For Aurora, I would burn every bridge. Even the ones to family. Even the ones soaked in Moretti blood.
Leo’s lips curved into the faintest hint of a cold smile. “Good. Then we have work to do.”
The alliance was sealed in the shadow of the warehouse, with the sea bearing witness and old ghosts watching from the dark. I didn’t care about the cost. I didn’t care about the debt. All that mattered was getting her back before Edoardo could destroy the only light left in my world.
And God help my father when we found him. Because between me and Leo, there would be nothing left but blood and ruin.
Chapter Twenty-Two: AURORA
Thewindwhippedacrossmy face like a slap from the universe itself as I tore down the coastal road on the stolen bike. My hands gripped the handlebars so tightly my knuckles had gone bone-white, but I couldn’t loosen them. Not when every second of freedom felt like it was slipping through my fingers like sand.
I was pregnant.
The two pink lines on that test were burned into my brain.
Santino’s baby. The devil’s child growing inside me.
I pressed one hand to my lower belly for a split second before jerking it back to the handlebars, the bike wobbling dangerously on the narrow curve. The sea crashed against the cliffs far below, gray and restless under the late afternoon sky, mirroring the storm inside my chest.
I should have felt something warm. Something hopeful. Instead, all I felt was terror and a sick, twisting guilt that made bile rise in my throat.
Sergio. His ruined face haunted me every time I closed my eyes. The way his voice had come out wet and broken in thatcrypt. The jagged scar tissue, the milky blind eye, the way he’d rasped about Santino leaving him choking on his own blood on the altar.
I had watched Santino shoot him. I had let myself be carried away in a bloodstained wedding dress while Sergio lay dying, or so I’d thought.
Now he was something worse than dead. A broken, demented shell of the man who was supposed to be my husband. All because of one kiss with a stranger in a devil mask. Because Santino had decided I belonged to him and burned everything else down.
And I was still running back to him. Still letting him touch me. Still coming apart under his hands like my body had forgotten what betrayal felt like.
Tears stung my eyes, blurring the road ahead. I blinked them away furiously. I couldn’t afford to crash. Not now. Not when I had a baby to think about. Santino’s baby. A child who would be born into this world of blood and lies and endless violence.
I needed help. Real help. Not Santino’s brand of possessive protection that came with chains and breeding and dark promises whispered against my skin. I needed my sister.
My hand fumbled for the phone Santino had given me, the one I knew was probably tracked, but I didn’t care anymore. I swerved slightly as I pulled it out, thumbing through contacts with one hand while the bike roared beneath me.
Chiara’s name stared back at me. My big sister. The one who had survived Leo. The one who might understand what it meant to be stolen by a monster and still feel things you shouldn’t.
I hit call.
The phone rang once. Twice. My heart hammered louder than the engine.
“Come on, Chiara,” I whispered, voice cracking. “Pick up. Please pick up.”
The third ring cut off abruptly.
A black SUV surged out from a hidden side road ahead, tires screeching as it swerved sideways and slammed to a stop, completely blocking the narrow coastal path.
I slammed on the brakes, the bike fishtailing wildly beneath me. Gravel sprayed. The back wheel locked. For one terrifying second I thought I was going to lose control and fly over the edge of the cliff.
I managed to stop just feet from the SUV’s gleaming black side, heart in my throat. The phone slipped from my fingers and clattered onto the asphalt. The call to Chiara never connected.
I stared at the black SUV, chest heaving, the engine of the stolen bike still rumbling beneath me like a dying animal. The driver’s door opened slowly. A figure stepped out.
Not one of Edoardo’s faceless soldiers.
Sergio.
My stomach dropped like a stone into the sea below. He looked even worse in the harsh daylight than he had in the crypt.
