25. Laney
LANEY
The door opened.
Massimo stepped through it alone, no men behind him, and the room went absolutely still.
My heart slammed against my ribs hard enough to hurt.
I'd told him to leave. I'd sent him away from my building in Rome, told him he'd promised never to become this, and he'd gone.
I thought that was the end of it. I thought I'd never see him again, or at least not like this, not when Enzo's men had guns and Nate was standing too close to me and everything was balanced on a knife edge.
But here he was.
He looked wrecked. His tie was gone, his shirt collar open, and there were shadows under his eyes I'd never seen before, not in ten years of marriage.
His hair was disheveled like he'd been running his hands through it for hours.
But he wasn't carrying a weapon. He wasn't flanked by soldiers or bodyguards or any of the men the family kept for situations exactly like this.
He was just himself, standing in the doorway like he'd walked straight through hell to get here.
Enzo's men shifted, hands going to their waists where I knew they kept their guns, but Enzo raised one hand and they stopped. He was watching Massimo with an expression I couldn't read, something sharp and measuring and almost curious, like Massimo had just done something unexpected.
Massimo's gaze found mine across the room.
His jaw tightened, and I saw him take in everything in one sweeping glance—Nate standing beside me, close enough to be protecting me or I him, I wasn't even sure anymore; the way Enzo was positioned between us and the door like a wall; the weapons Enzo's men carried; the bruise I could feel forming on my arm where one of them had grabbed me too hard.
He looked at me like he was trying to memorize every detail, like he thought this might be the last time he ever saw me.
God, I hated that look. I hated that he was here, that he'd come, that some part of me had wanted him to even though I'd told him to leave and meant it.
"Massimo," Enzo said. His voice was almost conversational, like they were meeting for coffee instead of standing in a locked room with guns and accusations between them. "You came."
Massimo didn't answer him. He stepped farther into the room, moving like he belonged there, like he had every right to be exactly where he was.
It was the way he'd walked into boardrooms for ten years, the way he'd moved through the palazzo when his father's associates were watching, the way he carried himself when he was being the eldest son.
Not arrogant. Not aggressive. Just certain, like the ground was solid under his feet and always would be.
He stopped in the center of the room and turned to face Enzo fully. They were maybe ten feet apart, close enough to hit each other if either of them moved, but Massimo's hands stayed loose at his sides.
"Let them go," Massimo said.
Enzo tilted his head, studying him like Massimo was a puzzle he was trying to solve. "Why would I do that?"
"Because I'm asking you to."
"You're asking." Enzo's mouth curved, not quite a smile, more like the ghost of something that might have been funny once but wasn't anymore. "Not ordering. Not threatening. Just asking."
"Yes."
The silence stretched out between them, thick and uncomfortable.
I realized I was holding my breath. My chest ached with it.
Nate's hand brushed mine, a brief touch that might have been accidental or deliberate, I couldn't tell.
I didn't look at him. I couldn't look away from Massimo, from the set of his shoulders, from the way he was standing there like he'd already decided how this was going to end and was just waiting for everyone else to catch up.
Enzo gestured at me, at Nate, sharp and dismissive. "She was unfaithful, Massimo. My man saw her at the doctor. She's carrying his child. Are you really going to stand there and ask me to let that go?"
Massimo's hands were loose at his sides.
No fists. No tension in his shoulders, nothing that looked like he was preparing to fight.
He looked at Enzo like they were the only two people in the room, like this was a conversation between brothers and nothing more, nothing heavier, nothing that could end with someone bleeding out on the floor.
"She wasn't unfaithful," Massimo said quietly.
"You can't know that."
"I know her."
Enzo laughed, short and bitter and sharp enough to cut.
"You don't know anything. You've been living in a fantasy, Massimo.
You married an American outsider, gave her our name, let her dig around in the dirt playing at history while the family laughed at her behind your back.
You thought keeping the peace with Mamma would protect her, but all it did was leave her alone.
And now she's gone to someone else, and you can't even see it. "
The words hit me like a slap. A tightness closed in my throat. Enzo wasn't wrong, not about the laughing or the loneliness or Massimo thinking peace would be enough, and hearing it said out loud like that made me feel small and stupid and furious all at once.
