Luca braced his hands on the edge of the bed, breathing through the pain.
He clenched his jaw. He would deal with Bastardi. He would deal with Vito.
But first, Veronica Scalese.
He straightened as much as his injured body would allow.
"I’ll have clothes brought." Marco sighed knowing Luca wasn’t going to listen.
By the time Luca eventually got to Vee’s apartment, his body was staging a quiet rebellion. His lungs burned, each breath shallow. The medication still swam in his bloodstream, blurring the edges of the world, turning the hallway into a narrow tunnel that pulsed with light.
His left hand dragged along the wall for balance, fingers brushing cold plaster. Pain bloomed with every step, a reminder that he had no business being upright. Still, he moved forward.
Because he needed to get to her. Now. He needed to look Veronica in the face and tell her the truth. It did not matter.
When he reached her door, he pushed it open. His eyes found her immediately.
Vee was sitting by the window, knees drawn up slightly, her body turned toward the glass. Beyond it, the mansion loomed. She was watching it. Was she waiting for him?
She turned at the sound of the door, and shock cracked across her face. She shot to her feet. "Luca..."
He should move. He knew that. He should cross the room, close the distance, gather her into his arms and let his knees give out if they must. But if he moved now, even an inch, he knew his body would betray him. He would collapse. So he stayed where he was, standing in the doorway, jaw clenched to keep the pain from spilling out in sounds.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, her feet rooted to the floor. She did not come closer. She did not step back. Instead, she built an invisible wall between them, brick by careful brick.
He saw it. God help him, he saw it clearly.
"Bambola..." he whispered. "Don’t do this."
"What?"
Luca winced. He took another step toward her anyway, pride dragging his injured body forward. His knee threatened to buckle. His vision flickered. He refused to acknowledge either.
Vee swore under her breath and rushed to him. "You shouldn’t be here, you stubborn knucklehead. What is wrong with you?" Her hands were suddenly everywhere, one at his elbow, the other braced against his chest. "Why are you here?"
He let her guide him to the nearest sofa, his weight sinking into the cushions with a low, involuntary groan. He slumped back.
"I should have told you," he said finally.
"What?"


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