I looked at him. "Congratulations."
His mouth twitched. "I regret telling you that. But, Aurora… I won't hurt your family."
I looked away. Because for the first time since the cathedral, I believed him. That was the terrifying part. Not the guns. Not the kidnapping. Not the estate. Not even the murder.
The terrifying part was that I believed him. Because none of this had ever been about power. Or money. Or revenge. Or territory.
Santino had risked everything. His life. His empire. His future. Possibly a war. For one reason. One completely insane reason. Me.
And standing there inside my glass prison, watching him watch me, I realized something that made cold dread crawl down my spine. He wasn't acting like a man who had stolen something. He was acting like a man who had finally gotten it back.
Chapter Seven: SANTINO
Ishould'vefeltvictorious.Thatwas the fucked-up part. I had her. The entire reason blood was drying on cathedral marble tonight sat less than two hundred yards away in a glass guest house overlooking the ocean. Aurora Ventura.
Safe. Alive. Mine. And somehow the estate felt like a funeral.
The moment I stepped through the front doors, I felt it. The shift. The tension. The invisible pressure settling over everything. Men moved differently. Soldiers walked faster. Conversations stopped when I passed. Phones rang constantly. Weapons appeared where weapons usually didn't. The entire estate had transformed into something harder. Sharper. Like a beast preparing to bare its teeth. Because everybody knew.
Word traveled fast in our world. A wedding. A public execution. A kidnapping. A Moretti civil war waiting to happen. People would be talking about today for years. Assuming I survived it.
The thought almost made me smile. Almost. I loosened my tie while walking through the foyer. My reflection flashed briefly across black marble. Dark suit. Blood on my cuff. Aurora'slipstick still faintly visible on the collar of my shirt from the cathedral.
Jesus Christ. I looked like exactly what I was. A man who had completely lost his fucking mind. The worst part? I didn't regret it. Not even a little.
The realization should've bothered me. Instead it settled comfortably beneath my ribs. Like truth. Like certainty. Like the ocean. Dangerous. Unavoidable. Permanent.
I headed toward my office. Halfway there, Marco appeared. Well. Appeared made it sound accidental. The man looked like he'd spent the last hour actively searching for me. His expression suggested homicide. He stopped directly in front of me. Didn't speak. Didn't blink. Just stared. I sighed.
"There it is."
His jaw tightened. "What?"
"The face." I motioned vaguely at his expression.
"What face?" he hissed.
"The one where you're deciding whether to shoot me or strangle me." I sighed. “You really need to learn some manners.”
"Neither, actually,” Marco replied. I raised an eyebrow. Marco's expression darkened. "I'm deciding whether to throw you into the ocean and tell everyone it was an accident."
I laughed. Marco didn't. That was concerning. Because Marco usually laughed. Not often. Not enthusiastically. But enough. Tonight? Nothing. Not even a twitch.
The silence stretched between us. Finally he rubbed both hands over his face. Slowly. Like a priest preparing to deliver last rites. "Tell me you have a plan."
"I have a plan." Relief flashed across his face. Poor bastard. Then I ruined it. "I plan on keeping her."
The relief died. Marco stared at the ceiling. Then closed his eyes. Then looked back at me. "You are a fucking idiot."
"That seems harsh,” I grinned.
"You shot Leo's right hand in the face."
"Technically the forehead,” I reminded him.
His eye twitched. I smiled. The twitch got worse. Good. I started walking again. Marco followed. Because loyalty was a disease. And unfortunately he'd caught it years ago.
"You killed Sergio publicly."
