"No tricks." I hold up my hands, palms out. "Just don't hurt anyone here. These are children. They have nothing to do with whatever this is."
"Move." He grabs my arm, fingers digging into the flesh above my elbow. "Now."
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Bruno
One second. Two. Three.
I count in my head, the numbers a steady rhythm against the trembling in my muscles. Valentino stands three feet away, arms crossed, watching without hovering. He knows better than to reach for me unless I'm actually falling.
Four. Five. Six.
The sensation in my legs has changed over the past weeks. What started as pins and needles, random sparks of feeling that came and went, has become something constant. Something real. I feel the cold floor beneath my bare feet. I feel the strain in my calves, the burn in my thighs.
Seven. Eight. Nine.
"Breathe," Valentino says.
I exhale. Didn't realize I was holding my breath.
Ten. Eleven. Twelve.
My right foot slides forward. It moves because I told it to move.
Thirteen. Fourteen.
My left foot follows.
Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen.
I think about Antonella. About the way she looked at me when I told her I wasn't angry about the pregnancy. The way her whole body relaxed, like she'd been bracing for a blow that never came.
My kid can't watch me seated in that chair. Can't grow up thinking their father is weak. Can't?—
I picture it. Standing at my coronation. Walking to Antonella. Holding my child in my arms while standing on my own two feet.
I've moved more than twenty-five steps. I can move more than that.
"Enough," Valentino says.
He's right. I get back into the wheelchair. I am really close now to become the man I used to be.
And all it needed was a woman. The woman.
Antonella made this. Not me. She didn't have to try. She just reminded me how different I was. And she doesn't even realise it, because she doesn't know how I was like.
A knock at the door.
Valentino's head snaps toward the sound. No one interrupts these sessions. Everyone in the compound knows that. Even Pietro doesn't come to this gym without warning.
"Stay there," Valentino says, already moving toward the door.
He opens it a crack, blocking the view with his body. I hear a woman's voice—Giulia. Her tone is strange. Tight. I sit.
Valentino steps back, and Giulia enters. She's holding an envelope. Her face is pale.
"A courier just arrived. He insisted this was urgent.