Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Bruno
Ten minutes pass in silence.
Antonella's head rests on my chest, her breathing slow and even. My hand moves through her hair. The ceiling above us holds no answers, but I stare at it anyway.
Her body fits against mine in ways I didn't expect. Soft where I'm hard. Warm where I've been cold for two years. She hasn't moved to leave. Hasn't pulled away. Just lies here, skin against skin, like this is normal. Like we do this every night.
We don't.
This is the first time I've had a woman in my bed since before the shooting. The first time I've wanted one. She saw all of it.
And she's still here.
"Bruno?"
Her voice breaks the silence. I grunt in response, not trusting words.
"How do you feel?"
The question makes no sense. "What?"
Antonella shifts, propping herself up on one elbow. Her green eyes find mine. That beauty mark above her lip catches my attention again. I want to kiss it. Want to trace it with my tongue. Want to—
"I'm asking how you feel," she says. "In general. What's going on in your head right now? What are you thinking about that you're not saying out loud?"
I stare at her.
"I don't—" The words stick in my throat. "I don't know how to answer that."
Antonella doesn't look away. Doesn't fill the silence with chatter. Just waits.
The pressure builds in my chest. Not panic this time. Something else. Something that wants out but doesn't know the exit.
"My head is..." I trail off. Try again. "There's too much. I can't separate it."
"Try."
One word. Soft but firm. A command wrapped in patience.
I close my eyes. Force myself to think. To actually examine the chaos instead of shoving it down like I always do.
What do I feel?
The first thing that surfaces is fear. Raw, ugly fear. Fear that she'll leave. Fear that she'll stay and I'll destroy her. Fear that this—whatever this is between us—will end the same way everything else in my life ends. In blood. In loss. In another person I care about taken from me.
But I can't say that. Can't admit that Bruno Sartori, the man who tortured someone three days ago without flinching, is terrified of a twenty-one-year-old woman with green eyes and a dimple.
"Confused," I finally say. "I feel confused."
"About what?"
About everything. About you. About why you're still here. About why you looked at me transferring to this bed and didn't flinch. About why you traced my scars like they were something worth touching instead of evidence of failure.
"About this." I gesture vaguely between us. "About what we're doing."
"We had sex, Bruno. That's what we did."
"I know what we did." My voice comes out sharper than intended. "I was there."
She doesn't react to my tone. Just keeps watching me with those patient eyes.
"Then what's confusing?"
I sit up, ignoring the protest in my muscles. The sheets pool around my waist. Antonella sits up too, pulling her knees to her chest, not bothering to cover herself. Comfortable in her nakedness in a way I'll never be.
"Two weeks ago, you were a stranger," I say. "A transaction. A test Pietro set up to prove I could be stable. You were supposed to be nothing."
"And now?"
Now you're everything.
The thought hits me like a bullet. I shove it down. Bury it. Refuse to examine it.
"Now I don't know what you are."
Antonella tilts her head. "Is that bad?"
"Yes." The word comes out before I can stop it. "It's bad because I don't do this. I don't let people in. I don't talk about feelings. I don't lie in bed after sex and have conversations about what's in my head."
"Why not?"
"Because there's nothing good in my head." I meet her eyes. "There's anger. There's violence. There's two years of wanting to die and being too much of a coward to do it."
The words pour out. I can't stop them.
"There's looking at you and wanting things I have no right to want. There's jealousy so strong I almost killed your best friend for hugging you. There's possessiveness that scares me because I've never felt it before. Not like this."
Antonella doesn't interrupt. Doesn't look away. Doesn't run.
"I feel like I'm drowning," I admit. "Like I've been drowning for two years and you're the first breath of air I've had. And that terrifies me because I don't know how to swim anymore. I forgot. Or maybe I never knew."
Silence stretches between us.
My chest heaves. I've said too much. Revealed too much. Given her ammunition she could use to destroy me if she wanted.
But she doesn't look like someone planning destruction.
She looks like someone who finally got the answer she was looking for.
Antonella reaches out. Her fingers brush my jaw. The touch is light, barely there, but it grounds me in a way nothing else has in two years.
"I don't know how to say no to people," she says.
The words don't make sense. Not after what I just admitted. Not after I laid myself bare in front of her like an idiot.
