Chapter 28 A drink
The next morning, the villa was quiet. Even the sea outside seemed to move slower, as if holding its breath.
Sienna moved through the hall barefoot, her mug of coffee warming her hands. The night hadn’t been kind to her. She had dreamed again of the flashes of the storm, Dante’s voice, the way he’d looked at her when he said she shouldn’t care. She had told herself it was just exhaustion, that she was confusing sympathy with something else. But when the sunlight caught her reflection in the window, she barely recognized her own eyes. She looked tired, restless and full of something she couldn’t name.
She entered the kitchen expecting silence, but instead she found Luca at the stove, humming softly, the smell of butter and toast in the air.
“Morning,” he said over his shoulder, flashing her a grin. “You look like you’ve wrestled with ghosts.”
She smiled faintly, hiding her nerves behind the humor. “Just paperwork.”
“Ah,” he said, cracking an egg into the pan. “The invisible enemy always wins, doesn’t it?”
His easy warmth filled the space like sunlight. The villa had been so tense for so long that even small laughter felt like a relief.
“Sit,” Luca said, gesturing toward the counter. “Let me cook for you. It’s the least I can do. You’ve survived my brother longer than most.”
She laughed softly despite herself. “I don’t usually let patients’ family members cook for me.”
He turned, mock-offended. “Then think of this as a bribe for not quitting.”
Her smile faltered. “I’ve thought about it,” she admitted. “More than once.”
Luca tilted his head. “But you didn’t.”
“No,” she said quietly. “I didn’t.”
Something softened in his expression. “You’re good for him, you know. He won’t say it, he probably doesn’t even believe it yet but you are.”
She hesitated, unsure what to do with the compliment. “I think he’d disagree.”
“Oh, he would,” Luca said, flipping the eggs. “He’s allergic to gratitude, always has been.”
He slid a plate in front of her, simple eggs, toast, coffee. But somehow, it felt like more than breakfast. It felt normal, human and made with honesty. Something she hadn’t felt in weeks.
She took a bite, careful not to show how hungry she actually was. “Thank you, Luca.”
He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, studying her. “Can I say something stupid?”
She smiled warily. “That depends.”
He grinned. “You make this place lighter. I don’t know how you do it, but it’s nice to see him even if just for a second remember what it’s like to be alive.”
Her fork froze halfway to her mouth. His tone wasn’t teasing anymore. There was something almost vulnerable in it.
“Luca”
He waved a hand, smiling again to smooth it over. “Don’t worry, I’m not about to start a confession. Just don’t lose that light, okay? My brother doesn’t deserve it, but he needs it.”
Sienna opened her mouth to respond, but then she saw movement behind him, a shadow in the doorway.
Dante.
He stood there, silent with an unreadable expression. His gaze flicked from the plate in front of her to Luca, and back. His hands were clenched at his sides, the faintest tremor in his jaw the only sign of what he was feeling.
“Good morning, brother,” Luca said lightly, as if he hadn’t noticed the tension. “We were just..”
“I can see that,” Dante said. His voice was calm, but the calm of something breaking.
Sienna stood too quickly, her chair scraping against the floor. “We were just having breakfast before your session.”
“Seems productive,” Dante said coolly. “You’ve found better company, then.”
The words hit harder than they should have. She opened her mouth, searching for something that would make it right or at least make it less wrong but he’d already turned his wheelchair sharply and disappeared down the hallway.
“Dante” she called after him, but he didn’t stop.
Luca sighed, running a hand through his hair. “He’s impossible.”
Sienna swallowed hard. “Maybe I should go.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Luca said gently. “He just hates needing anyone. Even me.”
But guilt still burned under her skin. “He saw something that wasn’t there.”
“Maybe,” Luca said softly. “Or maybe he saw something he’s not ready to admit.”
She didn’t know what to do with that, so she said nothing.
When she entered the gym later for therapy, Dante was already there, staring out the window, arms folded tightly across his chest.
