Fractures
Gabriele’s arms were locked around Alessandro’s chest, his muscles tense like coiled wire. He could feel the violent thrum of Alessandro’s heartbeat vibrating through his back. The scent of blood, sweat, and expensive cologne hung heavy in the room, a cocktail of violence, wealth and something unspoken.
Adriano lay crumpled on the floor, bound to a chair, blood trailing from his temple down to his jaw. His entire face was bloody. His head hung low, unmoving.
Gabriele’s voice—when he finally spoke—was low, sharp and broken.
“Sandro,” he whispered, his eyes wide, darting from his trembling older brother to the bloodied mess of the youngest. “What the FUCK are you doing?”
Alessandro said nothing.
The room would've remained completely silent if not for the sound of Alessandro's chest heaving, as he took in deep ragged breaths.
His hands twitched at his sides, half-curled into fists. His eyes were red-rimmed, unfocused and wet with tears.
“Gabe?” he said suddenly, his voice barely above a rasp.
“Hm?” Gabriele replied, his jaw clenched.
“Let go of me.”
“No.”
“I said,” Alessandro growled, his voice rising, “Let go.”
“No, Sandro. Not until you—” Gabriele’s voice cracked, “—promise me you won’t touch him again.”
Alessandro said nothing.
Silence stretched.
Thick and suffocating.
“Sandro…” Gabriele urged, more firmly. “Promise me.”
“…Fine,” Alessandro muttered, his tone bitter and reluctant, but laced with exhaustion.
Gabriele slowly loosened his arms, hesitating as he took a step back. Alessandro stumbled a few feet forward before dropping into the nearest sofa like something inside him had finally snapped.
He ran both hands through his hair, dragging them down his face. His elbows rested on his knees. He didn’t look up. Just sat there, breathing.
Gabriele didn’t wait.
He rushed to Adriano, dropping to his knees beside him. Adriano’s face was a broken painting—split lip, swollen jaw, nose bleed, gash above his brow. Blood clung to his lashes, matted his hair. His chest rose, shallow but steady.
“Jesus…” Gabriele murmured, hands hovering over Adriano’s bruised ribs. “Why the fuck did you do this to him?”
“He wouldn’t shut up,” Alessandro said from behind him. “He… he always has to push.”
Gabriele ignored him.
He checked Adriano’s pulse—slow but there. Then he carefully peeled off the gag and started untying his wrists, which were raw and rubbed red from the restraints.
“You almost killed him, Sandro.”
“I was following orders,” Alessandro replied hollowly, still not looking up. “Padré said to teach him a fucking lesson.”
“There’s a big fucking difference between teaching someone a lesson and attempting murder.”
Gabriele’s voice shook with fury. “Is this what this family’s come to? Orders to beat our brother within an inch of his life? Did you even think—at all—about what the hell you were doing?!”
Alessandro said nothing.
The silence was louder than any excuse he could’ve given.
Gabriele finally got the ropes off. Adriano’s limp body slumped forward, and Gabriele caught him just in time.
“Fucking hell,” he hissed, looping an arm under Adriano’s shoulders, the other under his knees. He stood with effort, Adriano heavy in his arms, unconscious, head lolling against his chest.
As he passed Alessandro, Gabriele paused at the edge of the room and looked back over his shoulder.
“When I get back,” he said, his voice low and sharp, “we’re gonna have a very long conversation.”
He didn’t wait for a response.
Didn’t want one.
—
The passenger door slammed shut.
Gabriele practically flew into the driver’s seat, his hands trembling as he turned the ignition. The soft hum of the engine did nothing to settle the storm inside him.
Adriano sat beside him, blood trickling down his chin, his skin deathly pale.
Gabriele leaned over quickly, pressing a palm to his brother’s chest.
Good, still breathing.
“Hey, hey… stay with me,” he muttered, but Adriano didn’t respond.
“Okay. Okay, okay—Google,” Gabriele barked into his phone, trying to keep his voice calm. “Nearest hospital. Fastest route.”
“Showing results for hospitals near you,” the digital assistant replied. “Navigating to Mercy Hill Trauma Center—ten minutes away.”
Gabriele floored it.
The tires screeched as the car pulled out of the private driveway and onto the dark road, headlights slicing through the night. His hand gripped the wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white.
From time to time, he glanced to the side.
Adriano hadn’t moved.
His baby brother. The wild one. The rebel. The fighter.
Reduced to this.
“Come on, Adri,” Gabriele whispered, eyes flicking to him again, his voice low and cracking. “Just hold on.”
The streetlights streaked past in blurs. The city didn’t stop. The world didn’t pause.
But in Gabriele Greco’s car, everything had changed.
Forever.