When I Walked Away, He Learned to Miss Me

The annual Vittorio family gala was in full swing when my brother, Don Marco Vittorio, decided to host a card game. The stakes were simple: the winner could make one demand of him. Everyone knew I had been brought back to the Vittorio estate three years ago but still hadn't been formally acknowledged as family. They stepped aside, murmuring that this was Marco's way of giving me a chance—a test I might finally pass. Only Gianna, the family's adopted princess, made sure I had none. She counted off her boasts on her fingers. "Marco gives me a black card with a fifty-thousand-euro monthly limit." "He bid on a lighthouse in the Bay of Naples for me." "I give the family toast at New Year's Mass." "My name is on the trust." Four statements. I had one card left. She smiled and delivered the killing blow: "This whole game? Marco threw it just to cheer me up." My heart sank. I looked at my brother. He smiled indulgently—that same smile he'd worn for three years, always taking her side, always asking me to wait. I folded. I laid down my last card. And suddenly, I didn't want to go home that badly anymore. I didn't need the Vittorio name. I was done. Chapter 1 The ballroom fell into a hush so deep you could hear the ice clinking in champagne flutes. Every pair of eyes in the room turned toward me, waiting for the inevitable explosion. Instead of exploding, I smiled. I raised my glass of absinthe and knocked it back in one burning swallow. “I lose.” A nervous laugh rippled through the crowd. Someone tried to break the tension: “Gianna cheated, didn’t she? You can’t just list your entire net worth like that.” Gianna arched a perfect eyebrow. “Why not? That’s the game.” She sidled up to Marco, pressing her shoulder against his arm. “Don Marco, tell them. Did I cheat?” Marco gave that helpless, indulgent smirk he reserved only for her. “Of course not. You won. The whole point was to make you happy.” He patted her hand. “So, what’s your wish?” Gianna shot me a triumphant look over her shoulder. “Take me to Tuscany tomorrow. I want to pick out a thoroughbred, and you have good taste.” I set my glass down and dropped my gaze—a habit I’d perfected over three years of being the invisible Vittorio. It came so naturally now that even Marco didn't notice anything was wrong. He frowned slightly and said, “I promised Elena I’d help her move tomorrow.” My chest tightened. For three years, ever since he’d brought me back to Sicily, I’d been living in a crumbling apartment in the port district, miles from the Vittorio estate. Last month, when Marco asked what I wanted for my birthday, I told him the truth: I wanted formal recognition. I wanted my name on the family trust. He’d stroked my hair and said, “Pick something else. You know how Gianna gets about these things. I’m working on her. Once she says yes, you’ll be acknowledged.” I’d looked down and tried again: “Then at least let me move closer to the estate. The port is so far. It makes everything difficult.” He’d hesitated. Said he’d think about it. But I knew what “thinking about it” meant—he’d gone straight to Gianna first. She was the little princess who had grown up in my place, showered with everyone’s devotion. Even my mother had to placate her, tiptoe around her moods like she was made of glass. Later, I learned the real reason: Gianna’s father had been our father’s most trusted advisor, a man who took a bullet meant for the Don. On his deathbed, my father swore an oath—as long as the Vittorio name stood, Gianna would always have her place at the table, untouchable. Marco and my mother didn't just dote on her because she was charming. They couldn't afford to lose the loyalty of the men who had bled for the family. Yesterday, Marco had finally told me: Gianna had agreed. The house was arranged. I could move in after Christmas. I was so overjoyed I begged him to come with me. He’d said yes. Now, the chandelier light flickered across Gianna’s smug face. She pouted. “Moving? It can wait. Why tomorrow? Why not the day after?” Marco soothed her. “Horse shopping can wait too, can’t it? Any day but tomorrow.” “No, I want tomorrow! That thoroughbred has other bidders!” Her voice climbed, and the room went quieter still. With so many eyes on him, Marco’s jaw tightened. He opened his mouth to shut her down— But I cut in first. “Go pick your horse tomorrow. I won’t move. The port is fine.” Marco’s head whipped toward me, startled. He knew how much that apartment cost me. How much I’d wanted to feel like I belonged. Seeing me step back, his eyes softened with guilt and pity. “Let’s continue the game,” he said, looking at me now. “Elena goes first.” I was quiet for a long moment. Someone nudged me from behind. “Go on! The Don is giving you a chance. You’ll win this time!” I raised five fingers and fixed my eyes on Gianna. “I once spent an entire night in a graveyard, soaked to the bone in rain.” Sympathetic murmurs rippled through the guests. Gianna rolled her eyes, raised one finger, and shot back: “I spent a whole summer with Marco at his villa on Lake Como.” I raised another finger, unruffled. “I killed a wild boar with my bare hands.” Gianna grimaced. “For my birthday last year, Marco gave me a yacht.” I lowered my lashes, voice barely above a whisper: “I buried my parents alone.” Gianna faltered. She gritted her teeth. “I gave the family toast