Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Bruno
Iwheel myself through the entrance of the warehouse, past two of our men standing guard. They nod as I pass.
The main floor is mostly empty.
Pietro stands near the center of the space. Nico beside him. Both watching something—someone—in front of them.
I push forward until I can see.
A man hangs from chains bolted to a support beam. His arms stretched above his head. Wrists raw where the metal bites into skin. His feet barely touch the ground.
He's young. Maybe mid-twenties. Dark hair matted with sweat. Blood dripping from a cut above his eye.
One of the men who hit our shipment.
The only one we caught.
"What do we know?"
"Not much." Nico crosses his arms. "He was driving the second truck. The others got away clean. Professional job."
"Who sent them?"
"That's what we need to find out."
I wheel closer to the hanging man. He lifts his head. Looks at me.
His eyes widen slightly when he sees the wheelchair.
Then he laughs.
"This is who you brought?" He spits blood onto the concrete. "The cripple?"
The word lands like a slap.
I don't react.
"You're going to tell me who hired you," I say.
"Am I?"
"Yes."
He laughs again. Louder this time. "I don't think so."
"You will."
"Or what?" He jerks his chin toward my chair. "You'll roll over my toes?"
Behind me, I hear Nico shift. Pietro stays silent.
They're watching.
Prove you can still do this, the call said. Prove you're still a Sartori.
"I'm going to ask you one more time," I say. "Who sent you?"
The man grins. Blood stains his teeth. "Go fuck yourself."
I look at Pietro. "Give me a blade."
Pietro reaches into his jacket. Pulls out a folding knife. Tosses it to me.
I catch it one-handed.
The man watches me flip it open. His grin falters slightly.
"You think that scares me?" he says. "I've been cut before."
"Not by me."
I wheel forward until I'm directly in front of him. Close enough to smell his sweat. His fear underneath the bravado.
"Last chance," I say.
"I told you." He meets my eyes. Tries to hold them. "I won't talk."
"Everyone talks."
"Not me. You can't make me. Look at you." He laughs, but it sounds forced now. Desperate. "You can't even stand up. What are you going to do from that chair? You're not capable of—"
I grab his shirt.
Yank him down toward me.
His chains rattle. His body jerks. Suddenly his face is inches from mine.
"You think this chair makes me weak?" My voice is quiet. Controlled. "You think because I can't walk, I can't hurt you?"
His eyes are wide now. The bravado cracking.
I release his shirt. He swings back.
"I'm going to ask you questions," I say. "You're going to answer them. If you don't, I'm going to start removing pieces of you. Small pieces at first. Then bigger ones. And I'm going to take my time."
"You're bluffing."
"Am I?"
I wheel to his side. Position myself at an angle where I can reach him easily.
The blade catches the light.
"Who hired you?"
Silence.
"Who hired you?"
"Fuck you."
I press the blade against his ribs. Just below his armpit. Where the skin is thin and sensitive.
"Last chance."
He doesn't answer.
I cut.
Not deep. Just enough to part the skin. To create a flap.
Then I grip the edge with my fingers.
And pull.
The scream that tears out of him echoes through the warehouse. Raw. Animal. The kind of sound that comes from somewhere primal.
I don't stop.
The skin separates from muscle with a wet, tearing sound. Blood runs down his side. Drips onto the concrete.
"WHO HIRED YOU?"
"I don't—I can't—"
I pull harder.
Another scream. Higher this time. Breaking.
"Please! Please, stop!"
"Give me a name."
"I don't know his name! I swear to God, I don't know!"
I pause. The flap of skin hangs loose. Red and glistening.
"Then tell me what you do know."
He's crying now. Tears mixing with sweat and blood. His whole body shaking.
"A man," he gasps. "He approached us three weeks ago. Offered fifty thousand to hit your shipment. Said it was personal. Something about sending a message."
"What did he look like?"
"I don't—"
I grip the skin again.
"TALL!" he screams. "Tall, dark hair, accent. Italian maybe. Or something close. He had a scar. Here." He jerks his head toward his own jaw. "Along the jawline."
I look at Pietro.
His expression has changed. Hardened.
He knows something.
