Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
Antonella
The SUV rolls through Chicago's streets, and I watch the buildings blur past the tinted windows.
Bruno sits beside me. Silent. His jaw tight.
He told me we were going somewhere to discuss my request. Something about alternatives to a traditional job.
I didn't expect him to actually follow through.
Valentino drives, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. He hasn't spoken since we left the compound.
"Where are we going?" I ask for the third time.
Bruno's hand finds my knee. Squeezes. "You'll see."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting."
I huff and turn back to the window. The neighborhood changes as we drive. Smaller houses. Older buildings. Less wealth on display.
The SUV slows.
Stops.
I lean forward to see where we are.
A large brick building sits behind a wrought-iron fence. The architecture is old but well-maintained. A sign hangs above the entrance gate.
St. Catherine's Home for Children.
An orphanage.
I turn to Bruno. "What are we doing here?"
Bruno doesn't answer. Instead, he looks at Valentino in the rearview mirror.
"Get out."
Valentino's eyes narrow. "Excuse me?"
"Get out of the car. Give us a minute."
"I'm not your fucking chauffeur, Bruno." Valentino's accent thickens with irritation. "You want privacy, you should have brought Liam."
"Valentino."
"Cazzo." Valentino shoves open the driver's door.
He slams the door behind him.
Through the window, I watch him light a cigarette and lean against the fence, his back to us.
Bruno exhales slowly.
The silence in the car feels different now. Heavier.
"Bruno?" I shift to face him fully. "What's going on? Why are we at an orphanage?"
He doesn't look at me. His gaze is fixed on the building beyond the fence.
"I've kept a secret for many years," he says quietly. "From everyone. My brothers. My mother. The entire family."
My stomach tightens. "What kind of secret?"
"The kind that destroys people." His hands curl into fists on his thighs. "The kind that changes everything you thought you knew about someone."
I wait. Don't push. Don't breathe.
Bruno turns to face me. His dark eyes are haunted.
"Do you know how Lorenzo met his wife? Sophia?"
I shake my head. "Nora started to tell me, but we got interrupted."
"Before Sophia, Lorenzo was engaged to another woman." Bruno's voice is flat. Controlled. "Her name was Luna Torrino."
Luna.
The name means nothing to me. But the way Bruno says it—like it tastes bitter on his tongue—tells me everything.
"What happened to her?"
"She betrayed him." Bruno's jaw works. "She was working for an enemy family. Gathering intelligence through Lorenzo. Four of our soldiers died because of information she passed along."
I press my hand to my chest. "That's horrible."
"It gets worse."
I don't want to hear worse. But I need to.
"Luna wasn't just a spy." Bruno's gaze drops to his hands. "She was also having an affair. With my brother. Riccardo."
What?
Riccardo.
"Riccardo was having an affair with Lorenzo's fiancée?" The words come out strangled. "His own brother's fiancée?"
"Yes."
"Did Lorenzo know?"
"Not then." Bruno's hands shake. "He found out later. After Riccardo was already dead."
I try to process this. Try to fit the pieces together.
Lorenzo was engaged to a woman named Luna. Luna was a spy. Luna was also sleeping with Riccardo. Riccardo died. Lorenzo found out about the affair after.
"How did Lorenzo find out?" I ask.
Bruno's expression shutters. "That's a longer story. One we can discuss later." He pauses. "What matters now is what I'm about to tell you."
I nod slowly. Wait.
"Sophia and Luna are cousins."
My eyebrows shoot up. "Lorenzo's wife is related to the woman who betrayed him?"
"Yes." Bruno shifts in his seat. "Sophia needed help. She came to Lorenzo. The circumstances were... complicated. But that's how they met. How they fell in love."
"And Luna?"
"The Luna situation happened many years ago." Bruno's voice drops. "Before my injury. Before everything changed."
I sense there's more. Something he's building toward.
"Bruno." I reach for his hand. "Why are we here? At this orphanage?"