at the gala when I turned eighteen!” Silence fell. Somehow, the game had narrowed to just the two of us. I didn't back down. Holding up my last two fingers, I said flatly: “At my thinnest, I weighed thirty-five kilos.” Gianna fired back desperately: “I have three properties, two yachts, and a private jet!” She was scraping the bottom of the barrel, and everyone knew it. I smiled faintly. “I have no home.” Chapter 2 Gianna lowered her last finger. She opened her mouth to retort, then realized she had nothing left. Her face curdled like sour milk. Before she could raise her glass in forfeit, Marco stopped her. “I’ll drink for her.” He tossed it back in one gulp, then stalked over to me, face dark, and pulled me out of the ballroom by the elbow. “Why did you say all that?” he hissed. “Were you trying to play the victim?” “I know your past was hard, but this wasn't the time for a pity party.” My heart sank. Maybe it was the absinthe, or maybe it was the years of resentment finally cracking through the surface. “So when Gianna brags about her yachts and properties, it’s charming,” I said, my voice shaking, “but when I tell my own truth, I’m ‘playing the victim’? Can you hear yourself, brother? Can you be any more biased?” Marco’s expression turned to stone. “She’s immature. You’re supposed to be the sensible one. I was literally about to tell you I’d help you move tomorrow—and then you pull this stunt. Elena, have I let you suffer these three years? Have I skimped on you? What exactly are you complaining about?” I stared at him in disbelief. “So you think I wanted to come home—wanted the Vittorio name—for the money?” Marco had found me the year my adoptive parents died. I had lost everything, buried them alone, and was running on empty. Then he appeared like a savior, eyes red-rimmed, telling me I was actually the lost daughter of the Vittorio mafia family. “Elena, your disappearance was an accident. Mom and Dad have been looking for you all these years. Come back with me. We’re all waiting for you. You’ve suffered too much. How did you survive?” I weighed thirty-five kilos then. His arms trembled as he held my malnourished body. “I’m sorry I came so late. I’m so sorry.” I had stood frozen, not knowing what to do. He was so tall, so distinguished. I felt unworthy of his embrace. But the pull of blood was too strong. I saw him as my salvation and followed him to Sicily. He didn’t take me home, though. He put me in that old port apartment. “There’s another daughter in the family—the advisor’s child. Her father died for ours, so Father adopted her. She’s been spoiled rotten, and when she learned we found you, she threw a fit. Threatened to jump off a balcony. Just wait. I’ll talk her around. Then you can come home.” To reassure me, he brought my mother. The elegant woman wept at the sight of me. “Elena… you’ve grown so much. Mom is so sorry!” She held me, her voice shaking. “Wait a little longer. Mom will convince Gianna, I promise.” I hugged her back gingerly. “Okay, Mom. I’ll wait.” She smiled, pulled out a bank card. “Spend whatever you want. Even if you can’t come home yet, your allowance is the same as Gianna’s.” I tried to refuse, but she pressed it into my pocket. “I have to go. Gianna will get suspicious if I’m gone too long. Next time I’ll come have dinner with you, alright?” I nodded eagerly. “Yes, thank you, Mom!” That wait stretched into three years. Every time I mentioned coming home, Marco sighed. “Give it a few more days.” At first he was patient, but once he realized I wasn’t as volatile as Gianna, he grew dismissive. “What are you lacking? Why the rush? You know how much pressure I’m under. Gianna can’t find out.” I couldn't understand. “Why do I need her permission to go to my own home? And why does Mom have to sneak around to see me? Am I even a Vittorio? Am I your sister?” His face darkened. “You are my sister, and you are a Vittorio. But we have feelings for Gianna too. Her father took a bullet for ours. Father promised on his deathbed that she would always have her place. She is also my sister.” That was the first time I truly understood Gianna’s power. I wasn’t fighting a spoiled girl. I was fighting a blood oath sealed with a life. Seeing my silence, Marco squeezed my hand helplessly. “Don’t worry, you’ll come home eventually. Once Gianna softens, I’ll arrange for you two to meet. Try to be friends. When you get along, she’ll accept you.” I never imagined coming home would require so many detours. That night was the first time in Sicily I missed my adoptive parents. And now, standing in that corridor, I had finally given up on ever being a Vittorio. Chapter 3 “No more scenes,” Marco murmured, pulling me aside at the ballroom entrance. “Elena, go back in and smile. It’s your birthday.” I followed him back inside. Friends had set out a cake. Gianna was drinking, pointedly looking away as I entered. I was seated, and someone teased, “Elena won that round, right? She gets to make a demand of the Don.” Afraid I would ask to come home again, Marco cut in coldly: “I said that to cheer up Gianna. The second round doesn’t count.” I said nothing. Someone stuck candles in the cake and laughed awkwardly. “Make a wish, Elena. It’s almost midnight.” I smiled, clasped my hands together, and closed my eyes. “I want to go home.” Crash! Gianna’s glass shattered on the floor. “You did that on purpose!” she