Chapter 130
KATYA POV
Getting Nonna to eat even half her breakfast felt like a small miracle. She didn’t talk much, just nodded when I asked questions.
And made these tiny distracted sounds whenever I checked on her. But she ate and that was enough.
Now, I was wheeling her toward the garden. The hallways were quieter than normal, like the entire house sensed sothing was wrong and was trying not to breathe too loudly.
Sunlight poured through the tall windows in long, golden strips, warming the marble floor. Normally, I’d admire the way the light made everything feel softer, less hostile.
Nonna kept her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her posture was straight, poised like always, but her eyes... they weren’t here.
They were sowhere else entirely—sowhere between the phone call, the gunshots, and that grandson .
I didn’t interrupt her thoughts.
We reached the large glass doors that led outside, and the mont I cracked them open, a gentle breeze lifted into the hall.
Real air. Not the sterile, too-clean air that circulated through the estate. The scent of grass, flowers, and morning dew drifted in.
Nonna lifted her head slightly, drawn to it. "Ah..." she murmured, barely above a whisper. "Finalnte— finally"
I pushed the door wide with my shoulder and guided her wheelchair outside. The garden opened up around us—beautiful in that effortless, expensive way only places maintained daily could be.
The grass looked like it had been trimd by soone using scissors. Tall hedges arched neatly along the paths.
Flowers blood in layers of color. Soft pinks, deep reds, pale yellows. Arranged so perfectly it almost made nervous to breathe too close.
Birds hopped between branches, chirping like the world hadn’t heard gunshots this morning.
A stone path stretched in clean curves through the garden, leading toward everything at once—a small pond glimring under the sun, a perfect built swing hanging from a strong oak, and several benches tucked into shaded corners ant for quiet.
I didn’t co out here often. Too many guards.
Always stationed near the outer edge of the garden, watching the tree line with stiff shoulders and sharp eyes.
It didn’t take a genius to guess why. The garden stretched closest to the woods.
Closest to escape and closest to danger. I tightened my grip on Nonna’s wheelchair, steering her along the smoother part of the stone path.
The sunlight hit her face, warm and gentle, and she closed her eyes for a few seconds, like she was recharging.
I guided her toward the shaded part of the garden, under a flowering tree with white blossoms.
The guards were thinner here, further away. Easier to forget about. "You want to sit here for a bit?" I asked softly.
"Mm." She nodded. I stopped the chair beneath the branches, where the sunlight filtered in soft, broken patches.
A breeze stirred the blossoms, sending a few petals drifting down around us. "This place..." she sighed, leaning her head back. "It reminds to breathe."
I shifted beside her. "How are you feeling?" Nonna didn’t answer right away. She lifted one hand, resting it lightly on the arm of the chair.
"I am... afraid," she admitted softly. "But I am trying not to be. Worrying will not bring him back faster."
I nodded. "He said five hours." "Sì." Her voice tightened. "But he also sounded like an idiot."
A small quiet laugh escaped . Roo definitely was many things but an idiot.. I don’t think so. Maybe sotis.
We fell into silence. The kind that didn’t feel heavy anymore. The breeze shifted again, brushing my hair across my cheek.
I tucked it behind my ear and scanned the garden automatically, like so paranoid reflex I’d learned since arriving here.
I let out a slow breath and finally sat on one of the garden chairs beside her. They were the fancy with smooth tal fras and soft cushions that didn’t match the seriousness of the guards patrolling a few ters away.
Nonna didn’t move. Her gaze stayed fixed ahead, sowhere past the pond where the sunlight glittered over the water like tiny broken diamonds.
For a long mont, neither of us spoke. Then, so quietly I almost missed it, Nonna whispered sothing.
I straightened, totally not hearing what she had said. "Nonna? Did you say sothing?"
She blinked, as if she hadn’t realized any sound escaped her. "Oh—no, no, cara. Not to you." She shook her head slowly. "Just... thinking aloud."
I leaned forward a little concerned. "Do you want to talk about it?"
She exhaled a trembling breath, her shoulders sinking with the weight of sothing too heavy for bones her age to carry.
She finally spoke but her voice was barely more than a hush. "I’m worried, Katya. I’m... scared."
Nonna stared down at her hands, twisting them gently in her lap. "Roo," she breathed, his na fragile between her lips.
"He is the only one left in this world for . The only thing that keeps rooted here instead of..." She didn’t finish the sentence but she didn’t have to.
"I just want that boy happy and safe," she continued, her voice trembling again. "Is that too much to ask? After everything he has suffered?"
A soft breeze swept past us, lifting a few white petals from the branches above and letting them fall into Nonna’s lap.
"He just recovered from a coma." Her jaw tightened. "Not even fully recovered. His body is still weak, even if he pretends otherwise. And yet—"
She looked out toward the woods, her eyes sharp with a motherly mix of love and frustration.
"The mont his legs worked again, he threw himself into danger." A bitter sound escaped her. It was a mix of a sigh and a laugh.
"Always the sa child. Always running where he shouldn’t." She closed her eyes, pressing a hand lightly over her heart.
Her hand lingered over her chest for so seconds before she lowered it again, fingers curling weakly in her lap.
When she spoke next, her voice was quiet, less shaken now, but weighted. "Sotis, I wonder if he would be different... if he had soone." she murmured.
I blinked, turning my head toward her. "Soone?"
"Sì." Her eyes stayed on the pond, reflecting the shifting ripples as though they were mories.
"Soone in his life. Soone he could co ho to. Soone who gives him a reason not to run toward danger like a madman."
I shifted in my seat. "He has you, Nonna."
She let out a soft, tired laugh. "Not like that, cara." She tilted her head, giving a knowing look that made my stomach tighten for reasons I didn’t want to examine too closely.
"I am his grandmother," she said gently. "My love can only carry him so far. It cannot anchor him."
"Anchor him?"
"Yes." She plucked a fallen petal from her lap, rolling it between her fingers. "A man who feels alone—truly alone—will always think his life is sothing he can gamble. Like it has no great worth to anyone."
Her gaze turned sharp, almost accusing, though I knew it wasn’t directed at .
"He is twenty-nine," she continued. "Not getting any younger. At this age, a man should be building sothing. A family. A future. Sothing that tethers him to life. A special person who says, ’Co back to .’ And makes him want to listen."
I looked away, pretending to adjust the cushion on my chair. "Maybe he just... doesn’t want that."
Nonna humd, turning her head toward , giving the smallest, saddest smile.
"That boy needs soone in his life more than he realizes."
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