Page 148 of Pietro
"Pietro."
I blink, focusing on Nico. He's staring at me with an odd expression.
"What?"
"I said the doctor called me an hour ago." Nico's voice is careful. Measured. "About Bruno."
The table goes quiet.
"And?" My heart pounds against my ribs.
"He moved his fingers." Nico sets down his fork. "Both hands. The doctor says it's the first real progress since?—"
My mother's sob cuts him off.
She presses her napkin to her mouth, shoulders shaking. Aunt Francesca immediately moves to her side, murmuring in Italian.
"Mio Dio," my mother whispers. "Mio figlio."
I should go to her. Should offer comfort. But I'm frozen in my chair, Nico's words echoing in my head.
He moved his fingers.
Bruno. My brother. The one who should be sitting in my chair, leading this family. The one who's been trapped in his broken body for months while I've fumbled through being Don.
"That's wonderful news," Nora says softly.
My mother looks up, tears streaming down her face. "You don't understand. After Riccardo—" Her voice breaks. "I thought I'd lost both my sons."
"Mamma." Lorenzo's voice is gentle but firm.
She shakes her head, switching to rapid Italian. Words about Riccardo's funeral. Bruno's wedding that turned into amassacre. How she buried one son and watched another fade away in a hospital bed.
Vittoria reaches across the table to squeeze my mother's hand.
I feel Nora's gaze on me. When I look at her, there's understanding in her eyes. She knows what this means. Knows the weight of it.
Bruno moving his fingers means hope. Means possibility.
Means I might not have to carry this burden alone forever.
NORA
Grief follows me like a shadow.
The thought hits me as I watch Aria cry over Bruno's progress.
I'm sitting at this table, surrounded by a family that isn't mine, watching them process hope I can't fully share. I don't know Bruno. I can feel happy for them but I can't say that happiness is exactly what they feel about it. Losing a child and nearly losing another one, doesn't make happiness really exist.
You don't belong here.
I push the thought away and try to focus on Aria. She's wiping her eyes, switching back to English.
"I'm sorry." She dabs at her cheeks with the napkin. "It's just been so long since?—"
"You don't need to apologize," I say quietly. "You've been through hell."
Aria looks at me.
