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My throat tightens at his hand. From where he had been shot yesterday. I almost forgot about that, consumed with thoughts of Vieri.

“It’s because of me, right?” I ask. “I’m sorry.”

He reaches out and takes my hands in both of his, warm and steady. His fingers are gentle around mine, but I notice the tension in his shoulders.

“Nonsense,” he says, brushing his thumb lightly over my knuckles. “Don’t say that. Come on—come have breakfast with us. You look like you could blow away in the wind.”

I hesitate, but he tugs gently, coaxing me toward the stairs.

“I was so worried,” he murmurs. “Oh my God… I thought you were gone.”

I don’t know what to say. I don’t think I can say anything. But I let him lead me.

The dining room opens up slowly around the corner, warm light spilling in through tall windows. At the long table, Alfio and Omero sit with plates already half-finished between them.

Alfio’s face lifts first. His bruised eye is vivid—violet bleeding into yellow—but his smile is there.

“Well, look who made it out of the dragon’s den,” he says.

Omero glances up next. “Thank God you’re alive,” he says.

Alfio chuckles under his breath. “Vieri made sure of it.”

I glance at Alfio’s eye and my stomach twists again. He also got this yesterday. Another person that I haven’t noticed with Vieri hounding my every sense.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur.

He waves me off. “Don’t be. Not your fault he decided to punch the guards at Lapo’s gate like a lunatic.” He pauses. “Though I do wish he’d done it after they let us in.”

Enzo pulls a chair out for me. I sit slowly, my body stiff, unsure if I’m intruding or being welcomed. But Omero reaches across the table and sets a spoonful of scrambled eggs on my plate. Alfio pours tea into the empty cup beside me.

I look at the tea, then at them. “Thank you.”

“You eat,” Enzo says, nudging a slice of bread toward me. “You’ll feel better.”

I nod. The eggs are warm. Soft. I chew slowly, quietly. No one pushes me to talk.

Enzo taps the table lightly. “Anyone heard from Riccardo?”

Alfio lets out a breath through his nose. “No.”

Omero shakes his head once. “He left before dawn. Didn’t say where he was going.”

“He does that,” Omero mutters. “When he’s pissed.”

I look down at the eggs again, push them gently with my fork. I don’t ask what Riccardo was angry about. I already know. My existence has always annoyed him.

“I said she can’t be here!” one of the guards yells from outside and the front door slams open. A woman’s voice cuts through the house.

All three of them freeze. Enzo rises instantly, his hand brushing my shoulder as he steps in front of me. Omero is already halfway to the window. Alfio gets up slowly, wiping his mouth with a napkin as a woman steps into the room.

Her body is full, like mine. But she wears her curves like weapons. She has on a fitted short red dress and her hips move like she wants them watched. Her thighs glide past one another in tall black boots. Her chest strains proudly against the sweetheart neckline, and there’s a cut just low enough to make sure no one misses it. Reddish curls bounce around her face, glossier than mine, styled to fall just right. I see it immediately—how similar she is to me.

And how utterly different.

Omero glances at her. Then at me. Then back again, eyebrows lifting. I catch Enzo’s quick frown—he sees it too. The resemblance.

Two guards try to block her path. “Ma’am,” one says sternly, “you can’t be here.”