“Lorenzo, it hurts so much,” Sabina whimpered, her voice soft and frail, her weight folding against him on the cobblestones outside the theater the Family kept as a front.
He hesitated, torn between reaching for her and the fact that I was standing right there. His expression twisted into an uncomfortable mix of guilt and indecision.
I spoke first, breaking the silence. “If it hurts that badly, you should take her to a doctor. You wouldn’t want it to turn into something serious.”
My words surprised him. He wasn’t expecting me to be so calm, so understanding.
Lorenzo’s eyes softened as he reached for my hand. “I’ll take her to the clinic our people use and come back for you. Wait for me at the entrance, okay?”
“Sure,” I replied lightly.
He looked at me a moment longer, as though searching my face for anger, for reproach, for some crack he could pour his guilt into. But I stayed composed and gave him nothing. Finally he released my hand, scooped Sabina up into his arms, and walked off.
I didn’t wait. I wasn’t going to play the fool this time.
As I was leaving, my phone buzzed. Carla, my young associate from the operation.
“Vitale Adriana,” she said, the name spoken low the way the rules demanded, “we’ve got something gone wrong on one of the jobs and nobody can read it. Could you come look?”
Without hesitation, I went.
The hours moved fast while we worked the problem, and the sky was already paling when we traced the broken thread and stitched it clean.
The younger ones showered me with praise. “You’re a genius.”
And then, reluctant to let me go again, “Are you really leaving for the Council’s operation?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“But what about the wedding?” one of them asked carefully.
“Are you really okay with leaving?”
I paused. Then I smiled. “The Council’s work matters more.”
What I didn’t say was that, for Lorenzo, my presence or absence no longer seemed to matter at all.
This world keeps spinning, with or without me.
Dragging my exhausted body home, I opened the door and she was there again.
Sabina Greco.
She was wearing one of Lorenzo’s shirts, her bare legs beneath it as she came out of the master bedroom.
When she saw me, she didn’t even flinch. “Don’t misunderstand, Adriana,” she said easily. “By the time we left the clinic it was so late. I didn’t want to go home with my parents out of the city. Lorenzo was just being considerate. He didn’t want me alone while I’m hurt.”
Before I could answer, Lorenzo stepped out of the bathroom, hair damp from a shower. When he saw me, bracing for me to come apart again, his brow drew tight, readying himself for another fight.
“Adriana,” he sighed, “I don’t want to do this with you first thing in the morning.”
“She’s coming to work with me today and had nothing to wear, so I lent her a shirt.” His fingers found his glass on the counter and tapped against it, a low restless rhythm.
“It’s fine,” I cut in.
They both froze, thrown by how calm I sounded.
Lorenzo stared at me, disbelieving, as if my composure was harder to face than any accusation.
“She slept in the guest room,” he said quickly, getting ahead of it. “Don’t read into things.”
I interrupted again, my voice steady. “I’m not reading into anything. You two grew up under the same roof. The Greco house took you in. You’ve always seen her as a sister. You told me yourself the guest room is practically hers, open to her any time, that she doesn’t need my say to come by. I remember.”
Lorenzo faltered, the fight draining out of him. When he spoke again, his voice had gone softer.
“I’m glad you can see it that way. I really want you and Sabina to get along.”
Before I could answer, the bell rang. The courier I’d arranged.
Lorenzo finally noticed the boxes stacked clean and neat across the front room.
His expression darkened as he crossed to them.
“Adriana, what is this?” he demanded, his voice tight. “You don’t want any of the things I gave you?”
I opened my mouth to answer, but he reached into one of the boxes and lifted out a small music box. Inside, a tiny figurine turned. A bride in a white gown.
His hand trembled slightly as he held it up, and I saw his eyes redden.
“You’re throwing this away too?” he asked, barely above a whisper.
That music box was from years ago, back when we had nothing, back before he’d clawed his way up through the rackets to the rank he wore now. He couldn’t afford a grand gesture or a ring then. He’d given me that little box and promised, “One day, I will make you my bride.”
I had believed him. But reality gave me a slap across the face.
Love doesn’t work when there are three people standing in it. It was too crowded.
And I didn’t want to stay anymore.
