Page 90

When I blink again, light is pressing against my eyelids, too bright to be real. My chest aches, my throat is dry. I let out a low breath and force my eyes open.

Everything is blurry at first. The ceiling above me is high and carved in elegant molding. My fingers move under soft linen. I push myself up, slowly, my muscles protesting with every twitch. I’m wrapped in a blanket. My skin no longer stings and when I look down, I realize my dress is gone. I’m wearing an oversized white shirt that drapes over my thighs. My wounds are cleaned.

I know this room. My eyes fall to the inner chamber.

A strange heaviness settles in my stomach. The door creaks open and I stiffen immediately, eyes wide and breath caught in my chest. But it’s not him.

It’s Enzo.

He walks in slowly, shirtless, a wine-red mark still blooming on the side of his face. His eyes meet mine and soften. “Hey,” he says gently. “You’re awake.”

I nod, my voice caught somewhere in my throat.

He comes to the bed, crouching down beside me. “How’re you feeling?”

“I… I’m okay.” My voice sounds distant. Hollow.

“You gave everyone quite the scare. You’ve been out for two days.”

I shift under the blanket, glancing toward the door. “I didn’t mean to be a bother.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t say that.”

“My brothers are outside. Alfio and Omero.” He pauses, then asks, “Can they come in?”

Everything inside me screams no. My pulse quickens. My throat clenches. But I nod anyway.

He rises and steps out. A moment later, the door swings back open and the two men step in, awkward and stiff in their movements.

Alfio scratches the back of his neck. “Hey.”

Omero stands with arms crossed, but his tone is neutral when he says, “We wanted to thank you.”

“For saving our lives,” Alfio mutters. “If you hadn’t said anything about the car…”

My fingers tangle in the sheets.

“How did you know?” Omero asks.

“I heard some men talking. I wasn’t sure but I needed to warn you guys.”

“You did good,” Enzo says from beside me.

“Did you hear anything else?” Omero adds.

I shake my head, looking down at my hands. “No. Nothing else.”

It’s another lie. I remember the name the men called. Bellandi, their uncle.

I mouth a quiet Mi dispiace in my head. I’ll confess it later. One sin at a time.

Alfio shifts closer. “You shouldn’t have run off like that.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

He nods. “Just don’t do it again.”

Then Omero tilts his head, curious now. “Tell us honestly… what is your relationship with our brother?”