Lina grabbed my arm and tried to yank me up.

But I was so weak I stumbled and fell right at Vincent’s feet.

I looked up, and he was grinning, no more fake sick act, just pure smug.

My mind flashed back to five years ago, the night they threw me out.

Rain was pouring down in Palermo. I was soaked to the bone, blood trickling from a cut on my head, walking aimlessly down the street.

Lina pulled up next to me, held an umbrella over my head, bought me a slice of pizza at the corner shop, sat there for hours listening to me yell about how my family hated me.

She’d sworn to be by my side forever, saying she hated Vincent more than anyone.

When did that change?

When Vincent started bringing her diamonds and taking her to fancy restaurants behind my back? When he kept showing up to all our dates, hanging off her like a leech?

When they started sneaking out together at 2 a.m.?

The woman I’d loved had chosen my worst enemy.

A faint, sharp twinge pricked my deadened heart.

But it didn’t matter.

I’m dying.

They can have everything.

I pushed myself up from the floor.

“Yeah, it’s my fault Lina got hit. I’ll go talk to the don.”

All of them froze, surprised I’d agreed so easily.

Mom looked at me, almost soft for a second.

“Now you’re acting like a proper older brother. Your father and I are proud of you.”

Dad nodded.

“We love you, kid, we just want you to look out for your brother.”

Even Lina seemed briefly guilty. She helped me up.

“I’ll go with you. I can calm my father down.”

I just smiled and said nothing.

There’s no coming back from this, not for me.

But Vincent opened his mouth again, all fake innocent.

“The don’s not gonna let it go that easy. However many lashes Lina took, you take double. Film it and send it to him—that’s the only way he’ll believe you’re sorry.”

While our parents weren’t looking, he winked and mouthed, “You can’t win,” before slipping back into his frail act.

Before I could respond, Lina cut in.

“Forget that. Let’s just go see the don now.”

But my parents immediately overruled her.

“No. This is the way it has to be. Come on, Nick! Be a man. It’s just a beating. You’ll apologize while it happens. Endure a little and it’ll be over.”

My mother added, her voice firm,

“You have to do this so the don will forgive Vincent. You’re the older brother. You carry the weight.”

Without letting me speak, they grabbed my arms and dragged me out into the courtyard.

My dad had a leather whip in his hand, and my mother was holding her phone up to film.

“Just hold still, Nick,” Mom said, like she was doing me a favor.

“This is the only way the don won’t come after Vincent. You’re the older brother, you take the hit for the family.”

I didn’t say a word, just bit down on my tongue so hard I tasted blood when the first whip hit my back.

It burned like hell, but I made no sound.

I watched them as they did it.

My parents were only worried about Vincent.

Lina stood off to the side, frowning, but she never once told them to stop.

Whatever. I’ve always been the disposable one.

When they were done, my back was covered in blood, my shirt stuck to the wounds.

Mom hit send on the video, glancing at my back like it was nothing.

“You’re tough, you’ll be fine. Patch yourself up, don’t be late for surgery tomorrow. We’re taking Vincent to see the don now.”

Lina knelt down next to me, voice all soft.

“Once this is all over, we’ll move to Tuscany. Just us. Wait for me.”

Watching them drive away, I started laughing.

A harsh, broken sound that turned into a cough, and I spat a mouthful of blood onto the wet stones.

Between the toxin and the beating, I was done.

Through the blur, I saw the old clock on the courtyard wall.

Twenty-four hours were up.

Vision went fuzzy, felt like all the life was draining out of me.

It started raining again, just like that night five years ago.

They’ll be so happy once I’m gone, no more hassle.

I closed my eyes, right before I passed out I only heard a sudden sound of brakes and my father's shout.

"Nick, get up! Stop pretending”

When I forced my eyes open again, I was floating.

Beneath me lay my own broken, bloodied body.

Doctors and nurses moved in frantic, futile bursts of activity.

But the heart monitor beside the gurney blared a flat, unwavering line.

I wasn’t coming back.

I watched the lead surgeon step out into the hall to break the news to my parents.

“I’m sorry. We’ve lost him.”

