All Chapters of When I Walked Away, He Learned to Miss Me: Chapter 1 - Chapter 8

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

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 an

The ferry from Sicily to Calabria took over twelve hours.Within half an hour of boarding, Marco started calling. I didn’t answer. I switched off my phone and stared out the salt-flecked window.The ship sped along, the islands of the Strait of Messina fading into the hazy distance.I remembered my first trip to Sicily three years ago—on a plane. I was so provincial back then, clinging to Marco’s hand as he guided me through the airport. On the plane, he buckled my seatbelt without my asking. When I broke out in cold sweat at takeoff, he laughed and held my hand. “Get used to it. You’ll be flying a lot as a Vittorio. After a couple of times, you won’t be scared.”Back then, I’d been full of hope. I never guessed I wouldn’t even be allowed through the front door.Now, three years later, I had learned to fly on my own. I had dreamed of traveling with Marco and my mother, thought that next time I wouldn't be afraid.But still, I preferred the boat. The way home felt right only by sea.Aft

The next morning, they left.I didn’t go out. I didn’t say a word.Through the window, I watched them load luggage into the car.My mother’s tearful voice drifted over: “Marco… do you think Elena will ever come back?”Marco sighed, exhausted. “She needs time to figure it out. We were wrong. Staying here only upsets her more. I left a card in the house—ten million euros. Enough for the rest of her life. And I’ll have people check on her from time to time.”My mother broke down sobbing. “It’s my fault. I should have gone to get her myself, not listened to Gianna. I failed her.”They got in. The car pulled away, rumbling down the dirt road until it vanished.I let go of the breath I had been holding. My palms were slick with sweat.My heart pounded. The coldness I had worn like armor fell away.I leaned against the doorframe, my nose stinging, but no tears came.Like I had said—no hate, no need to cry. The past was past. I had a steady life now.The days settled back into quiet rhythm.I