"What?"
"You said you don't know how to swim." She shifts closer, her knees pressing against my thigh. "I don't know how to say no. To anyone. Ever."
I stare at her. "You hung up on me. Our first phone call."
"That was different. That was anger." She shakes her head. "I mean the other kind. The kind where someone asks me for something and I give it even when I don't want to. Even when it costs me everything."
Her voice drops.
"My father asked me to sacrifice my future. I said yes. My sister needed me to be her mother. I said yes. My brother needed money he shouldn't have spent. I said yes." She meets my eyes. "I've been saying yes my whole life, Bruno. To everyone except myself."
The confession hangs between us. Raw. Honest. A mirror to my own admission.
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because we can make a deal."
I narrow my eyes. "A deal."
"I'll teach you to swim." Her lips curve into something that's almost a smile. "And you'll teach me to say no."
"You think I can teach you anything?"
"You're the most stubborn person I've ever met.
" She says it like a compliment. "You don't care what anyone thinks.
You do what you want. You say what you mean.
" Her hand drops from my jaw to my chest, palm flat against my heart.
"I need to learn that. How to want things for myself.
How to say no without feeling like I'm failing everyone. "
I should refuse. Should tell her this is a terrible idea. That I'll only drag her down with me.
But her hand is warm on my chest. Her eyes are steady on mine. And for the first time in two years, someone is asking me for something I might actually be able to give.
"Fine."
Antonella's smile breaks across her face. That dimple appears.
"Fine," she repeats. "We have a deal."
"Don't look so pleased with yourself."
"I'm very pleased with myself." She leans forward and presses a kiss to my jaw. Quick. Light. Gone before I can react. "Now. I need to see Gianna."
Gianna.
I forgot.
I forgot because Antonella was in my lap. Because her mouth was on mine. Because for a few hours, nothing existed except her.
Cazzo.
"Bruno?" Antonella's smile fades. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." I force my expression neutral. "I'll send someone to pick her up."
"Really?" Hope lights her face. "She can come here?"
"Yes."
"When?"
"Now. I'll arrange it."
Antonella's whole body relaxes. The tension I didn't notice she was carrying drains from her shoulders. She looks younger suddenly. Less burdened.
"Thank you." She squeezes my hand. "I know it's probably complicated. Having more people here. Security and everything."
"It's fine."
"Is it?" She searches my face. "I don't want to cause problems. If it's too much trouble—"
"Antonella." I cut her off. "I said I'll arrange it. I will."
She bites her lip.
"I just... I know my family is a burden. The debt. My father's gambling. All of it." She looks down at our joined hands. "I don't want to make things harder for you."
"Your sister isn't a burden."
"But—"
"She can stay here until your father gets back. However long that takes."
Antonella's head snaps up. "You mean it?"
"I mean it."
She throws her arms around my neck. The movement catches me off guard. I freeze, hands hovering uselessly at my sides, while she buries her face in my shoulder.
"Thank you," she whispers against my skin. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."
My arms move. Wrap around her waist. Pull her closer.
She's warm. Soft. She smells like sex and jasmine and something uniquely her. My hands spread across her bare back, feeling the ridge of her spine, the curve of her ribs.
This is dangerous.
This is exactly what I warned myself against.
But I can't let go.
"Gianna will be safe here," I say into her hair. "I'll make sure of it."
Antonella
I've been standing in the entrance hall for twenty minutes, watching the driveway through the tall windows. Every car that passes on the road beyond the gates makes my heart jump.
Gianna is coming.
I smooth down my sweater for the tenth time. Bruno arranged everything within minutes of my request. One phone call to Valentino, and suddenly my sister was being picked up from our family home and driven here. No questions, no negotiations. Just done.
The gates at the end of the driveway begin to open.
My breath catches. A black SUV rolls through. I press my palm against the cool glass of the window, watching the car approach. It moves slowly up the curved drive, past the manicured hedges and the fountain that never stops running.
The SUV pulls to a stop in front of the main entrance.
I'm already moving toward the door before the engine cuts off. My hand finds the handle, and I pull it open, stepping out onto the stone steps. All I can see is the passenger door opening.
Gianna emerges.
