Chapter 3

"Getting rid of some things I don't need." I didn't look up.

He stood there for a moment before suddenly speaking. "Let's go to Sicily next month. You've always said you wanted to see the ocean there."

My hand, holding a stack of photos, froze.

He remembered.

I had mentioned it three times in our first year of marriage, twice in the second, and stopped mentioning it altogether by the third. Every time, his answer had been: "When I have time."

And now, this "time" had come so abruptly. It felt... like compensation.

"Is Bianca coming too?" I asked.

Enzo was silent for a few seconds. "She hasn't been feeling well lately. She needs a distraction."

I closed the metal tin and looked up at him. "So you aren't taking me to see the ocean. You want me to tag along while you two clear your heads?"

"Elena..." He took two steps closer, raising his hand as if to touch my shoulder, but stopped in mid-air. "That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?" I asked back. "Enzo, for the past three years, every time you're nice to me, it's because you feel guilty after doing something for Bianca, isn't it?"

His expression changed. His lips moved, but in the end, he said nothing.

He pulled a check from his inside pocket, changing the subject. "This is the profit from the casino last month. I promised to give it to you."

In the past, every cent of this money would have gone to Bianca.

It wasn't until last month, when I was so sick I couldn't afford medical bills—coughing up blood until I nearly suffocated—that the hospital had to contact him. Only then did he seem to remember he had a dog at home to feed, tossing me a little money like charity to shut me up.

Money is money. I wasn't going to say no.

Just as I reached out to take it, a soldier burst through the door.

"Boss! Bad news! Miss Bianca is being harassed by some street punks in Little Italy!"

Enzo's face changed instantly. He turned and sprinted out.

When I caught up, I saw him acting like a raging lion, beating one of the punks until the guy's face was covered in blood.

"Enzo! Stop! You're going to kill him!" I rushed forward to pull him back.

In his blind fury, he violently backhanded me away.

I was thrown backward, my forehead smashing against a roadside fire hydrant. Blood instantly streamed down my face.

Bianca, scared to tears, rushed up and hugged him around the waist. "Enzo, stop hitting him! I'm scared..."

Hearing her voice brought Enzo back to his senses. He stopped, immediately pulling her into his arms. His large hand gently stroked her back as he whispered soothingly, "It's okay. It's over."

He threw the check onto the beaten punk. "That's for your medical bills. Get lost!"

The punk scrambled away for his life.

Enzo looked down at Bianca. "Are you hurt?"

A passerby pointed at me and shouted, "Sir, that lady is bleeding!"

Only then did Enzo turn around, his expression shifting. "What happened?"

I used a dusty hand to wipe the blood from my eye, looking at him in a state that was pathetic yet calm. "Didn't you push me?"

Enzo's face turned ugly in an instant. "I'm sorry, I..."

He reached out to help me up. "I'll take you to the family doctor."

"Do you still have any money?" I asked.

Enzo froze. He had just given the check to the punk.

"This is the last time," his voice was low. "There won't be a next time."

I smiled internally.

He was right. There wouldn't be a next time.

Just as Enzo was about to support me, Bianca suddenly cried out in pain. "Ah! My foot..."

Almost instinctively, he turned and caught the teetering Bianca. "Did you twist it? I'll drive you home."

When he looked back at me, his eyes had returned to their usual coldness. "Bianca needs me right now. Elena, go home and patch yourself up. I know you've always been strong."

I didn't say a word. I turned and walked away.

The setting sun stretched my shadow long against the pavement. Blood flowed down my neck, dripping onto the ground like blooming crimson flowers.

But I couldn't feel the pain.

Yeah, I was strong. Strong enough that from this moment on, I didn't need him anymore.

The next day.

The fog in the cemetery hadn't yet lifted. I stood in front of Luca's grave, holding a bouquet of cheap white chrysanthemums I'd bought from a corner florist.

Enzo stood beside me.

This was the only occasion in three years he would accompany me—the anniversary of my brother's death.

On the way out, we ran into Bianca.