He doesn't pull away from my touch. But he doesn't hold my hand either.
"Because I'm telling you this for a reason." His dark eyes meet mine. "Luna gave birth to a child. Back then. Before she disappeared."
The air leaves my lungs.
A child.
"Whose child?" I whisper, even though I already know the answer.
"Riccardo's."
Oh God.
"Luna had Riccardo's baby?" My voice cracks. "Does Lorenzo know? Does anyone know?"
"No one knew she had a child." Bruno's jaw tightens. "No one knew she was alive. Everyone thought she was dead."
"But you knew."
"I knew."
The weight of that admission hangs between us.
Bruno knew. For years. He knew Luna was alive. He knew she had Riccardo's child. And he told no one.
"I've been sending money to her every month," Bruno continues. "Supporting her. The child. I forced Luna to stay away from Chicago. To never contact Lorenzo or anyone else in the family."
"Why?" The question comes out sharper than I intend. "Why would you keep this secret? Riccardo had a son. Your brother had a son."
Bruno flinches.
Actually flinches.
I've never seen him react to anything with such raw pain.
"I know." His voice is barely audible. "That's the thing I hate most about myself. The thing I will never forgive."
"Bruno—"
"I kept it from Riccardo." His hands curl into fists. "He never knew. He died never knowing he had a child. A son. And I could have told him. I should have told him. But I didn't."
The anguish in his voice cuts through me.
"Why didn't you tell him?"
"Because I was protecting the family." The words taste like ash, even secondhand.
"That's what I told myself. Luna was a traitor.
She'd gotten our men killed. If Riccardo knew about the child, he would have gone to her.
He would have claimed his son. And that would have destroyed Lorenzo. Destroyed everything."
"So you chose to protect Lorenzo over telling Riccardo the truth."
"I chose wrong." Bruno's voice breaks. "I chose wrong, and now my brother is dead, and his son is growing up without ever knowing his father. Without ever knowing his family."
I don't know what to say.
What can anyone say to that?
Bruno carries this guilt.
"After Riccardo died," Bruno continues, "I started supporting orphanages. Children's homes. Any facility I could find that helped kids."
I look at the building beyond the fence. St. Catherine's Home for Children.
"This is one of them?"
"One of many." Bruno finally meets my gaze. "I can't undo what I did. I can't bring Riccardo back. I can't give him the years with his son that I stole from him. But I can help other children. Other families."
Something clicks into place.
Lily.
"That's why you have such a connection with Lily," I say quietly. "Isn't it?"
Bruno's breath catches.
"She reminds you of what Riccardo's son might have been like. What he might have had."
"Lily is..." Bruno swallows hard. "She's innocent. Pure. She looks at me and doesn't see the monster. Doesn't see the wheelchair. Doesn't see any of it. She just sees someone who will tell her stories and let her sit on his lap."
"You're not a monster, Bruno."
"I kept a child from his father." His voice hardens. "I let my brother die without knowing he had a son. That makes me a monster."
"It makes you human." I squeeze his hand. "You made a terrible choice. An impossible choice. But you made it trying to protect your family."
"That doesn't make it right."
"No. It doesn't." I hold his gaze. "But it doesn't make you irredeemable either."
Bruno stares at me like I've grown a second head.
"You're not going to run?" he asks. "Not going to tell me I'm a horrible person?"
"Would it change anything if I did?"
"No."
"Then what's the point?" I shift closer to him. "You've been carrying this for years. Punishing yourself. Sending money. Supporting orphanages. Trying to make up for something that can never be made up for."
"It's not enough."
"It will never be enough." I cup his face in my hands. "That's the point. You can't fix this. You can't undo it. All you can do is live with it. And maybe, eventually, forgive yourself."
Bruno's eyes close.
"I don't know how to do that."
"Neither do I." I press my forehead to his. "But maybe we can figure it out together."
Bruno
Her forehead against mine.
Her hands on my face.