"What else?" I turn back to the man. "What else did he say?"
"Nothing. I swear. He paid half up front, said we'd get the rest after. That's all I know. That's everything."
"Where were you supposed to meet him for the second payment?"
"A bar. Rosetti's. Downtown. Tomorrow night. Nine o'clock."
I study his face. Looking for lies. For tells.
He's too broken to lie. Too desperate.
I believe him.
I wheel back. Fold the knife closed.
The man sags in his chains. Sobbing. Blood still dripping from the wound in his side.
"Clean him up," I say to no one in particular. "Keep him alive. We might need him again."
I turn to Pietro.
"Rosetti's. Tomorrow night."
Pietro nods slowly. "I'll have Liam set up surveillance."
"I want to be there."
"Bruno—"
"I want to be there."
Pietro holds my gaze for a long moment.
Then he nods.
"Fine. You'll be there."
I wheel toward the exit. My hands are steady. My breathing even.
The man's screams still echo in my ears.
I don't feel anything.
That's the problem.
I should feel something. Disgust. Satisfaction. Guilt. Anything.
But there's nothing.
Just emptiness where emotion should be.
Antonella
I haven't slept.
Bruno left my room like I'd slapped him. One kiss on the cheek and he practically fled. The door closed behind him and I sat there in the dark, trying to understand what just happened.
But I do understand.
That's the thing.
He can't control himself around me. Can't control whatever he feels when I touch him. And that terrifies him more than any enemy ever could.
I pull my knees to my chest and stare at the wall.
Bruno Sartori is not kind. He's cold and distant and sometimes cruel. He issues orders like I'm one of his men.
None of that bothers me.
Every person has their darkness. Their broken pieces. The parts they hide from the world because showing them feels like bleeding in shark-infested waters.
My father gambles. My mother worked herself to death caring for everyone else. Claudio runs from responsibility. Gianna pretends problems don't exist if she ignores them hard enough.
We're all damaged.
Bruno is just more honest about it.
A knock at my door pulls me from my thoughts.
"Come in."
Giulia enters with a breakfast tray. Steam rises from a cup of coffee. The smell of fresh bread fills the room.
"You didn't come down for breakfast," she says. "I thought you might be hungry."
"Thank you."
She sets the tray on the small table by the window. Pours cream into my coffee without asking. She's learned how I take it.
"Did you sleep?" she asks.
"No."
Giulia nods like she expected that answer. She sits in the chair across from me. Folds her hands in her lap.
We've talked a lot these past few days. While Bruno avoided me. While I wandered the compound trying to find my place in this strange new world.
Giulia knows everything.
She's been with this family for decades. Watched the children grow. Buried the dead. Kept the secrets.
"He left in the middle of the night," I say. "Pietro called about something."
"The warehouse situation." Giulia's expression doesn't change. "There was an incident with one of their shipments."
I don't ask for details. I don't want to know what Bruno does in warehouses in the middle of the night.
I wrap my hands around the coffee cup. Let the warmth seep into my fingers.
"Tell me again," I say. "About what happened to him."
Giulia sighs. She's told me this story twice already. But she doesn't refuse.
"He was supposed to marry a woman named Lucrezia Feretti. An arrangement between families. Bruno didn't want it. Agreed to the marriage because it was expected. Because he was asked to."
I think about my own arranged marriage. The duty I accepted without question.
Giulia continues. "The Russians hit during the ceremony. Bratva."
"They killed Riccardo."
"Instantly. Bruno was shot too." Giulia's voice stays steady. Matter-of-fact. But her eyes are sad. "He was in a coma for six months. When he woke up, his brother was dead. His legs didn't work. Pietro had taken over as Don. Everything Bruno had for his entire life was gone."
I set down my coffee.
"His siblings tried to help him," I say. "Didn't they?"
"They tried." Giulia shakes her head. "But every time Bruno looked at them, he saw what he'd lost. Every memory they shared reminded him of who he used to be."
"So he pushed them away."
"He pushed everyone away. It was easier than facing what he'd become."
"He's in pain," I say. "Not just physical. Everything hurts. Every moment of every day."
"Yes."
"And no one can help him because everyone who loves him is connected to his old life. To the person he was before."
