flowers. Everything in its proper place.
Nothing like the chaos inside my head.
Bruno
Valentino finds me in the gym.
I'm on the parallel bars. Arms shaking. Sweat dripping down my face.
"Your mother called," he says.
I don't stop. Don't look at him.
"And?"
"She's coming to Chicago."
My grip tightens on the bars. "When?"
"Tomorrow morning."
Fuck.
I lower myself back into the wheelchair. My arms burn. My legs ache from the exercises Will put me through earlier.
"Did she say why?"
Valentino crosses his arms. Leans against the doorframe. "You know why."
I do.
Aria Sartori doesn't leave Sicily unless something has gone terribly wrong. Or unless one of her children has done something unforgivable.
Apparently, getting married without telling her qualifies.
"Pietro was supposed to handle that."
"Pietro told her about the wedding." Valentino's voice carries a hint of amusement. "Three days after it happened. Through a text message."
A text message.
I would laugh if I weren't so exhausted.
"She's furious," Valentino continues. "At Pietro for not telling her sooner. At you for not inviting her. At everyone for keeping her in the dark about your plans to become Don."
"She knows about that too?"
"She knows everything now." Valentino pushes off the doorframe. Walks closer. "Nico called her last night. Told her you've been pushing for the position. That you're not ready."
Of course Nico called her.
Of course he did.
"What did she say?"
"She said she'll decide for herself whether you're ready." Valentino stops beside my wheelchair. "She wants to meet your wife."
My wife.
"Bruno."
I look up.
Valentino's watching me with that expression he gets.
"You've been avoiding her."
"I've been busy."
"You've been hiding."
I don't answer.
Because he's right.
I have been hiding.
Every morning, I time my arrival at breakfast to minimize interaction. I eat fast. Leave faster. Spend my days in the gym or my office or anywhere she isn't.
At dinner, I keep my eyes on my plate. Answer questions with single words. Pretend she doesn't exist.
And every single day, it gets harder.
"What happened at the party?" Valentino asks.
"Nothing."
"Something happened."
I grip the wheels of my chair. "Drop it."
"Bruno—"
"I said drop it."
Valentino holds up his hands. Steps back.
But he doesn't leave.
He just stands there. Waiting.
The silence stretches between us.
I think about that night. The crowd pressing in. The whispered comments. The pitying looks.
I think about how my chest tightened. How my hands started shaking. How the room felt like it was shrinking around me.
And then Antonella was there.
Her hand on my shoulder.
One touch.
That's all it took.
One touch and the panic stopped. The noise faded. I could breathe again.
I haven't been touched like that in two years.
Not since before the shooting.
People touch me now out of necessity. Maria helping me into bed. Will adjusting my position during therapy. Medical touches. Clinical touches.
No one touches me just because.
No one reaches for me without a reason.
But Antonella did.
She put her hand on my shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like I was just a man who needed grounding.
And something inside me cracked.
"She's twenty-one," I say finally.
Valentino frowns. "What?"
"Antonella. She's twenty-one years old." I stare at my hands. "I'm forty. Almost twice her age."
"So?"
"So she's a child."
"She's not a child. She's a woman who married a stranger to save her family." Valentino's voice sharpens. "That's not something a child does."
I know that.
I know she's not a child.
But the gap between us feels insurmountable. Not just the years. Everything.
She's young. Bright. Full of life she hasn't lived yet.
And I'm... this.
A man in a wheelchair. A man who can't walk. A man who wakes up screaming from nightmares about his own wedding day.
A corpse among living people.
That's what I am.
That's what I've been since I woke up from that coma and realized everything had changed.
"She deserves better," I say.
"Better than what?"
"Better than me."
Valentino is quiet for a long moment.
Then he moves. Pulls a chair over. Sits down so we're at eye level.
"You don't know her," he says. "Not really. How can you decide what she deserves when you haven't even tried to understand who she is?"
"I know enough."
"You know nothing." Valentino leans forward.
I shake my head.
"She touched me," I say quietly. "At the party. Put her hand on my shoulder. And I..."
I trail off.
I don't know how to explain it.
The way my whole body responded. The way everything went still. The way I wanted to lean into that touch and never let go.
It terrified me.
It still terrifies me.
Because I can't afford to want her.
I can't afford to need anyone.
Need is weakness. Need is vulnerability. Need is how you get destroyed.
I learned that lesson in the hospital. Waking up paralyzed. Realizing everyone I loved had moved on without me.
I will not learn it again.
"She doesn't deserve a husband who can't even stand," I say. "She doesn't deserve a man who has to be helped into bed every night. She doesn't deserve—"
"Stop."
Valentino's voice cuts through my spiral.
"Your mother arrives tomorrow. She's going to want to see you and Antonella together. Acting like a married couple. Even if she knows that it is fake. You need to prove that you'll do anything. Can you do that?"
I don't answer.
"Bruno. Can you do that?"
"Yes."
Valentino nods. "Good. Then maybe start by actually talking to her before Aria gets here. Because if she sees you treating Antonella like a stranger, she's going to make your life very difficult."
He leaves.
I sit alone in the gym.
The parallel bars mock me from across the room.
I think about her hand on my shoulder.
I think about how badly I want to feel that again.
And I hate myself for it.