Her words in my ears.
Something cracks open in my chest.
I feel it now.
That pressure behind my eyes. That burning in my throat. That desperate, clawing need to release something I've held onto for so long it's become part of me.
No.
Not here. Not now.
I pull back from Antonella. Force myself to breathe. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. The way Will taught me during physical therapy when the pain became too much.
Antonella watches me. Those green eyes see everything. See too much.
But she doesn't push. Doesn't ask why I pulled away. Doesn't demand I explain the moisture I'm blinking back.
She just waits.
Patient.
Present.
"Bruno?" Her voice is soft. Careful. "What do you need?"
I need to not fall apart in the back of this SUV. I need to remember who I am. What I am. I need to lock this feeling back in its box and bury it so deep it never surfaces again.
But I can't.
Not with her looking at me like that. Not with her hands still warm from touching my face. Not with her words still echoing in my skull.
Together.
"I'm fine," I manage.
Antonella doesn't call me on it. She just nods slowly and glances out the window at St. Catherine's.
"So," she says, her tone shifting to something lighter. Something that gives me room to breathe. "What's my task?"
I blink. "What?"
"You brought me here for a reason." She turns back to me. "You told me about Luna. About Riccardo's son. About the orphanages you support." A small smile curves her lips. "I asked you for a job. For something to do. Something to earn."
Right.
The conversation from last night. Her request for independence. For purpose.
"You said you wanted to work," I say slowly.
"I did." She tilts her head. "Is this it? Is this what you had in mind?"
I look at the building beyond the fence. The children's home I've funded for three years. The place I've visited exactly twice because every time I come here, I see Riccardo's face in every child. See the son he never knew. The family he never had.
"If you want to do something," I say, "maybe you can start here."
Antonella's eyes light up. "Here? At the orphanage?"
"They always need volunteers." I force the words out past the tightness in my throat. "Help organizing clothes. Toys. Food donations. Administrative work. Whatever needs doing."
"You've done this before?"
"I've tried." I look away. "It's not easy for me."
The admission costs me. Admitting weakness always does. But Antonella doesn't pounce on it. Doesn't use it against me.
She just nods.
"You would do that?" My voice comes out rough. "You would come here? Work here? For me?"
"Not just for you." Antonella smiles. "For me too.
I told you I wanted something of my own.
Something to earn. This..." She looks at the building.
"This matters. These children matter. And if I can help them while also helping you carry this weight?
" She turns back to me. "That's exactly what I want. "
"Antonella—"
"I would love to do this, Bruno." Her smile widens. "I would absolutely love it."
Before I can respond, she leans forward.
Her lips press against mine.
Soft. Warm. Brief.
This is something else.
Something tender.
Something that makes that pressure behind my eyes surge back with a vengeance.
And then she does something worse.
She wraps her arms around me.
An actual hug.
Her body pressed against mine. Her arms around my shoulders. Her face buried in my neck. Her warmth surrounding me completely.
I freeze.
When was the last time someone hugged me?
Not a brief embrace.
An actual hug.
The kind that says I'm here and you matter and I'm not letting go.
I can't remember.
Antonella doesn't handle me with kid gloves.
She holds me like I'm whole.
My arms move without permission. Wrap around her waist. Pull her closer. Tighter.
She makes a small sound against my neck.
I just hold on.
The pressure behind my eyes builds. Burns. Threatens to spill over.
I bury my face in her hair. Breathe in jasmine and warmth and her.
And I hold on.
Because I've missed this.
God, I've missed this.
The simple human contact. The comfort of another body against mine. The feeling of being held instead of handled. Wanted instead of tolerated. Chosen instead of endured.
Antonella's hand moves to the back of my head. Her fingers thread through my hair. She holds me the way I'm holding her.
Like she needs this too.
Like she's been starving for it just as long as I have.
We stay like that.
In the back of the SUV.
Outside an orphanage I fund to ease my guilt.
Two broken people holding each other together.