So, I have an older brother. Five, to be exact. Supposedly.

Although, it was on par with my hazy memories. Five. The number of boys that watched my mother drag me out of the house, kicking and screaming. Who stood by and watched.

That didn't matter, though. They don't owe me anything. Who would want to be pestered by me, anyway? They were probably thankful I was gone.

At some point, Massimo had walked me back to my room. I don't know why I let him. A nurse—a different one, this time—had come in to set me back up. Massimo's brow furrowed, just slightly, when I didn't even flinch at the needle back in my arm.

He left after a while, saying he needed to "make some calls". So here I sat, knees tucked to my chest, in the stark white hospital room. I had also finally been filled in on the situation at hand.

Sir was dead. That couldn't be. But somehow, it was. He was gone. My brain didn't listen, no matter how many times the doctor repeated it. I still searched for him in every corner of the room. Just in case.

A lady came in soon after. She asked me a bunch of questions about living with Sir. I didn't answer. I didn't talk much. She seemed disappointed. I hated every second of it. She said I was going to live with my brothers. I feel sick.

They would hit harder than Sir. I could tell. If that's how big one of them was, they would all be big like him. I knew how genetics worked. I didn't ask her if I could stay. I had nowhere to stay. She left.

A nurse came back with clothes. We were leaving. I still felt sick. Everything hurts. The doctor asked if I was in pain. I said no.

The clothes were too big. The shirt went all the way down to my knees and the pant legs bunched at my feet. I was still barefoot.

Massimo looked up at me as I came out of the bathroom, something flickering in his eyes for a split second, before disappearing. It was too quick for me to catch. I watched Massimo turn on his heel and head for the door. I was right behind him. Somehow, he knew.

After signing a bunch of papers, we walked outside. Or, rather, he lifted me with one arm without warning, causing me to flinch and duck away. He ignored it, stepping outside into the sun. I shielded my eyes from the brightness, but I felt my skin heat up under its warm glow. I hadn't felt the sun in a long time.

I didn't even notice that we hadn't moved until I blinked and looked down at Massimo. He just nodded quietly to me, a slightly sad, knowing look in his eyes. He let me bask in the sun until a cloud passed over it, obscuring the warm rays. I frowned.

He walked us across the sidewalk to a large, black car parked up against the curb. An older man stood outside, holding the door open patiently. He had a kind smile. He sent me a wink, but not one that made my stomach feel sick. This was a good one.

Massimo placed me on one of the seats and attached a buckle that strapped over my chest into a red lock. It made me panic, but when Massimo got in on the other side and put one on as well, I relaxed. Well, as much as I could.

As the car moved, I counted the number of power poles we passed. My rule was that I couldn't take my attention off of one power pole until I found another one. It was harder than it looked. When it got quiet, I looked up and the car was stopped. It was empty.

I looked around, noticing where we had parked. We were right next to an airplane, a big one that said "Accardi Industries" on the side in blue. I jumped when my door opened and Massimo leaned in.

He unbuckled the strap and lifted me out of the car, placing a careful hand atop my head to avoid hitting it on the frame of the car. Why would he do that?

꩜꩜꩜

I had made a decision. That didn't happen very often.

I hate flying.

The minute the engine had kicked in, I had pulled my knees to my chest and tucked Hobbes into the crook of my neck. He didn't like it either.

Somehow, my few possessions had been collected, including Hobbes. I had to apologize to him for going so long without him.

The plane had begun to move and I tucked my head into my knees, ignoring my aching body. Massimo sat across from me, working on a laptop, typing away furiously. I could feel his eyes on me every once in a while, but no one spoke.

I did a lot of looking out the window. That was one of the only good things. It was pretty. Massimo had told me we were going to Italy, and we had to fly across an ocean to get there. Duh. I wanted to say, but that would be a death wish. No talking back.

I found myself growing more and more tired as the hours dragged on, the gentle hum of the engines lulling me. My head would droop every few minutes, hanging, before I would shoot up and rub my eyes.

