Usually the room felt like control. Tonight it felt too small.
Marco stood slowly and walked toward the cabinet against the far wall, opening it without urgency. Crystal clinked softly. Ice shifted. Whiskey poured in a slow amber stream.
Normal sounds. Everything normal. Only my chest still felt tight. Only I could still smell apples. Only I could still remember furious dark eyes staring up at me.
He handed me the glass. I took it. Mostly because punching him still felt socially unacceptable.
"You have no idea who she is, do you?" he asked casually.
I smirked and leaned back in the chair. "You say that like you do."
Marco looked at me. Then looked toward the wall of screens. "I did some digging while you were busy sticking your tongue into forbidden fruit."
I slowly lowered the glass. "What the fuck did you just say?"
He shrugged. "What? I multitask."
“So efficient.”
Marco stared back. Completely serious. "It's Aurora Ventura."
The room went still. The music outside disappeared. The camera screens disappeared. The whiskey in my hand disappeared. Everything disappeared.
Aurora Ventura.
No. No fucking way. I stared at Marco. He pointed at me.
"That thing you're doing right now?" he said calmly. "The denial thing? That's not changing reality."
I stood up. Slowly. Because my body felt wrong. Heavy. Like someone had quietly replaced my bones with concrete while I wasn't paying attention.
"Ventura?" I repeated.
Marco nodded once. "Chiara Ventura's little sister."
No nono. My eyes lifted automatically toward the camera wall. Toward absolutely nothing. Because I wasn't really seeing the screens anymore. I was seeing dark hair. White heels. Big eyes glaring at me. Christ.
Then Marco fired the second bullet. "And she's getting married in a week."
I looked at him. My voice sounded distant. "To who?"
Please don't say it.
"Sergio,” Marco muttered.
Everything inside me stopped. The air in the room felt thick. Too thick. Like somebody had wrapped a hand around my throat and squeezed. Sergio.
Leo's shadow. Leo's right hand. Leo's fucking family. The Serpent was my cousin, and Sergio was the man standing beside him every goddamn time I'd seen him since… well, forever.
And four years disappeared. I wasn't in the surveillance room anymore. I wasn't thirty years old. I wasn't holding whiskey. I was twenty-six again. Kneeling on cold concrete. Blood everywhere. Too much blood.
Then the snakes. Jesus Christ. The fucking snakes. I could still hear hissing if I thought about it hard enough. Still remembered my knees hitting the ground beside Angelo. Still remembered grabbing his shoulders. Still remembered screaming his name. Still remembered realizing he wasn't answering me.
Four years of rage and violence and pretending I wasn't missing half my goddamn soul. And tonight, I'd kissed the enemy.
I laughed once. Short. Empty. The sound didn't even sound like me. Marco looked concerned. Which was saying something. Because Marco didn't look concerned unless buildings were actively burning down.
"Santino."
