Nico goes still.
"Yes, he's difficult." I press on, the anger building in my chest. "Yes, he pushes people away. Yes, he's angry and bitter and impossible to deal with. But do you know why?"
"Enlighten me." Nico's tone drips with sarcasm.
"Because he's in pain." I step closer, close enough to see the muscle jumping in his jaw. "Because every single person in this house knew him before. Knew him when he could walk. Knew him when he was the golden boy, the perfect brother."
Nico's eyes narrow. "And?"
"And now he can't stand it." My voice cracks, but I keep going. "He can't stand that you all look at him and see what he used to be. He can't stand that he's become a problem to be managed instead of a brother to be supported. He can't stand that every time he fails, every time he falls short, he's proving everyone right."
"You don't know?—"
"I know what it looks like when someone is drowning." The words come out fierce. Raw. "I know what it looks like when someone is so desperate to prove they're still worth something that they'll destroy themselves trying. I've watched it happen before. With my father. With my family. And I'm watching it happen again with Bruno."
Nico stands.
He's taller than me. Broader. His presence fills the space between us, intimidating and cold.
"You weren't here." His voice is quiet now. Dangerous. "You weren't here for the past eighteen months. You didn't watch him wake up from that coma. You didn't see him realize he couldn'tmove his legs. You didn't hear him screaming in the middle of the night, or watch him refuse to eat for days, or find him staring at his gun like he was deciding whether to use it."
My breath catches.
"You don't know what we've been through." Nico's eyes bore into mine. "You don't know what this family has sacrificed to keep him alive. So don't stand there and lecture me about helping him. Don't pretend you understand something you've only seen the surface of."
"Nico." Valentino's voice cuts through the tension. "That's enough."
Nico ignores him. His gaze stays locked on mine.
"Get out of this office." The words are soft. Final. "Now."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Bruno
The gym is empty.
I grip the parallel bars and my arms shake. My jaw aches from clenching. Every muscle in my body screams for release—for violence, for destruction, for something to break beneath my hands.
Nico's words echo in my skull like gunshots.
I pull myself up from the wheelchair. My legs tremble beneath me. Weak. Useless. Dead weight that refuses to obey.
And those aren't the same thing.
"Fuck." The word tears from my throat.
I stand. One second. Two. Three.
My right leg buckles.
I catch myself on the bars, arms straining, breath coming in ragged gasps. Sweat drips down my temples. My heart pounds against my ribs like it's trying to escape.
Four seconds. Five.
My left leg gives out.
I crash back into the wheelchair, the impact jarring my spine. Pain shoots through my lower back.