Page 114 of Brutal Crown

But to me, it’s as real as it gets.

“I will never forgive you,” I say.

He nods once. “Forgiveness is a luxury I’ve never deserved. I’ve made peace with that long ago.”

He pauses. Then adds, almost too calmly, “Just play your part, Rosalia. There are bigger forces at work here. You’re a chess piece in something older and crueler than either of us. Stay where you are on the board, and you might survive the game.”

There’s a cold, quiet understanding that passes between us, one soaked in blood and burden.

I turn and leave without another word.

It’s nearlymidnight when I slip into the east wing. The halls are quiet, lit only by low golden sconces. My footsteps barelyecho against the stone floors, but an old grandfather clock in the distance ticks like a warning.

I easily find him.

The door to what appears to be a study is cracked open, and Francesco is seated inside. He’s leaning forward on the edge of his chair, elbows resting on his knees, a half-empty bottle of whiskey sitting on the table beside him. The light from the fireplace casts flickers of gold across his tired face.

He doesn’t look up when I enter.

“You chose to drink alone over coming down for dinner?” I ask, my voice breaking the silence.

“It’s better than sitting there, pretending that I don’t want you by my side.” His gaze lifts to mine, and the only thing I can recognize in his eyes is the exhaustion.

I walk in slowly, then lower myself into the chair across from him. The flames crackle quietly between us.

“Are you okay?”

“You should go back to your room before he starts looking for you.”

There he goes again, pushing me away. Like me standing right here isn’t enough for him to know how I really feel.

“You didn’t fight for me,” I say, almost too softly.

He exhales through his nose, his eyes dropping to the floor. “Lia…”

“You let them choose Marco for me. Let them put my life in his hands like it meant nothing. You let me face this nightmare alone. You did nothing. You said nothing.”

His jaw shifts, but he doesn’t speak right away. He runs a hand down his face, like he’s trying to scrub away the guilt.

“Because anything I said or did would have made it worse. For you. For the baby.”

“So you think you were protecting me by staying silent?” I ask, crossing my arms on my chest.

“Silence can be a way to survive. Sometimes.”

He blows out a heavy breath, running his free hand over his face.

“I am trapped too. I have been since I was born,” he says through clenched teeth. “Everything I do, every move I make, is being watched. La Mano Nera owns pieces of me that I can never get back.”

His voice is hoarse, and I feel my chest squeeze at how broken he sounds.

The fire continues to crackle in the air as we sit in a silence thick with everything we’ve buried.

“Do you ever wish you’d left?” I ask after a while. “Before this all swallowed you?”

Francesco gives a hollow laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t even remember what I wanted before I was plunged into the life I am in now. Dreams are for boys who aren’t born into war.”

The room is quiet for a while as I mull over his words.