Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Bruno
Three minutes and forty-seven seconds.
Will's pen scratches against his clipboard. He's been keeping notes since I asked him to start documenting everything. Every second I stand. Every tremor in my legs. Every moment my body holds itself upright without the chair beneath me.
"Three fifty-two," Will says quietly.
My thighs burn. The muscles shake beneath my skin, threatening to give out. But I don't sit. Not yet.
I grip the parallel bars in my private gym, knuckles white against the metal. Sweat drips down my temples. My jaw aches from clenching.
Four minutes.
I've never stood this long before.
"Four minutes, three seconds," Will announces.
I try to move my right leg. Command it to lift. To step forward. To do something other than tremble beneath my weight.
Nothing.
The leg stays planted. My brain sends the signal, but the connection is broken somewhere along the way. Like shouting into a void and hearing nothing back.
"Four fifteen."
My left leg buckles slightly. I catch myself on the bars, arms straining.
"That's enough for today," Will says. "You're pushing too hard."
"I'll decide when it's enough."
But my body disagrees. The trembling intensifies. I can feel the collapse coming, the inevitable moment when my legs will simply stop cooperating.
I lower myself into the wheelchair before they can betray me completely.
Will makes another note. "Four minutes, twenty-three seconds. That's a new record."
I don't respond. A record means nothing if I still can't take a single step.
"I'll reach out to the specialists you mentioned," Will continues. "And there's a rehabilitation center in Switzerland that's had promising results with—"
Footsteps in the hallway.
I freeze.
Will's eyes meet mine. He understands immediately. No one can know about this. Not yet. Not until I have something real to show them.
I wheel myself away from the parallel bars, positioning myself near the window like I've been sitting here the whole time. Will tucks his clipboard under his arm and moves toward the door.
A knock.
"Come in," I call out.
The door opens. Kristen stands in the doorway, her expression apologetic.
"I'm sorry to interrupt," she says. "But someone has been asking to see you."
Before I can respond, a small figure pushes past Kristen's legs and barrels into the room.
Lily.
She's wearing a purple dress with unicorns on it, and she's clutching a stuffed rabbit that's seen better days.
"Bruno!" She runs straight toward me without hesitation. Without fear. Without any of the careful distance that everyone else maintains around my wheelchair.
She crashes into my legs and wraps her small arms around my knees.
"I missed you," she announces.
Something cracks open in my chest.
"I'll leave you two alone," Kristen says. She touches Will's arm, guiding him toward the door. "Come on. Let's give them some privacy."
Will nods at me once before following Kristen out. The door clicks shut behind them.
And then it's just me and Lily.
She pulls back from my legs and looks up at me with those big eyes. "Can I sit with you?"
I don't answer with words. I just reach down and lift her onto my lap. She weighs almost nothing. A feather. A breath.
She settles against my chest like she belongs there.
"Mommy said you were busy," Lily says. "But I told her I wanted to see you anyway. She said I had to ask nicely."
"Did you ask nicely?"
"I said please three times." She holds up three fingers to demonstrate. "That's a lot of pleases."
"It is."
She fidgets with the ear of her stuffed rabbit. "Are you still sad?"
"What makes you think I'm sad?"
"Your face." She reaches up and touches my cheek with her small hand. "It looks sad sometimes. Like when Mr. Bunny got lost and I thought I'd never find him again."
I don't know what to say.
Lily continues without waiting for a response. "But then Mommy found Mr. Bunny under the couch. So I wasn't sad anymore." She pauses, considering. "Maybe someone will find your happy under the couch too."
"Maybe," I say.
She nods, satisfied with this answer. Then she shifts on my lap, making herself more comfortable.
"Can you tell me a story?"
"What kind of story?"
"A princess story. But with dragons. And the princess has to be brave, not just pretty. Pretty is boring."
"Pretty is boring," I repeat.
"Uh-huh. Mommy says I'm pretty AND brave. That's better."
"Your mommy is right."
Lily beams at me.
I remember the first time I met her. Kristen had just started working for the family, and she'd brought Lily to the compound. I was in one of my darker moods that day. Snapping at everyone. Pushing people away.
