CHAPTER TWO
1538 Words
“Open up!” I know you’re in there!”
The pounding on the door came again, louder this time.
Antonio groaned and rolled over, forcing himself upright. He’d been sleeping for hours; perhaps this was a good sign for him to wake up.
“I’m not leaving until I see you!”
The knock was persistent this time. Oh, he couldn’t ignore much longer because whoever it was wasn’t intending on leaving without seeing him.
The voice behind the door was that of a female, and it was familiar too. Wasn’t his mother’s, though it carried the same energy.
“s**t!” He whispered.
Lucia.
Of course it was.
“Alright!” He snapped, “I heard you!”
He walked towards the door, hoping he would handle the whole situation well. One careless step nearly sent him stumbling into the cluster of empty glasses on the floor.
He reached for the doorknob and unlocked it.
And there she was.
Lucia Morante swept inside without waiting for an invitation. She had her phone pressed to her ear; you could tell she was on a call with someone. Her brows furrowed in that familiar mixture of frustration and control she’d perfected since childhood.
“No, I found him,” she said into the phone. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll call you back.”
She ended the call before he could say a word. Her gaze landed on him. And then, on the chaos around him.
“Oh my God,” she breathed, taking it all in. “Antonio, what the hell happened here?”
He exhaled quietly, leaning against the door frame. “You don’t want to know.”
“I think I do,” she shot back, stepping further into the living room. The sharp click of her heels on the wooden floor filled the silence. She looked around--the bottles, the empty glasses, the stale air. Her nose wrinkled. “You’ve been here for days, haven’t you?”
He didn’t answer. That was enough.
Lucia sighed, sliding her phone into the pocket of her linen trousers. “You missed your final fitting. The planner said you haven't confirmed anything for the rehearsal dinner. Mum’s been calling every hour. And Dad---”
“Don’t,” Antonio cuts in.
Lucia froze for a moment, then loosened her shoulders. “Fine,” she murmured, “Not Dad.”
She moved towards the coffee table, picked up one of the empty glasses, and frowned at the sticky ring it left behind. “You look like hell, you know that?”
“Thanks,” he muttered, running his hands through his hair. “Just what I needed to hear.”
“I’m serious, Tony.” She set the glass down gently and turned back to him. “You disappear for three days, no calls, no texts, nothing, and I finally find you, you’re holed up here drinking yourself stupid? What is going on?”
He said nothing.
Lucia waited with her arms folded, watching him with that same quiet patience she’d used when they were children and he refused to admit when he was hurt.
When he didn’t speak, she took a slow breath and said softly, “Is it about Elena?”
The sound of her name was enough to make him flinch, but he tried not to. He turned away, moving towards the window.
Lucia studied him for a moment, her expression shifting from irritation to something gentler. “So it’s about her,” she said quietly.
He didn’t deny it.
“I thought so,” she continued, moving toward the couch. “You’re not exactly hard to read, Antonio. You shut down. You run off to this place. You drink too much. It’s the same story every time something cracks your little world.”
He turned sharply. “You think I’m doing this because I’m spoiled?”
“I think you’re doing this because you’re human,” she said simply. “But the difference is, you don’t know how to be human when it hurts.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Lucia took off her jacket and laid it neatly over the arm of a chair. She was always put together. Her dark hair tied in a low twist, her blouse pressed, her voice calm even when her eyes were storming.
When Antonio carried the weight of expectation, Lucia had learned to bend under it without breaking.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?” she asked finally.
He gave a bitter laugh. “Not really”
“Then I’ll guess,” she said. “Something happened between you and Elena. You’ve been avoiding everyone since the engagement dinner. And the last time Mum talked to her, she said you were---what was it-- ‘distracted.’
Antonio smirked weakly. “That’s one way to put it.”
Lucia tilted her head, “She cheated, didn’t she?”
The words hit like a blade. He knew he hadn’t expected that, not on her first guess.
Antonio’s silence was her answer.
Lucia inhaled slowly, crossing her arms again. “Oh, Antonio…”
“Yeah. Oh, Antonio.”He laughed once, and it was humorless.
She walked toward him, cautious, as if afraid he might shatter if she came too close. “Does Mum know?”
“No. And she doesn’t need to.”
“She will eventually.”
“I’ll handle it.”
Lucia’s eyes narrowed. “Handle it? You can barely handle standing upright.”
He looked at her then, really looked at her, and that was when he saw the worry hiding behind her irritation, the love that refused to let him drown alone. For a moment, his anger faded.
“I just need time,” he said quietly. “That’s all.”
Lucia studied him, then shook her head. “Time won’t change what happened.”
He exhaled, turning back toward the window. “I know,” he whispered. “But it might change what I decide to do about it.”
Lucia didn’t respond. She just stood there, watching her brother wrestle with ghosts. After a moment, she moved toward the kitchen, opening the windows one by one. The stale air began to shift while the scent of pine and summer drifted in.
“You always run here,” she said softly. “Do you even know why?”
He looked over his shoulder. “Because it’s quiet.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Because this house doesn’t ask anything of you. It doesn’t care about the Morante name or the legacy or the image. It just lets you fall apart. But Tony…” her voice softened, “you can’t stay fallen.”
He watched her as she moved through the room, straightening things, pouring out the leftover whiskey, brushing crumbs from the table. She was always fixing things, problems, people, messes he left behind.
“I don’t deserve her,” he said suddenly.
Lucia paused. “Elena?”
He nodded slowly. “After what she did, I should hate her. But I don’t. I keep remembering everything good instead of everything wrong. It’s pathetic.”
“It’s love,” she said simply. “And love’s rarely logical.”
“You sound like Mum.” He gave a soft laugh.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
She smiled faintly, then crossed to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll have to tell them eventually. Dad won’t like it, but he’ll survive. Mum will cry, maybe yell, but she’ll understand.”
“No. You don’t get it. He’ll never let me call it off. Not after everything he’s invested.” He shook his head. “ The wedding’s not just a wedding…it’s business, image, alliances. You know how he thinks.”
Lucia’s jaw tightened. “You’re not a pawn, Antonio.”
“Aren’t I?” He looked at her, tired eyes meeting hers.
She wanted to argue. But decided to let go.
Finally, Lucia said quietly, “You don’t have to decide tonight. Just… come home. Mum’s worried sick. You can think there, at least you won’t be alone.”
He didn’t answer immediately. His gaze stayed fixed on the lake.
“I don’t know if I can face them,” he admitted.
“You can,” she said firmly. “You always could. You just forget.”
There was something in her tone that made him glance at her. It was more like a quiet conviction that didn’t demand, only reminded.
For the first time in days, Antonio felt something shift inside him. It wasn’t peace, not yet. But maybe the beginning of it.
He stood slowly and reached for his phone. “I’ll think about it,” he said.
“That’s all I needed to hear.” She rose too, walking toward the door. Before stepping out, she turned back. “And Tony?”
“Yeah?”
“Try not to drown in whiskey tonight. You’ve got enough ghosts already.”
“No promises.”
Lucia rolled her eyes and left, her soft footsteps fading down the porch steps.
When the door closed, the silence returned, but it felt different this time. A little bit Lighter.
- Writer
