So I learned. Adapted. Figured out how to do everything myself because I refuse—refuse—to ask for help. Not until I'mready. Not until I can stand on my own two feet and look my brothers in the eye without this chair between us.
I swing my body toward the bed. The movement is smooth now. Some months ago, I would have fallen. Cracked my head on the nightstand. Laid there like a broken thing until someone found me.
Not anymore.
My hands hit the mattress. I drag myself up, muscles screaming, and pivot until I'm sitting on the edge of the bed.
The doctors say I might never walk again. Might. They love that word. Covers their asses when they're wrong. Gives them an out when they don't want to commit to anything.
Fuck their might.
I grab my right thigh. Dig my fingers into the muscle. There's sensation there—not much, but more than last month. More than the month before. The nerves are waking up. Slowly. Painfully. But they're waking.
The physical therapist says the same thing every session. The body wants to heal. You just have to convince it you're worth the effort.
I'm worth the effort.
I have to be.
Because I will stand again. I will walk into that study and take back what's mine. I will be Don of this family, and I will do it on my feet, not in this fucking chair.
Whatever the doctors say.
I swing my legs onto the mattress.
The ceiling stares back at me. White. Blank. Empty.
Like my future.
Marriage.
The word sits in my chest like a stone. Heavy. Cold. Immovable.
Pietro wants me to marry one of Romano's daughters. Some girl I've never met. Some stranger who'll look at me in this chair and see exactly what everyone else sees.
A broken man.
A burden.
A fucking tragedy.
I close my eyes.
This is how it works. This is how it's always worked. The Don needs stability. The Don needs a wife. The Don needs to project strength, family, legacy.
Bullshit.
All of it.
Riccardo didn't marry Ava because he needed stability. He married her because he wanted her. Because he looked at her and saw something worth keeping. Something worth protecting. Something worth building a life around.
I remember their wedding. Riccardo's face when Ava walked down the aisle. The way his whole body changed. Shoulders dropping. Jaw unclenching. Like he'd been holding his breath for years and finally remembered how to exhale.
He loved her.
Really loved her.
And Pietro. My brother who swore he'd never settle down. Who burned through women like cigarettes. Who kept everyone at arm's length because getting close meant getting hurt.