Then this tiny tornado had wandered into the hallway where I was brooding and asked me why I was sitting in a "special chair."
I'd told her my legs didn't work properly.
She'd considered this for a moment, then asked if she could sit in my lap so her legs could rest too.
No pity. No awkwardness. No careful tiptoeing around the subject.
Just simple acceptance.
She'd made me feel normal that day. Like I was just a person, not a broken thing everyone had to handle with care.
She still does.
"Once upon a time," I begin, "there was a princess who lived in a castle made of stone."
Lily settles deeper against my chest, her rabbit tucked under her chin.
"Was she brave?"
"The bravest."
"Good. Keep going."
So I do.
I tell her about the princess who refused to wait for rescue. Who learned to fight dragons herself. Who discovered that the monster everyone feared was actually just lonely and misunderstood.
Lily listens with rapt attention, occasionally interrupting to ask questions or offer suggestions. The dragon should be purple, she decides. And the princess should have a pet wolf.
I incorporate every suggestion.
By the time I finish the story, Lily's eyes are drooping. She fights sleep the way all children do, insisting she's not tired even as her words start to slur together.
"That was a good story," she mumbles.
"I'm glad you liked it."
"Bruno?"
"Yes?"
"I'm glad your legs don't work."
I go still. "Why?"
"Because then you have to sit down. And when you sit down, I can sit with you." She yawns. "Standing people are too tall. I can't reach them."
Something burns behind my eyes.
I pull her closer and rest my chin on top of her head.
"Go to sleep, piccola."
She does.
Antonella
I stare at my phone for ten minutes before I finally pick it up.
Gianna's contact photo looks back at me. It's from last summer, before everything fell apart. She's laughing at something, her hair blowing across her face. She looks happy. Carefree.
I haven't called her again.
Not because I don't miss her. I miss her so much. But every time I think about calling, I imagine her voice asking how I am. Asking if I'm okay. Asking about Bruno and the marriage and this new life I've been forced into.
And I know I won't be able to lie to her.
Gianna has always been able to read me. Even when we were kids, she could tell when something was wrong just by looking at my face. She'd crawl into my bed at night and demand I tell her what was bothering me.
If I call her now, she'll hear it in my voice. The exhaustion. The confusion. The way I'm barely holding myself together.
She'll worry. She'll want to help. And there's nothing she can do from Chicago except feel helpless and scared for me.
I don't want that for her.
But I also can't keep avoiding her forever.
I press the call button before I can talk myself out of it.
The phone rings once. Twice.
"Nella?"
Her voice sounds wrong. Thick. Like she's been crying.
"Gianna." I sit up straighter on my bed. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. I'm fine."
"You're not fine. I can hear it."
Silence on the other end.
"Gianna. Talk to me."
She takes a shaky breath. "It's Papa."
My stomach drops. "What about him?"
"He's not answering his phone."
I wait for more. When she doesn't continue, I prompt her. "Maybe he's busy. He's in New York for work, right?"
"He's been there for almost a week, Nella. And he hasn't called once. Not me, not Claudio. We've both tried reaching him dozens of times."
I close my eyes.
"At first I thought maybe he was just busy," Gianna continues. "You know how he gets when he's working. He forgets to eat, forgets to sleep, forgets everything except whatever deal he's trying to close."
"Right."
"But it's been days. And he's not just missing calls. He's ignoring them. I can see that he's reading my texts. The little checkmarks show up. But he never responds."
My grip tightens on the phone.
"Claudio tried calling from a different number yesterday," Gianna says. "Papa picked up on the second ring. But as soon as he heard Claudio's voice, he made some excuse and hung up."
"What excuse?"
"Something about being in a meeting. I hate this." Her voice cracks. "I hate that I'm even thinking it. But I think he's avoiding us because... because he's doing it again."
I don't say anything.
"Tell me I'm wrong," Gianna pleads. "Tell me I'm being paranoid. Tell me Papa wouldn't do that to us. Not after everything. Not after you—"
She stops herself.