shrieked. “Just because it’s your birthday, you think you’re special?” She burst into tears and ran out of the ballroom. Marco shot me a furious glare and chased after her. His friends exchanged awkward glances and drifted away one by one. Soon I was alone in the grand hall. I took a knife and cut three slices of cake. I placed two on opposite sides of the table, and one in front of me. “Mamma, Papa,” I whispered, “it’s sweet. Eat up. I’ll come back to you tomorrow.” Then I ate my own slice, savoring every crumb, tears streaming silently down my face. Afterward, I booked a ferry ticket back to my hometown for the next afternoon. I gave myself the morning to pack. All the luxury gifts Marco and my mother had given me over the years—I’d never used any of them. Now they went into my suitcase. Around noon, I called Marco to tell him I was leaving. But before I could speak, he answered with ice in his voice: “If you’re calling about coming home, save it. Gianna threw a fit all night. Mom’s blood pressure spiked—nearly went to the ER. I barely calmed her down. I’m exhausted. I can’t talk about this now.” I sighed. “Can we meet? I have something to tell you.” He refused without hesitation. “In a few days. I’m taking Gianna horse shopping today.” “Fine.” I hung up and kept packing. A photo frame fell out of the bedside drawer—my adoptive parents’ portrait, the only thing I’d brought from home. I teared up instantly and picked it up, cradling it against my chest. Back home, we were poor, but they treated me like gold. They saved the best meat for me, scrimped to send me to school. When I turned eighteen and a man proposed, they threw him out, saying their daughter was born to be happy, not to marry young. If they could see me slinking back now, they would be heartbroken. I wiped my eyes and tucked the photo carefully into my suitcase. I had about a hundred thousand euros left in my bank account—Marco’s allowances. I’d sell the bags and jewelry, maybe get another hundred thousand. Not a total loss, I told myself. With that, I left the apartment and headed for the ferry dock. But in the underground parking garage of the terminal, I ran straight into Marco. Chapter 4 He was carrying shopping bags, shepherding Gianna toward the elevator. He spotted me and strode over, brow furrowed. “Why are you dragging a suitcase? Heading home by yourself? I told you to wait.” “I’m going to sell the bags and jewelry,” I said flatly. Gianna’s eyes went wide. “What? Since when do you have money for bags?” She looked at Marco, then lunged and snatched my suitcase. The zipper gave way. Everything spilled out—bags, jewelry, even my underwear—scattering across the dirty concrete. The Vittorio bodyguards looked away impassively, stone-faced. Heat flooded my face. I crouched down and started gathering the mess. Marco’s expression darkened. He grabbed my wrist. “Don’t I give you enough money? Selling things—are you trying to embarrass the family? Get in the car.” “Let go of me!” I wrenched free and frantically shoved clothes and bags back into the suitcase. Bang! Gianna kicked the suitcase over again. “You hick! Mixing designer bags with your underwear—you don’t deserve any of this. Did you wheedle Marco into buying them for you?” I froze when I saw it—the cracked glass of my parents' photograph. “Gianna.” Marco pulled her back, for the first time speaking sharply to her in public. “Can you behave yourself?” She shook him off and screamed something back at him. But I couldn’t hear her anymore. The broken glass had cut straight through my mother’s face in the photo. Trembling, I picked it up and slowly rose to my feet. Gianna was still arguing, her voice shrill and grating. I snapped. “You bitch!” I shrieked, swinging my hand toward her face. “Elena!” Marco yelped, shoving Gianna behind him and catching my wrist mid-air. “What the hell are you doing?” “Let go!” I thrashed and screamed, tears blinding me. The slap never landed, and the rage choked in my throat like broken glass. Then Gianna seized her chance. She leaned around Marco and slapped me hard across the face. Crack! My head whipped to the side. Gianna panted, chest heaving. “You dare hit me?” Marco, who had been gripping Gianna’s wrist, froze. Then he let go as if burned. Five seconds of dead silence hung between us. I turned my head back slowly, my cheek stinging. Marco met my gaze, his pupils trembling. “Elena, let’s talk calmly.” “Nothing to talk about.” I cut him off, glanced at the mess on the ground, and turned away. Behind me, I heard the click of metal. Marco had drawn his gun. He aimed it at Gianna. “Enough,” he said, his voice so low only the three of us could hear. “Gianna. Time to behave. Are you calm now?” Gianna went white, her lips pressed shut. Marco looked at me, weary, pleading. “Satisfied? Then come home with me.” I turned, stared at the gun pointed at Gianna, and said flatly: “Not my concern.” I walked through the gap the bodyguards had opened and headed toward the ferry gates. Behind me, I heard Marco’s gun lower. “Ferry to Calabria departing in five minutes. Passengers proceed to Pier Three.” The announcement echoed through the terminal. My phone buzzed—Marco calling. Clutching my parents’ photo to my chest, I walked toward the gate and answered. “Where are you?” he demanded. “At the dock,” I said calmly. “I’m going home. Not your home—mine.” Before he could reply, I hung up.