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“You don’t have to—”
“I’m okay,” she interrupts gently. “Really.”
“Audrey.”
“Dante, focus on what you’re doing. I’ll be okay.”
There’s another pause. One that says my brother doesn’t believe her. Finally, he exhales.
“Fine.”
The conversation gradually shifts after that.
He tells us about the country he’s currently in, complaining about the weather and joking about the terrible coffee the locals keep insisting is good.
Audrey and I laugh, asking questions, soaking up every second we get to hear his voice.
“When are you coming home?” I ask hopefully. Dante has been away from us for two years now.
“I don’t know.”
“You always say that.”
“Because it’s always true.”
He chuckles. “I’ve still got a few things to sort out for Lorenzo before I can leave.”
Lorenzo. Not Father. He only calls him that.
I lean back against the bed, listening as he continues talking, and a familiar ache settles in my chest.
Dante has always been more than just our older brother. He’s been our protector.
Growing up, Dante was the shield standing between us and Lorenzo’s temper. Whenever Father raised his voice, Dante found a way to draw the attention onto himself. Whenever we made mistakes, he stepped in before Father could punish us too harshly.
He carried more than any son should have had to carry. Even when Mother was alive. Especially after she died.
He was always there. At least he tried to be. Father rarely allowed him to stay in Rome for long. There was always another business to build. Another deal to be negotiated. We’ve learned to treasure phone calls like this because we never know when the next one will come.
After we end the call, the room feels quieter as I help Audrey out of her dress.
“Careful,” she mutters. “If Papa sees a wrinkle, he’ll get pissed.”
I snort. “He’d find a way.”
She laughs softly as she slips into a silk robe, then carries the gown over to the closet and hangs it.
While she’s occupied, I drift toward the French doors. Morning sunlight pours through the glass, warming my skin as I look out over the courtyard.
The Moretti estate looks almost magical in the morning.
Ancient limestone stretches across the sprawling mansion, its ivy-covered walls glowing beneath the Italian sun. Marble fountains sparkle in the center of the courtyard, surrounded by neatly trimmed hedges and blooming white roses. Workers hurry back and forth.
My mind drifts to Luca. He still hasn't responded to the text I sent him this morning. I really wish he'd tell me what's going on with him. I can't bear the thought of losing him.
I love Luca. I’ve loved him for over a year. Only Audrey knows about us.
We’ve kept our relationship hidden from everyone else, especially Papa.