"Yes."
I turn to face Giulia.
"But I'm not."
"No," she says slowly. "You're not."
"I didn't know him before. I have no memories of Bruno walking. No expectations of who he should be. I only know who he is now."
"That's true."
"So maybe I can help him."
Giulia is quiet for a long moment.
"Maybe," she says finally. "Or maybe he'll destroy you trying to push you away like he's pushed everyone else."
"Maybe."
He's not kind. He's angry and bitter and sometimes cruel. But he's also honest. And underneath all that armor, he's just a man who lost everything and doesn't know how to live with what's left.
Giulia stands. Smooths her skirt.
"I think Bruno Sartori might have finally met someone stubborn enough to save him from himself."
She leaves.
I'm halfway through my coffee when my phone buzzes.
Oliver's name flashes across the screen.
Something loosens in my chest. I didn't realize how much I needed this until right now.
"Hey," I answer.
"Hey yourself." His voice is warm. "How's life as a mafia princess?"
I laugh. It comes out tired but real.
"Complicated."
"That bad?"
"Not bad exactly." I set down my coffee cup. "Just... a lot."
"Tell me."
I want to. God, I want to spill everything.
But I can't. Not over the phone. Not like this.
"Can we meet?" I ask instead.
"That's actually why I'm calling." Oliver's voice brightens. "I miss your face. And I'm worried about you. You've been gone a week and I've barely heard anything."
"I know. I'm sorry. Things have been—"
"Complicated. Yeah, you said." He pauses. "So can we? Meet, I mean?"
"Yes." The word comes out fast. Desperate. "I'll arrange it for tomorrow. I need to figure out the logistics here, but I'll let you know the details."
"Logistics." Oliver snorts. "Listen to you. Already talking like a mob wife."
"Shut up."
"Make me."
"I actually need to get out of here for a while," I admit. "Even just for a few hours. This place is beautiful but it's also..."
"A prison?"
"Something like that."
"Then we'll make it happen. Coffee? Lunch? I'll come to you if that's easier."
"Let me figure out what's allowed and I'll—"
My phone beeps. Second line.
I pull it away from my ear. Bruno's name on the screen.
"Oliver, I have to go. Someone's calling."
"Go. Call me later with the plan for tomorrow."
"I will. Thank you."
"For what?"
"For being you."
He's quiet for a second. "Always, Nell. Always."
I hang up and switch to Bruno's call.
"Hello?"
"You need to be downstairs in ten minutes." Bruno's voice is clipped. Businesslike. "My mother's car just passed the front gate."
"Okay."
"Wear something nice. She notices everything."
"I know how to dress myself, Bruno."
A pause. Then: "I didn't mean—" He stops. Starts again. "Just be ready."
"I will."
He hangs up without saying goodbye.
I stare at the phone for a moment. Then I move.
I grab a simple grey dress. Fitted but modest.
I change quickly. Run a brush through my hair. Apply minimal makeup. Mascara. A touch of lip gloss.
I slip on low heels and head for the door.
The hallway is quiet.
I take the stairs slowly.
Voices drift up from the foyer. Bruno's low rumble. A woman's voice. Sharp. Commanding.
His mother.
I pause at the top of the stairs. Take a breath.
Giulia's words echo in my head. Maybe he'll destroy you trying to push you away.
Maybe.
But I've survived worse than Bruno Sartori's walls.
I can survive his mother.
I hope.
Another breath. Then I start down the stairs.
The foyer comes into view. Bruno is near the door. His posture is rigid. Tense. He's wearing a dark suit. His hair is combed back. He looks like he's preparing for battle.
Next to him stands a woman.
She's tall. Elegant. Silver hair and a face that's still beautiful despite her age.
Aria Sartori.
She turns as I descend the stairs. Her eyes sweep over me. Assessing.
I keep my chin up. My steps steady.
Bruno watches me too. His expression is unreadable.
I reach the bottom of the stairs.
"Mother," Bruno says. "This is Antonella. My wife."
Aria doesn't smile. Doesn't offer her hand.
She just looks at me.
The silence stretches.
I wait.
Please be kind, I think. Please, just this once, let something in this family be easy.