Chapter 5

Tony did not answer, instead sitting in front of his father's desk as if he were at a business meeting. Blood flowed from his lips down his white shirt, but he maintained a cocky expression. I punched him again. My knuckles were cracked with pain, but Tony, as arrogant as he was, took in it without saying anything. He was one of those people who believed he was above feeling pain. But I'd make sure he felt something before I left. Sunlight got into Ricardo's office, revealing the dust in the air. All of the guests had left, and it was evident that the lunch was a failure. It simply meant more meaningless gatherings in the future. Neither of the families desired a major event where tensions could cause chaos, especially with women and children present. Luca guarded the door, his gaze fixed on Tony's back. Benito leaned against the wall with a younger relative, arms crossed, and Ricardo sat at his desk, looking tired. If I chose, I could spark a war over Piero's death. Ricardo understood, and he agreed. Also, his daughter's life had been threatened due to his son's foolishness, so he didn't have much of a choice.

“You messed up, son,” Ricardo said, resting his hands on the wooden desk. “I warned you, but you caused trouble anyway. If something had happened to Milene, you’d be floating in the Hudson by now. Consider yourself lucky.”

“Lucky,” Tony repeated with a smirk. He rubbed his jaw, then muttered, “Left.”

Satisfaction filled my chest.

Right it is.

“There are three sides to every story. Mine, yours, and the truth.” I walked down the carpeted hall, hearing the faint beat of the noise coming from my sister’s room. Once in my own room, I dropped my clothes on the floor and headed straight for the bathroom. Avoiding the mirror, I turned the shower on full blast and stepped under the hot spray. It hurt. I needed to wash away what had happened today. It reminded me too much of six months ago when I watched someone get killed. Hot water ran down and I watched it flow down the drain, imagining it as red paint, as if I could wash away guilt that easily. I closed my eyes. Screaming. Cold hands around my throat. A few seconds of hesitation

Bang. My eyes flew open. That gunshot had not entered my head. A shiver went down my neck. Hopefully, Tony just broke another one of Nonna's vases. For the first time, I considered the potential consequences of Tony's actions following today's disaster. I hurried out of the shower, quickly dried off, and changed into a T-shirt and shorts. I rushed down the steps, barefoot and cold on the marble floor. As I turned toward father's office, I bumped into something huge.

I screamed almost falling to the floor from how fast I'd been racing, but an arm wrapped around my waist and kept me stable. It was warm and forceful. "Jesus," Salvatore said, angry. My stomach flipped as it rubbed against him, sending a strange buzzing feeling through me. Before I could think more, he let me go, and I watched him walk down the corridor. His underboss came by, cold and indifferent, and I was glad to see Salvatore instead. My waist still felt warm where his arm had been, and my pulse beat from the impact and the concern I was experiencing. "Did you hurt my brother?"

"Should have," Salvatore said as he and his underboss left the front door. I breathed with comfort but it did not last long. Tony stumbled out of Papà's office, as if he'd had too many drinks. He was shirtless, his dress shirt wrapped around his hand, and blood dripped on the marble floor. Tony was big and muscular, and he was covered in scars from two bullet wounds and other injuries. Probably from the unlawful fights I had heard he was involved in. He said nothing as he passed, so I followed him into the kitchen. Standing by the door, I saw him take a bottle of whiskey from the cupboard and try to open it with one hand. He held it against his chest and twisted off the top, took a long sip before sitting down on the island. "Go away, Milene." "You need to see Vito." He was our church's priest, and he knew how to stitch up wounds. Helping others was part of his job. "I'm fine." He took another big sip, some of which dripped down his shirt. He was clearly not fine. Blood had sprayed on the tabletop, and he appeared drunk before he even began drinking, as if something had broken his heart.

"I'll call Vito." I picked up the cordless phone from the desk near the pantry. Tony gave me a sad look. "I apologize, Milene. ‘ I really didn't expect things to go that far, I'll never do anything to hurt you purposely " . My chest tightened. "I forgive you." He gave a faint laugh. "You shouldn't." Tony normally had a cocky attitude, but when he smiled—really smiled—his guard dropped, and he appeared charming. I adored this part of my brother, despite the fact that I didn't see him often. It felt as if you had to be strong just to survive in this world. I had no idea why he'd killed whoever Piero was, but I decided to assume he had no other option. Tony had been drawn into this world from an early age, and while I felt trapped, so did he. "Can't help it," I said. He shook his head as I began dialing. "Do not call Vito. "I am fine." "You aren't fine, Tony. "You look terrible." His normally dark face was pale and soaked in sweat. "I'm fine, Milene." I sighed and put the phone back on the hook because he stated it in such a harsh tone. Even if Vito arrived, Tony would deny his assistance. He was simply too stubborn.