I held her tighter, knowing that she was grieving the man that she’d once fallen in love with.
That house, those fathers, that mother, they’d all taken from each of these men from the day they’d been born and now there was nothing but pieces of them that we needed to rebuild.
I’d seen it in the dungeon when Brenno had found me; he’d told me his entire truth from the day they’d been sent away to their mother’s death, and it didn’t match Milan’s, not entirely. They’d solidified their emotions about one another on a misunderstanding, and I needed to fix that so Milan could live his life and so could they.
Before I could tell Bella about it, the door opened again and my sister stood there, looking more like a ghost than I thought possible for someone as loud and chaotic as Fiorella. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, and her hands tucked into her sleeves. Her eyes were puffy and red like she’d cried her heart out on the way here, like she did truly care about me.
“Fiore—” I began, but she shook her head and stepped inside.
“Don’t make yourself talk, Cily.” She sniffled. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
None of this had truly been her fault either—she was just a woman, and women always assumed the tension and theheartbreak and the blame. Fiorella Bianchi simply wanted to be loved and seen, and she’d found Brenno’s wandering spirit.
If Milan wasn’t bad, neither was Brenno.
Neither was Cesare.
None of this was Bella or Fiore’s fault. They were just women who thought it was.
Women were the people who blamed themselves for the actions of men.
Women were the people who acted like the villains when they were the victims.
Women were the people holding everything together.
“Stop it,” I whispered, causing them both to look up. “Stop thinking this is your fault.” I forced myself to sit upright even though my muscles protested and my head spun. “Your husbands’ choices are not your own. You arenothis puppet master. You are the only ones holding them accountable, and we need to do that now.”
“Do what now?” Fiorella asked quietly.
“Hold them accountable to each other. Whatever happened that led them to getting sent away to Stefano changed them, whatever happened to their mother that night changed them, and none of us know the real truth. We can’t help them unless they help themselves.”
Bella wiped her eyes. “What Milan told me was different to what Cesare and Brenno think happened. It made me wonder whether they hate him fornothing.”
It wasn’t in their nature to hurt, but it was in the nature of their hatred.
Milan had liked cars.
Brenno had loved his mom.
Cesare had always wanted his own family.
They’d been shown that these things cost, that they cost them their own safety.
“They need help,” I said quietly, swallowing the taste of blood in my mouth. “We need to help them to help us.”
“What do we do?” Fiorella sighed.
We were strong women, but even stronger together. We could be soft and kind, but that wasn’t what would fool the Lucca brothers into finding themselves again.
I wasn’t a god; I couldn’t control everything, couldn’t stop these men from acting in their hatred and violence, but I could ask, I could speak, and that alone was enough to help.
That alone was powerful.
I held their hands tightly, joining us as one. “Here’s what we’re going to do…”
29
SICILY