After the fourth time, Massimo spoke up, "You can rest, fratellino," (little brother) he murmured, looking up at me from his screen. I shook my head and he sighed.

He stood up and Oh my God why was he standing he was supposed to have the belt on but he didn't even seem phased. He just walked across and sat in the seat next to me. I flinched as he reached for me, burying my face into Hobbes. His hand continued its path to tilt my chin towards him.

"Luca, I am not going to hurt you. I wouldn't even think about it. Nor would your brothers. We love you so, so much. We've all missed you." he spoke softly, but without emotion. Why would they have missed me?

I just nodded, still feeling exhausted as I leaned against Hobbes. He reached for me again, and I was able to suppress the flinch this time. He gently traced his fingers through my hair. I was tense, waiting for anything to happen.

"It's okay, monkey. You're okay. Relax." he murmured gently, his soothing voice lulling me into a sense of security. I tried to fight it, but as he continued to mumble soft, reassuring words to me, I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer.

꩜꩜꩜

I was moving. Where, I wasn't quite sure.

I stirred gently, realizing that my arms were wrapped loosely around someone's neck, my legs dangling around their hips. Hobbes was tucked between my body and the other person's. I slowly began to peel my heavy eyelids open before someone's hand came up to rub my head, gently brushing my eyes closed once again.

I was too tired, I didn't even have time to flinch. "Shh... rest, monkey" I heard Massimo's deep voice soothe me, and I let my head rest against his chest again as I let out a breath, slipping back under again.

꩜꩜꩜

He was so small. Massimo couldn't believe it. He didn't know what to think.

The night he got the news, he had flown directly to Oakland, eager (though he'd never admit it) to pick up his brother. Turns out, those connections that got him there so fast were pointless. Luca slept.

And slept.

And slept some more.

Four days. Four days! In that time, Massimo received about 400 calls from his brothers, mostly from Alessio, 1000+ emails, 6 hour-long work calls, and one rat (he listened over the phone as Giovanni and Marco "got information" out of him).

He also spoke to about twenty different doctors, all with the same pitying expressions and nervous demeanors. Malnourished. Underweight. Skittish. Small. Underdeveloped. Abused. The unspoken word.

Each time a doctor skillfully avoided the term, his blood boiled. He wasn't quite sure why. Too bad Brandt was dead. He thought to himself. It would have been so much fun skinning him alive. He sighed.

Massimo spent a lot of those four days looking at Luca. The first time a nurse led him into the boy's room after he threatened to disembowel the man if he didn't, Massimo couldn't help the breath that caught in his throat.

He was tiny, and despite his overall frailness and scarring, he was exactly as Massimo remembered him. He clenched his fists.

So, over the next few days, Massimo made it his mission to re-memorize Luca's features. The dusty freckles smattered across his cheeks and nose. His long, soft eyelashes. The thin, white scar directly under his right eye. The slight frown on the boy's lips, even as he slept. Massimo made sure he would change that.

On the fourth day, he had been pulled out of Luca's room for the umpteenth time to discuss his meal plan. He had also cleared out the entire West Wing of the hospital, who did you think he was?

The nurse was discussing the young boy's overall fragile health when he heard an almost imperceptible shuffle outside the door. Spinning on his heel, he stepped outside the door noiselessly, eyes widening marginally as he stood in front of his baby brother.

The boy, if possible, looked even smaller now that he was awake. Massimo practically towered over the boy, so he wasn't surprised when Luca noticed his presence and lept backward. It didn't prevent his heart from squeezing painfully in his chest, though.

Massimo wasn't good at feelings. He had never been. Not, at least, since he watched his "mother" drag his baby brother out of his father's house, kicking and screaming, never to be seen again. So when the little boy finally trusted him enough to fall asleep on the plane in his presence, Massimo's cold heart beat a little louder.

꩜꩜꩜

Sheeesh. (I take a bow and you either throw rotten tomatoes or flowers). Rotten tomatoes or flowers? I'm scared to know. Love you lots!

Rosie :)