"She didn't," Massimo said. His voice was steady, certain, like Enzo hadn't just laid out the last ten years of our marriage in three sentences. "She wouldn't."
"Then ask her," Enzo said. He gestured at me again, sharp and impatient. "Ask her whose child it is. Go on. Make her say it to your face."
Massimo turned to look at me. His eyes were dark, unreadable, and I felt my throat go even tighter. He wasn't asking. He was just looking at me, waiting, like he already knew what I was going to say and was giving me the space to say it.
I wanted to protect Nate. I wanted to keep the child safe.
I wanted to get out of this room alive, all of us, and I didn't know if the truth would do that or make everything worse.
Enzo thought I'd been unfaithful. His men had guns.
Massimo was standing there alone with no weapon and no backup and nothing but his own certainty that I was telling the truth, and what if I said it and Enzo didn't believe me? What if this all went wrong anyway?
But Massimo was here. He'd come. He was standing in the middle of the room asking Enzo to let us go because he believed me, even though I'd sent him away, even though I'd told him he'd become exactly what he promised he wouldn't.
God, I was so angry at him. I was so angry, and I still wanted to protect him from this, from Enzo and the family and the truth of what our marriage had been.
But I couldn't. Not anymore.
"It's yours," I said. My voice came out hoarse, barely above a whisper, but the room was so quiet everyone heard it anyway. "The child is yours, Massimo."
His expression didn't change. He just looked at me, and I watched something settle in his eyes, something that looked almost like relief, like he'd been waiting to hear me say it and now that I had everything else could fall into place.
Enzo went very still. "What?"
"The child is Massimo's," I said, louder this time.
I looked at Enzo, not Massimo, because I couldn't stand to see whatever was on Massimo's face right now.
My hands were shaking. I curled them into fists at my sides to hide it.
"Nate is a friend. An old friend from university.
He came to Rome because I asked him to. I needed someone who wasn't part of this family, someone I could talk to who would just listen and not have an agenda. That's all. He's not—he was never?—"
"She's telling the truth," Nate said quietly beside me. "I'm just a friend. That's all I've ever been."
Enzo stared at me. Then he looked at Massimo, and his face did something complicated, something that looked like anger and hurt and betrayal all twisted together and sharpened to a point.
"You believe her," Enzo said. It wasn't a question.
"Yes," Massimo said.
"Just like that."
"Yes."
Enzo's jaw worked. A muscle jumped in his cheek.
"You broke with the family for her. You gave up the holdings, the boards, everything Papà built for you to inherit.
You walked away from all of it. And now you're standing here in front of me, no men, no weapon, no family name to threaten me with, asking me to let her go like I owe you something. "
"I'm not asking because you owe me," Massimo said. His voice was low, rough with something I couldn't name. "I'm asking because you're my brother."
The words landed like a punch. I saw Enzo flinch, actually flinch, and his hand shot out to grab the back of the chair beside him. His knuckles went white. He gripped it like it was the only thing keeping him upright.
"Your brother," Enzo repeated. The bitterness in his voice could have stripped paint off the walls.
"I've been your brother for thirty-four years, Massimo.
Where was that when you chose her over the family?
Where was that when you walked away from Papà, from me, from everything we were supposed to be together? "
"I'm here now."
"You're here for her." Enzo's voice cracked on the word, just slightly, just enough that I heard it. "Not for me. For her."
"Yes," Massimo said simply. He didn't try to soften it or dress it up or make it easier to hear. "I am."
He didn't apologize. He didn't try to explain it away or tell Enzo he mattered too or any of the things he could have said to make this less brutal.
He just stood there and admitted it, like it was the simplest truth in the world, and I felt something crack open in my chest that I absolutely could not deal with right now.
Enzo looked at him for a long moment. His face was doing things I'd never seen before, emotions flashing across it too fast to name.
Then he looked at me, and I saw the exact second he made his decision.
His shoulders dropped. His hand loosened on the chair.
He looked exhausted, like he'd been holding himself upright through sheer stubbornness and had finally run out of reasons to bother.