My father’s face twisted with unbridled rage.

“What do you mean, lost him? He’s faking. This boy’s survived worse than a lashing. Get him off that table and wake him up! Now!”

He lunged to shove past, but the doctor planted himself firm in the doorway.

My mother’s voice was ice-cold, razor-sharp.

“Is he getting cold feet about the transplant? Put him back under the knife. Vincent’s prepped and waiting.”

“Yes!” my father snarled.

“The little bastard’s always been a gutless coward. Roll him into the OR. Now.”

The doctor spoke again, his voice tight with barely contained alarm.

“The procedure cannot be performed on a deceased patient...”

“He isn’t deceased!” my father roared.

“Five years ago he pulled this exact same stunt! How much did he pay you to cover his ass? If anything happens to Vincent over this delay, I’ll bury you alongside him.”

Even in death, those words cut straight through me.

We’d grown up under the same roof.

Bore the same family name.

Yet they’d never have risked a single hair on Vincent’s head for me.

When all reasoning fell on deaf ears, the doctor finally handed over a release of liability form.

My father scrawled his signature without so much as glancing at the fine print.

“It’s a fucking liver transplant, not a death sentence. Quit your goddamned stalling.”

Minutes later, they wheeled Vincent into the OR.

When he saw me lying there, he gave a sickly, feigned smile.

“Nick… you good now? We don’t have to do this if you don’t have the stomach for it.”

I didn’t answer, of course.

He let out a low, bitter snort.

“You brought this on yourself. If you hadn’t run off and hid like a coward when Dad needed that kidney five years ago, none of this would’ve happened.”

He was fishing for a reaction.

Rage, agony, anything at all.

But a nurse laid a hand on his arm.

“Time for your anesthetic, Sir.”

Out in the waiting room, the air hung thick and suffocating.

Tommaso and Sofia couldn’t stop pacing; Lina sat twisted in her chair, wringing her hands until her knuckles bleached white.

“Why the hell is it taking so long?”

Sofia muttered through gritted teeth, her boots thudding against the linoleum.

“Something’s wrong. I can feel it.”

Lina forced her voice steady.

“I brought in the best transplant surgeons in Sicily. The very best. So it would be OK then.”

But even so, her hands shook so badly.

Tommaso clamped a firm hand down on Sofia’s shoulder.

“I’ve overseen dozens of them for the family. There’s nothing to...”

Just then, two nurses rolled a supply cart past, their hushed whispers carrying clearly through the closed door.

“…came today covered in lash marks, toxic shock… they said he only had one kidney…”

“…who the hell forces a liver transplant on a man with only one kidney? He was poisoned, whipped half to death, and they still made us go through with it…”

All three froze.

Tommaso went rigid, his voice dropping to a low growl.

“No. That’s impossible. Nick was strong. He never donated that kidney! He lied! The whole fucking hospital was in on the grift.”

Then the memory crashed over him, vivid, raw and brutal.

Five years prior, my father had been poisoned.

Left in end-stage kidney failure.

Vincent and I were both perfect matches.

We’d both agreed to donate.

But Vincent was “too fragile,” our mother had cooed.

So they’d chosen me.

I’d said yes.

The night before surgery, I was grabbed.

Drugged unconscious.

When I woke, I was in a sterile, locked room, a fresh, oozing scar sliced into my side.

Vincent had set the whole thing up.

I was locked away in a remote villa until the wound closed and faded.

By the time I finally made it back to the estate, the whole family hailed Vincent as their hero.

The second I stepped through the front door, my mother’s hand cracked hard across my face.

“You selfish, gutless coward! You promised your father your kidney, then you ran off and vanished into thin air?”

I’d tried to show them my scar, but months of isolated, careful healing had left it faint.

Nothing but a pale silvery line against my skin.

Vincent had ripped his shirt open then, revealing a raw, inflamed wound he’d deliberately kept from healing.

His eyes glistened with crocodile tears.

“How could you lie like this, Nick? I’m the one who gave Dad his kidney. And now you want to steal that glory from me, too?”

They threw me out into the storm that night.

And in the pouring rain, I met Lina.