Not after I married a stranger to save our family from his debts.
That's what she was going to say.
"Gianna."
"I know." She sniffles. "I know I'm probably overreacting. It's just... I have this feeling. This horrible feeling in my gut that something is really wrong."
I want to tell her she's wrong. I want to reassure her that Papa has changed, that he would never betray us again, that everything is going to be fine.
But I can't.
Because I have the same feeling.
"Have you talked to Claudio about this?" I ask instead.
"He doesn't want to believe it either. He keeps making excuses for Papa. Says maybe the phone connection is bad in New York. Says maybe Papa is just stressed about the new job."
"But you don't believe that."
"No." Her voice is small. "I don't."
Neither do I.
"Nella, what do we do? If Papa is gambling again... if he's racking up more debt..." She trails off. "The Sartoris already own everything. Our house. The business. Papa's accounts. What happens if he owes even more money?"
I don't have an answer for her.
"I'm going to ask Bruno," I say.
"What?"
"He must know where Papa is. What he's doing. The Sartoris are the ones who sent him to New York in the first place."
Gianna goes quiet for a moment. "You think he'll tell you?"
"I don't know." I push myself off the bed and start pacing. "But I have to try. If Papa is gambling again, Bruno would know. His family monitors everything."
"Claudio said he was going to ask someone from the Sartoris today too," Gianna says. "Maybe one of the brothers. Or that scary guy who came to our house."
"Nico?"
"I don't remember his name. The one who looked like he wanted to murder Papa."
That could be any of them, honestly.
"Good," I say. "If Claudio asks and I ask, maybe we'll get some answers."
"And if the answers are bad?"
I stop pacing. "Then we deal with it. Like we always do."
Gianna makes a sound that's half laugh, half sob. "I'm so tired of dealing with it, Nella. I'm so tired of Papa making messes and us having to clean them up."
"I know."
"It's not fair. And now he might be doing it all over again?"
"We don't know that for sure."
"But you think it's true. I can hear it in your voice."
I don't deny it.
"I'll call you later," I say instead. "After I talk to Bruno."
"Okay." She sniffles again. "Nella?"
"Yeah?"
"I miss you. I miss you so much it hurts."
My throat tightens. "I miss you too. I'll see you soon, okay? I promise."
"Okay. Love you."
"Love you too."
I hang up and stand there for a moment, phone pressed against my chest.
Then I head for Bruno's room.
I rehearse what I'm going to say in my head. Direct. Simple. No accusations until I know the facts.
Bruno, I need to ask you about my father.
Bruno, where is my father right now?
Bruno, is my father gambling again?
I reach his door. It's half-closed, not fully shut. Light spills through the gap.
I push the door open a few inches more.
The sight in front of me stops me cold.
Bruno sits in his wheelchair by the window. His face is turned down, focused on something in his lap.
Lily.
Kristen's daughter.
She's curled up on Bruno's lap like a cat, her head resting against his chest. Her eyes are closed. Her breathing is slow and even.
She's asleep.
And Bruno is stroking her hair.
His hand moves in slow, careful motions. Gentle. Tender. Like he's afraid of waking her. Like she's something precious that might break if he's not careful.
His face...
I've never seen his face look like this.
The hard lines are gone. The permanent scowl has softened into something almost peaceful. His eyes are half-closed, his lips slightly parted. He looks younger. Softer. Human.
He looks like a different person entirely.
I stand frozen in the doorway, unable to move. Unable to look away.
Bruno's hand stills on Lily's hair.
He looks up.
Our eyes meet.
For a long moment, neither of us moves. Neither of us speaks.
I watch something flicker across his face. Surprise. Then something else. Something that looks almost like shame.
Like I've caught him doing something he didn't want anyone to see.
Being gentle. Being kind. Being human.
Lily stirs in his lap, making a small sound. Bruno's attention snaps back to her immediately. His hand resumes its slow stroking, soothing her back to sleep.
I remain stuck in the doorway, watching the scene in front of me.
Watching this man I thought I understood reveal himself to be something far more complicated than I ever imagined.