“You’re early,” she said quietly.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he replied, not looking at her. “Apparently, I’m not the only one who gets restless in the mornings.”
She set her notes down, exhaling slowly. “If you’re angry about earlier”
“I’m not angry.”
“Then what are you?”
He turned then, meeting her eyes with something that looked a lot like pain. “Bored.”
She almost laughed not because it was funny, but because it was such a cowardly thing to say. “You’re lying.”
“Maybe,” he said, with his usual unreadable expression. “Maybe not.”
She didn’t argue. Instead, she crossed to him and started the session in silence. For twenty minutes, they worked without a word. His movements were harsh and risky like he was punishing himself for something he couldn’t say.
“You’re pushing too hard,” she said softly.
“Maybe I like the pain.”
“Or maybe you’re trying to prove something.”
His gaze snapped up. “Maybe I’m just tired of people pretending they understand me or what I'm going through.”
The air between them crackled,it became charged and raw. Sienna’s pulse quickened, but she didn’t back down.
“You think I don’t understand pain?” she asked. “Try losing everything you worked for and having to keep showing up anyway.”
He blinked. Just once. Then turned his face away. “You should have breakfast with him more often,” he said after a pause. “He seems to make you smile.”
The words stung not because of jealousy, but because they came from someone who cared too much to admit it.
“Why are you doing this?” she whispered. “Why are you trying so hard to push me away?”
He said nothing.
“Is it because I laughed?” she asked. “Because I didn’t laugh at you?”
His jaw tightened. “Don’t.”
“Then tell me,” she pressed, stepping closer. “What are you afraid of?”
Dante’s voice dropped, low and rough. “I’m afraid that if you stay long enough, I’ll forget how to hate you.”
The room went still.
He looked away quickly, like he hadn’t meant to say it. His hands gripped the armrest until his knuckles went white.
“This” he muttered, his voice sharp again. “This is why people leave.”
Her chest felt tight, too tight. “I haven’t left yet.”
He laughed bitterly. “You will.”
Then he turned, wheeling himself out, leaving her standing there in the hollow quiet.
That evening, there was a knock on her door.
She almost didn’t open it, thinking it was Dante
Luca stood outside, holding two glasses of wine. “Truce?”
She hesitated, then sighed. “I don’t think your brother knows the meaning of that word.”
“Then let’s drink on our own.”
They sat on the terrace overlooking the sea. The moonlight caught the waves, turning them silver. For a few minutes, they just listened to the water.
“He doesn’t mean it, you know,” Luca said finally.
Sienna stared at the horizon. “Doesn’t mean which part?”
“Any of it,” he said gently. “He just doesn’t know how to be soft without breaking something.”
She looked down at her wine. “That’s not an excuse.”
“No,” Luca said. “It’s a wound.”
She didn’t reply. The wind lifted her hair, brushing it across her face. She thought about Dante’s voice earlier, the anger hiding something rawer underneath. This is him trying not to ruin her.
She swallowed hard. “You talk like you’ve spent your whole life cleaning up after him.”
Luca smiled faintly. “More like trying not to drown with him.”
Something in his tone made her chest ache. “He’s not easy to hate,” she said softly.
“Neither are you,” Luca said.
Their eyes met. For a heartbeat, the air between them shifted not romantic, not quite. Just two people who understood the same kind of loneliness.
He stood then, finishing his wine. “Be careful, Sienna. He’s gravity. He’ll pull you in even when you think you’re standing still.”
When he left, the silence returned but it wasn’t empty this time. It was heavy with everything unspoken.
Inside, somewhere deep in the villa, the sound of the piano began. A slow, fractured melody from someone hurting.
Sienna closed her eyes.
Each note felt like it was calling her like something inside him was reaching for something inside her.
Her pulse quickened. She rose, standing at the open window. The night air was cool against her skin.
The sound of him being broken and real slipped through her defenses.
She pressed her hand against her chest.
Why does the sound of him hurt and heal her at the same time? And why, tonight, did she want to walk toward it?