What We Left in the Dark

Thirty Three

The brothers drop me off at my house, both of them walking me up to the front door. The tension between them is palpable—each fully aware of the other's presence, and clearly torn by it. I take a deep breath and say, "Thank you for protecting me."

They both murmur their thanks in response, but it's hard to tell who my gratitude is really meant for.

Luca steps forward first, leaning in and placing a long kiss on my forehead. His gesture is firm, protective, almost possessive.

"Lock your door. Don't leave until we reach out," he instructs, his voice low and serious. Without waiting for my response, he turns swiftly, already pulling out his phone, clearly ready to handle business.

That leaves me and Gian standing in the hallway, alone.

I have no idea what to say, the weight of the night still pressing on me. Gian's eyes are locked on mine—intense, unwavering—as if he's trying to say a thousand things without speaking.

"I'm sorry you had to see all of that," Gian finally says, his voice quiet and filled with regret. There's an unmistakable shame in his tone.

"All of it, or just seeing you like that?" I shoot back, my words sharper than I intended.

Gian falters, unable to find the right response. Instead of speaking, he steps forward and places a kiss on my forehead, in the same spot Luca kissed me moments earlier. But it feels different—softer, hesitant, as though he's silently pleading for forgiveness.

"Listen to what Luca said," Gian murmurs. His next words rush out, as if he can't hold them back. "I love you."

Before I can respond, he turns on his heel and walks away, leaving me stunned. I dismiss his words as adrenaline-fueled, a product of the chaos we just escaped, but his confession lingers. It burns into me, pressing deeper than I want to admit.

Once inside my apartment, I lock the door behind me, sealing myself off from the whirlwind of emotions and danger that consumed my night. I glance at the clock—1:30 AM. The night is far from over, and yet, I wish it were.

I shed my evening attire and step into a long, hot shower, trying to wash away the weight of the night, but the memories cling to me like a second skin. Crawling into bed, I can't shake the cold tremors that run through me, despite cranking the heat up to 80 degrees.

I toss and turn, my mind racing, replaying the night over and over. The image of Gian holding a gun haunts me. It's a side of him I've never seen—never even imagined. The man I once loved has transformed into something darker, far removed from the saintly figure I had painted in my memories.

The realization hits me like a blow: the Gian I knew is gone, replaced by this dangerous, tainted man.

Saturday comes and goes without a word from either brother. I had planned to go to the gym, anything to take my mind off the madness, but Luca's warning echoes in my ears: Don't leave until we reach out.

Sunday morning arrives, sunlight streaming through the curtains. Despite another restless night, the morning seems to offer a brief respite from the chaos of the past few days. I stay in bed longer than usual, the covers pulled tight around me as if they can shield me from the storm of emotions and danger I now find myself in.

I spent all of Saturday in isolation, constantly checking my phone for any updates from Luca or Gian, but there was nothing. The silence is both a relief and a torment. I can't decide if I prefer the quiet or the inevitable drama that would follow a message from either of them.

Pulling myself out of bed, I shower and dress in comfortable loungewear, padding to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. The rich aroma fills the air as I stare blankly at the percolating pot, my thoughts drifting between the brothers. It feels surreal—how quickly everything escalated. The night at the gala, the gunshot, seeing Giancarlo with a weapon. My heart still hasn't calmed from the shock.