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“You left us with a chair no one wanted to move, a father who died viciously, and a brother who stood at a gate for two years because he believed in you more than you deserved.”

Alessio.

I had carried his absence without knowing the shape of it. Now Tone had given it hands, feet, a place to stand.

My throat closed.

“I hope it hurts,” she whispered. “I hope it hurts every day until you finally understand that your absence may have brought you peace. But it did nothing but destroy us. And you will have to live with that for the rest of your miserable life!”

“Antonella,” someone warned in a low voice.

One word, spoken low. The fury did not vanish. It only drew breath.

Tone did not turn at first. Her eyes stayed on me, bright and savage.

“I hope it hurts,” she hissed. “I hope it finds you in every quiet room. I hope it sits beside you every time you tell yourself leaving was your only option.” Her voice broke, and the sound was small enough to do damage. “Because whatever peace you bought with your absence, we’re the ones who paid for it.”

Then the tears came. She looked furious with them.

Archie moved in behind her, careful and certain, one hand settling at her waist, giving her somewhere to fall if she needed it. For a second, she resisted. Then her body gave one hard shudder, and she leaned into him.

My gaze dropped to his hand on my sister’s waist. To the way his thumb moved once, steadying her. To Tone’s fingers gripping his sleeve as if she hated needing him yet gave herself up to him anyway.

I didn’t know this man. But he knew how to fix what I had broken. That was another wound I hadn't expected.

I stood there with my hands empty, my sister crying in another man’s arms, and every dead person in this house suddenly crowded into the space between us.

Then the front door opened behind them. A child burst out of the house before anyone could stop her. Small, with light curls. She was wearing a yellow jumper and her boots were hitting the stone at dangerous speed. She came down the steps with the full confidence of someone who had never met caution and did not intend to start now.

Tone turned. “Marigold.” The child ignored her.

“What is happening here?” she demanded, stomping one foot. The way her mother used to stomp her heels. “Why is everyone standing outside like someone died again?”

The little girl’s gaze landed on me. She stopped halfway down the steps, studying me with open suspicion.

“Who’s that?”

No one answered fast enough.

Raze smiled. “That’s your Uncle Demi.”

Every adult froze, anticipating her reaction.

Marigold’s face lit with immediate, catastrophic purpose.

“Uncle?”

“Marigold, wait,” Tone snapped.

The child launched herself off the last three steps.

She didn’t jump, she launched. A small, furious comet in yellow wool.

I caught her because instinct did what grief could not. Her knees hit my ribs. Her arms wrapped around my neck. The impact drove the air from my lungs and sent me staggering back a step before I found my footing once again.

Adriana made a soft sound behind me.

Marigold clung harder.