ABSOLUTE INSANITY: A forbidden bond

Chapter 272: Dinner invitations

Chapter 272

KATYA POV

We stepped inside.

And froze.

Nonna sat waiting in the entry hall, her wheelchair positioned perfectly beneath the old chandelier, like she’d planned the entire scene down to the lighting.

A single light from the bulb glowed, casting long shadows across the marble floor. Her hands rested calmly in her lap, fingers folded, posture straight despite the blanket covering her legs.

She wasn’t angry. That terrified me more than if she were. My feet refused to move. My lungs forgot how to work.

Beside me, Michael stopped short, Chiara still asleep in his arms. His body went still in the same instant mine did, every muscle locking into place like he’d just walked into a line of fire.

"Whooooo—" Chiara stirred suddenly, her head lolling back, eyes cracking open just enough to squint at the ceiling. "Why is the floor... so shiny..."

She focused on Nonna. Her eyes widened. "Oh shit—" And then she passed out again. Completely. Gone. Dead to the world.

The sound of her head landing back against Michael’s chest echoed far too loudly in the quiet hall. Nonna didn’t move at first. She simply looked at Chiara, her expression shifting—tightening—into something cold and unimpressed.

"So," she said calmly. "The prodigal drunk returns." I flinched. Before I could say anything, Nonna lifted her chin slightly. One of the guards stationed near the stairs immediately stepped forward.

"Take her carefully to her room please." Nonna instructed, eyes never leaving Chiara.

The guard hesitated only a fraction before moving to Michael. "Sir." Michael adjusted his hold instinctively, glancing at me once—silent question, silent reassurance—before easing Chiara into the guard’s arms.

She barely stirred as the guard carried her away. Nonna’s gaze followed them until they disappeared up the stairs. Only then did she turn back to us.

To me. "Katya," she said. My name landed like a verdict. "Yes, Nonna," I replied automatically.

"How many times have I told you not to leave this house at night?" My mouth opened. Closed again.

"I—"

"How many times," she repeated, a little firmer now, "have I told you that this city is not forgiving, and that freedom without discretion is not freedom at all?"

"I know," I said quietly. My shoulders sagged. "I know." She studied my face like she was searching for something beneath the surface—defiance, guilt, recklessness.

She found the guilt. Her lips pressed into a thin line. "You disappear. No message. No explanation. And you return past midnight with a drunk girl and a man"

She finally looked at Michael again, slow and deliberate. Her eyes were sharp, intelligent, missing nothing.

"This," she continued, "is what we call a pattern." My chest tightened. "Nonna, it wasn’t—"

"You are getting careless," she said over me. "And that is not like you."

That hurt. I dropped my gaze to the floor, shame crawling up my spine. She wasn’t wrong. I knew she wasn’t. That somehow made it worse.

"I trusted you," Nonna went on, her voice still controlled but edged now with disappointment. "I loosened my grip. I gave you space. And this is how you repay it?"

The words lodged somewhere deep in my chest. "I’m sorry," I said. And this time, I meant it in every possible way.

Nonna sighed. A tired sound. "And Chiara," she said, shaking her head. "That girl has always been trouble."

My head snapped up. "Nonna—"

"She drinks too much," Nonna continued coolly. "She stays out too late. She has no sense of restraint, no respect for consequences. Every time she enters this house, something follows."

"That’s not fair," I said before I could stop myself.

Nonna’s eyes sharpened. "Isn’t it?"

"She’s not a bad person," I insisted, heat creeping into my voice. "She just—she messes up sometimes. Like everyone else."

Nonna leaned back slightly in her wheelchair. "She is starting to feel like bad influence on you," she said bluntly. "And you know it."

My hands clenched into fists at my sides. "She’s family."

"Yes she is but sometimes as family we have to tell each other the truth." Nonna countered. She turned her gaze to Micheal as if finally recognizing him again after so long.

"Is he the cause for tonight?"

"No!" I said quickly. "This wasn’t his fault."

Nonna raised a brow. "Oh?" I swallowed, heart pounding. "We went on our own But some men followed us at the beach. They wouldn’t leave us alone. Things... escalated."

Michael shifted slightly beside me, but remained silent. "They were drunk," I continued. "And aggressive. Chiara tried to brush it off, but they didn’t back down. And then—" I hesitated, then said it plainly. "Michael stepped in."

Nonna’s gaze flicked to him again.

"He protected us," I said firmly now. "He scared them off. He made sure we got home safe." Nonna was quiet for a long moment.

The kind of quiet that made the room feel smaller, heavier, like the walls themselves were listening.

"And how, do I believe that?" she asked at last, her voice calm but edged with steel.

The question was reasonable. I lifted my head slowly. "Because it’s the truth," I said. My voice didn’t shake this time. "And because if you want to blame anyone, you can blame me."

Nonna’s eyes narrowed slightly. "You?"

"Yes," I said, before doubt could creep in. "I chose to go out. I didn’t tell you. I didn’t think it through. None of that was Michael’s doing."

Michael turned his head toward me sharply, like he hadn’t expected that. I kept going.

"He didn’t owe us anything," I said. " He didn’t put us in danger—he pulled us out of it. If he hadn’t been there..." I trailed off, the rest of the sentence sitting heavy and unfinished between us.

Nonna studied me carefully now. Not just listening to my words, but watching my face. Measuring conviction. Fear. Loyalty.

"You defend him strongly," she said.

"Because it’s fair," I replied quietly. "And because it’s true."

Another silence stretched out. Nonna finally turned her attention fully to Michael.

He straightened instinctively, shoulders squared but posture respectful. He didn’t try to look impressive. He didn’t try to explain himself.

He simply waited. "You could have walked away. Many men would have." Nonna said to him.

Michael didn’t answer immediately. Nonna watched him for a long beat. Then she gave a slow, deliberate nod.

"Hm." She turned back to me briefly, then back to him again, as if coming to a decision.

"Well," she said at last, "whether you intended it or not, you returned my girls to me safely."

Nonna inclined her head slightly toward Michael. "For that, I thank you."

I blinked. Michael looked just as surprised, though he masked it quickly. "It was no trouble, ma’am."

Nonna’s gaze sharpened. "Do not mistake gratitude for blindness," she said. "I am still displeased with tonight’s events."

"I understand," he replied without hesitation. "But," she continued, "I also believe in acknowledging when someone does the right thing."

She paused, fingers tapping once against the armrest of her wheelchair. "You will join us for dinner tomorrow evening."

The words echoed.

"Nonna—" I turned to her sharply.

She lifted a hand, silencing me without even looking. "It is not a negotiation." Michael hesitated this time. "That’s generous of you, but I don’t want to impose—"

"It is not an imposition," Nonna said firmly. "It is appreciation. And"—her eyes flicked briefly to me—"it allows me to decide for myself the kind of man who involves himself in my family."

Oh. That explained everything.