Page 23 of Fierce Hearts

Always protecting me.

By the time I finished cleaning the entire first floor, the sun was setting. I hadn't eaten since breakfast with Gray, but the thought of food made my stomach turn. Instead, I poured myself a glass of wine and curled up on the couch, turning on the TV for background noise.

I flipped through channels until I landed on a comedy show—something mindless and light. I needed the distraction, needed to hear laughter, even if it was canned.

I wasn't really watching, just letting the colors and sounds wash over me as I sipped my wine. But then a scene caught my attention—two siblings arguing over a family business, the older one insisting the younger one take responsibility.

"You can't just walk away from this," the actor said, his face serious despite the laugh track. "It's in your blood."

I hit the power button so hard my finger hurt. The screen went black, leaving me in the dim light of my living room.

Marco had said something similar to me once, years ago, when I told him I was leaving after naming him my replacement.

"You think you can just walk away?" he'd asked, not angry, just curious. "It's in your blood, Sofia. The family. The business. All of it."

"I don't want it," I'd told him. "I never have. It’s why I named you.”

He'd studied me for a long moment, then nodded. "I know. That's why I'm letting you go."

"Letting me?"

"Don't play naive," he'd said, but gently. "You know what happens to people who try to leave without permission."

I did know. I'd seen it firsthand.

"Family is forever, Sofia. You can't just walk away, not fully. But I know this is what you want. And I understand. You need to do this. So I'll do this."

"Why are you giving me permission?" I'd asked. "Why are you okay with it?"

He'd smiled then, a rare, genuine smile. "Because you deserve better than this life. Because you're smart enough to make something of yourself. Because..." He'd paused, looking away. "Because someone in this family should get out clean. I want the same for Bianca too. But my father will never allow it, so I’ll do my best to make it safer for her, better.”

I hadn't understood then what he meant. Now I did. Marco had been trapped his whole life, groomed from childhood to take over from his father if he wound up in power. He'd never had a choice. But he'd given me one.

I had no brothers myself, my mother never falling pregnant again. It’d caused many fights, many nights where my father had explosive rages at her, even hitting her before he’d come for me and blame me. Say I’d somehow been the reason she could no longer fall pregnant.

So Marco had been the only sibling-like person I’d had.

And now he was dead.

I drained my wine glass and set it on the coffee table with a thunk. Without Marco's protection, without his influence keeping the family at arm's length, what would happen to me? Ernesto wanted to pull me back in. But what would he want from me? Surely he was going to take Marco's place now, like he had wanted from the beginning, but the family hadn't allowed it, not after his fuck up.

Why contact me at all? Why hadn't he chosen to just keep me in the dark completely? I was out, with no intention to come back or cause any issues.

Was it just to inform me of Marco's death as a courtesy? Was he worried I posed a threat now and wanted to drag me back?

My stomach churned at the thought. What threat could I be? And if I was, why reach out? Why not have me killed off with no warning. Wouldn't I be more of a threat if he pulled me back in?

No, there was something more going on.

Either that, or my uncle had softened over the years I'd been gone, and then with his son's death, had chosen to inform me since we'd been close.

A part of me would've liked to have believed that. But it was unlikely. Ernesto had been a hard, cruel man, and not even such a loss would have changed that. The last I'd heard, the death of my father had only infuriated him, especially since he'd not been granted the position as head of the family, his own son taking the place instead.

Was it possible Marco's death wasn't an accident?

I closed my eyes, knowing these were questions I couldn’t get the answers to right now. Besides, taking the life of your own blood, your only son, was not something I'd even think Ernesto was capable of.

I curled deeper into the couch cushions, pulling a throw blanket over myself. Tomorrow. I'd deal with it all tomorrow. Maybe by some miracle, Ernesto wouldn't call again. Maybe he'd be too consumed by his son's death to worry about his wayward niece and whatever he thought he'd needed me for. Maybe I'd fall back into the background, a Savoca who had lost all meaning to the family.

---