Pietro's face has gone pale. Valentino pushes off the wall, his expression unreadable. And Nico?—
Nico stands.
He crosses the room, stopping directly in front of my wheelchair. Close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.
"Shut the fuck up," he says.
"Nico—" Valentino starts.
"No." Nico doesn't look away from me. His voice is quiet, controlled, but there's something dangerous underneath. "I've listened to this self-pitying bullshit for two years. I'm done."
"Get out of my face."
"Or what? You'll hit me?" Nico leans closer. "Go ahead. Prove me right. Prove that you're still the same angry, reckless asshole who cares more about his wounded pride than his family."
My hands curl into fists. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"I know exactly what I'm talking about." Nico's eyes bore into mine. "I thought Antonella was helping you. I thought maybe—finally—you were starting to pull your head out of your ass. But I was wrong, wasn't I? You're still the same. Still obsessed with the title. Still convinced that being Don is the only thing that matters."
"It's not about the title?—"
"Bullshit." Nico cuts me off. "It's always been about the title. About proving you're still the man you were before the shooting. About getting back what you lost." He shakes his head slowly. "You don't want to lead this family, Bruno. You want to prove you're not broken. And those aren't the same thing."
The rage builds in my chest, hot and suffocating. I want to hit him. Want to grab him by the throat and squeeze until he can't speak. Until he takes back every word.
"Nico." Valentino's voice is sharp. "Stand back."
Nico holds my gaze for another long moment. Then he steps away, returning to his chair like nothing happened.
I don't move.
Can't move.
Because somewhere underneath the fury, underneath the desperate need to prove him wrong, I hear the truth in his words.
And I hate him for it.
Antonella
I shouldn't be here.
The thought crosses my mind as I stand in the hallway outside Pietro's office, frozen in place. The door is open. Voices carry through—loud, angry, raw.
Bruno's voice. And Nico's.
I came because I heard shouting. Because something in Bruno's tone made my chest tight with worry. Because even aftereverything, even after the lies about my father and the push-and-pull that leaves me dizzy, I can't stop myself from caring.
"You don't want to lead this family, Bruno." Nico's voice cuts through the air like a blade. "You want to prove you're not broken. And those aren't the same thing."
I press my back against the wall, heart pounding. I shouldn't be listening. This is family business. Sartori business. I'm an outsider here, no matter what happened between Bruno and me in his bedroom.
But I can't move.
Silence stretches from inside the office. Heavy. Suffocating.
Then the sound of wheels on hardwood.
I push off the wall, but it's too late. Bruno appears in the doorway, his face carved from stone. His knuckles are white where they grip the armrests of his wheelchair.