CHAPTER 3

Elsewhere in the House

Matteo stood in the hallway outside the study.

He hadn’t meant to listen.

He never did.

But voices carried. And names cut through walls.

Love.

Mistake.

Matteo.

His fingers curled into the fabric of his sweater. He didn’t cry. He hadn’t cried in years.

He turned away silently, footsteps careful, returning to the room where Lorenzo waited with homework and unasked questions.

Somewhere behind him, Alessandro De Luca was being told the truth.

And for the first time in years—

he couldn’t dismiss it.

Lorenzo (Pov)

Lorenzo learned early how to stand.

Back straight.

Chin lifted.

Hands still.

Every time Alessandro passed, Lorenzo did it automatically. Not out of respect—out of instinct. Like a soldier saluting a superior officer he did not trust.

“Sir,” he said. Always sir.

Never papà. Not even once.

Alessandro noticed. Of course he did. He noticed everything that challenged him. But he mistook it for discipline. For good upbringing.

He never asked why.

Lorenzo watched the house the way other boys watched football. He noticed patterns.

How maids softened their voices for Giulia and sharpened them for Matteo.

How plates reached his mother last—if they reached him at all.

How Matteo smiled even when ignored, like smiling might earn him permission to exist.

Lorenzo hated that smile.

At night, when Matteo thought he was asleep, Lorenzo listened to the quiet breaks in his breathing. The pauses that meant don’t cry. The swallow that meant not now.

That was when the decision began forming.

A Promise Without Words

One evening, Matteo burned dinner.

It was nothing. Truly nothing.

But Alessandro looked at the plate, then at Matteo, and said calmly,

“Have the staff handle it next time.”

Not cruel.

Not loud.

Worse.

Matteo nodded. “Of course.”

Lorenzo’s fingers tightened around his fork.

Later, in Matteo’s room, Lorenzo sat on the edge of the bed while Matteo folded laundry that didn’t need folding.