David’s POV

The sound of his footsteps announced him before the door creaked open. My older brother—Vicenzo—stood there, shoulders squared, jaw tight, eyes carrying that restless fire that never seemed to die.

“I’m ready,” he said.

The words dropped like lead between us.

I leaned back in my chair, crossing one leg over the other as if he hadn’t just come demanding truths. My room smelled faintly of tobacco and leather-bound books, my haven, my retreat from his chaos. I let the ...