She looks smaller than I remember. Her dark hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, and she's wearing the oversized cardigan I gave her last Christmas. The one with the hole in the left sleeve that she refused to let me mend because she said it gave it character.
Her eyes find mine immediately.
"Nella!"
She runs. Her sneakers slap against the stone driveway, and then she's crashing into me, her arms wrapping around my waist so tight I can barely breathe.
The driver's door opens.
Valentino steps out, his tall frame unfolding from behind the wheel. He's dressed in his usual dark suit, his expression unreadable as he looks at me. Then his gaze shifts to Gianna, still clinging to me like I might disappear if she lets go.
Something flickers across his face. I can't name it. His jaw tightens, and he looks away, toward the house.
Without a word, he walks past us and through the front door. His footsteps echo in the entrance hall, then fade as he disappears deeper into the compound.
I don't have time to wonder about Valentino's strange behavior. Gianna is crying into my shoulder, her whole body shaking with sobs she's clearly been holding back for days.
"Hey." I stroke her hair, the familiar gesture coming back like muscle memory. "Hey, I'm here. I've got you."
"I thought—" She hiccups, pulling back just enough to look at my face. Her eyes are red-rimmed, mascara smudged beneath them.
"Breathe." I cup her face in my hands, wiping tears from her cheeks with my thumbs. "Just breathe, okay? I'm fine. I'm right here."
She nods, but more tears spill over. "I missed you so much."
"I missed you too." The words come out thick. I pull her back into my arms, holding her the way I used to when she was little and had nightmares. "I'm sorry I didn't call more. Things have been... complicated."
"Complicated how?" She sniffles against my shoulder. "Is your husband mean to you? Because Claudio said he'd kill anyone who hurt you, and I know he's not exactly scary, but I'd help him hide the body—"
A laugh escapes me. It sounds strange, almost foreign. "Bruno isn't mean to me."
"Then why do you sound weird when you say his name?"
"It's complicated," I say again.
Gianna pulls back, studying my face with the intensity only a younger sister can manage. "You look strange."
"Strange how?"
"I don't know." She tilts her head. "Less tired, maybe? But also more... something. I can't figure it out."
I take her hand and lead her toward the door. "Come inside. I'll show you your room, and then we can talk properly."
The entrance hall swallows us in cool air and marble silence. Gianna's eyes go wide as she takes in the chandelier, the sweeping staircase, the artwork on the walls that probably costs more than our childhood home.
"Holy shit," she whispers.
"Language."
"You're not Mom." But she says it without heat, still staring at everything. "Nella, this place is insane. Like, actually insane. There's a fountain outside. A real fountain. With water coming out of it and everything."
"I noticed."
"And that guy who drove me? Valentino?" She lowers her voice, even though we're alone. "He barely said ten words the whole drive. Just kept looking at me in the rearview mirror like I was going to steal something."
"That's just how he is."
"He's terrifying." She pauses. "Also kind of hot, in a scary way. Don't tell anyone I said that."
"Gianna."
"What? I have eyes." She squeezes my hand. "Where's your room? Can I see it? Do you have your own bathroom? Please tell me you have your own bathroom, because sharing with Claudio has been a nightmare since you left—"
I let her ramble. The sound of her voice fills the empty spaces in my chest, the ones that have been aching since I left home.
We climb the stairs together, and I point out landmarks as we go. The library where I spend most of my mornings. The dining room where the family eats breakfast. The hallway that leads to Bruno's wing, which I don't mention.
"This is you." I open the door to the guest room Giulia prepared. It's twice the size of Gianna's room at home, with a four-poster bed and windows overlooking the gardens.
Gianna stops in the doorway. Her mouth falls open.
"I could fit my entire bedroom in here," she says. "Twice."
"The bathroom's through that door. Giulia stocked it with everything you might need, but if you're missing something, just ask."
She turns to me, her expression suddenly serious. "Nella. What's really going on?"
"What do you mean?"
"Papa won't answer his phone. You married a stranger to save us. And now I'm staying in a mansion that looks like it belongs in a movie." Her voice wavers. "Something's wrong. I'm not stupid."
"Papa's working," I say. "He's busy establishing connections for the Sartoris. That's why he hasn't been answering."