"No."
"Then what's the point?" I shift closer to him. "You've been carrying this for years. Punishing yourself. Sending money. Supporting orphanages. Trying to make up for something that can never be made up for."
"It's not enough."
"It will never be enough." I cup his face in my hands. "That's the point. You can't fix this. You can't undo it. All you can do is live with it. And maybe, eventually, forgive yourself."
Bruno's eyes close.
"I don't know how to do that."
"Neither do I." I press my forehead to his. "But maybe we can figure it out together."
Bruno
Her forehead against mine.
Her hands on my face.
Her words in my ears.
Something cracks open in my chest.
I feel it now.
That pressure behind my eyes. That burning in my throat. That desperate, clawing need to release something I've held onto for so long it's become part of me.
No.
Not here. Not now.
I pull back from Antonella. Force myself to breathe. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. The way Will taught me during physical therapy when the pain became too much.
Antonella watches me. Those green eyes see everything. See too much.
But she doesn't push. Doesn't ask why I pulled away. Doesn't demand I explain the moisture I'm blinking back.
She just waits.
Patient.
Present.
"Bruno?" Her voice is soft. Careful. "What do you need?"
I need to not fall apart in the back of this SUV. I need to remember who I am. What I am. I need to lock this feeling back in its box and bury it so deep it never surfaces again.
But I can't.
Not with her looking at me like that. Not with her hands still warm from touching my face. Not with her words still echoing in my skull.
Together.
"I'm fine," I manage.
Antonella doesn't call me on it. She just nods slowly and glances out the window at St. Catherine's.
"So," she says, her tone shifting to something lighter. Something that gives me room to breathe. "What's my task?"