Valentino's eyes bore into mine. "Because if you're playing games with him, if you're using him for something, I will endyou myself. Slowly. Painfully. And no one in this family will stop me."
The threat hangs in the air between us.
I should be afraid. This man is dangerous. I've seen the way the guards defer to him, the way even Pietro listens when he speaks. He could hurt me. Kill me. Make me disappear.
But I'm not afraid.
I'm angry.
"I'm not playing games," I say. My voice is steady. "I didn't ask for any of this. Bruno is the one who keeps pushing me away and then pulling me back. Bruno is the one who doesn't know what he wants. So if you're looking for someone to blame for whatever is happening between us, maybe start with him."
I'm breathing hard by the time I finish. My hands are shaking.
Valentino stares at me for a long moment.
Then, slowly, the corner of his mouth twitches. Not quite a smile. But close.
"Good," he says.
"Good?"
"You have fire." He uncrosses his arms. "Bruno needs someone with fire. Someone who won't let him drown in his own darkness."
I don't know what to say to that.
Valentino turns and starts walking again. After a moment, I follow.
"He cares about you," Valentino says without looking back. "Whether he admits it or not. Whether he even understands it himself. He cares."
"How do you know?"
"Because he's terrified." Valentino glances at me over his shoulder. "Bruno doesn't get terrified of things that don't matter to him."
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.