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"So you stole from us instead," I state flatly. "Fromme. From Luca. From the fucking Volkovs."

"I borrowed distribution channels," he corrects, finally taking a sip of wine. "Created alternate pathways. Found efficiency where you and Luca saw only territory to fight over like some kind of pissing contest."

Rage coils in my stomach, serpentine and cold. "You cost me millions. You froze my accounts. You nearly destroyed everything I've spent years building."

"I freed resources that were wasted in your feud with Luca," he counters, a flash of defiance breaking through his careful mask. "I built something of my own. Something neither of you could take from me."

"And look where that got you," I gesture to his disheveled appearance. "Hiding from the Volkovs. Running from me. Disowned by Luca."

"I made mistakes," he admits. "Miscalculated certain factors."

"Like the Volkovs kidnapping Antonio Castellano." My voice drops dangerously, the touchiest part of his betrayal finally surfacing to the tip on my tongue. "Like them torturing him for information aboutyouroperation. Like them murdering Antonio Sr. in retaliation."

The wine glass nearly shatters in my grip as I remember Francesca's face when we told her about her father's death. That haunted look in her eyes.

Guilt flashes across Nico's features, but it'll never be enough to forgive the pain in my wife's eyes that day.

"I never intended for Antonio to be involved. That wasn't part of my plan. When I approached him, I was offering a legitimate business opportunity."

"Your 'plan' got people killed, Nico," I snap, my control slipping. "It put my wife's family in danger. It put a bullet inmyshoulder."

His gaze sharpens at the word 'wife,' studying me with new intensity. "I've heard rumors about your blood oath with the Castellano princess. I didn't believe them until now."

"Believe it," I confirm, the tightness in my voice a warning. "She's mine in every way that matters. And you endangered what's mine."

Silence falls between us as Nico digests this information, reassessing his position, recalculating his approach.

Always the tactician, our youngest brother.

"You know, Dante," he says finally, swirling the wine in his glass. "Tomorrow is the anniversary."

My hand tightens around my glass. "I'm aware."

"Sixteen years since Mom died on those cathedral steps."

The memory flashes unwelcome behind my eyes. Elena, beautiful and terrified, blood blooming across her chest. The sound of gunfire echoing off ancient stone. My father's voice, unnaturally calm, ordering me to move her body, to clear the scene before authorities arrived.

The warmth still lingering in her flesh as I dragged her away, her blood soaking into my school uniform. The weight of her head lolling against my shoulder as I carried my mother like a broken doll.

"Why bring this up now?" I ask, my voice rough with suppressed emotion.

Nico leans forward, eyes suddenly earnest. "Because, with everything going on, I think we should be there. Together. All three of us." He pauses and look to the ground. "It might be the last chance we get."

The truth of Nico's words hits me right in the chest.

He's right.

Thiswillbe the last time. The very last time that all three of Elena Ravelli's sons will stand together at her grave.

After tomorrow, after what I have planned for Luca, there can be no going back.

I study Nico's face in the dim cellar light, searching for any hint of manipulation. But all I see is that same lost look he wore when Father first brought him to the mansion after his mother died.

That raw need to belong somewhere, to someone.

"You really want me to stand beside Luca?" Skepticism colors my tone. "After everything?"

"NotforLuca," Nico presses. "For Elena. For the woman who raised us all as her own. One day of peace to honor her memory." He hesitates, then adds, "Luca will be there. We should stand together as brothers, just this once."