"It wasn't a story." The amusement vanished from his voice. The room felt colder. A muscle moved in his jaw. For the first time all evening, Santino looked tired. Not physically. Something deeper. Something older. The kind of exhaustion that settled into bones and never really left. "He was twenty-six when he died, four years ago.”
My chest tightened. Twenty-six. The same age forever. The age he'd remain while everyone else got older. The thought hurt unexpectedly. Santino stared at the rain running down the windows.
"When you're a kid, you think twins are magic,” he muttered. I blinked. The comment surprised me. His eyes remained on the storm. "You spend your entire life with somebody."
His voice was quiet. Almost absent. Like he wasn't talking to me anymore. Like he'd forgotten I was standing there.
"You look the same." The rain continued falling. Thunder rumbled. "You sound the same. You know what they're thinking before they say it."
Something twisted in my chest. Because I wasn't standing inside a guest house anymore. I was watching a man relive the worst thing that had ever happened to him.
"When we were kids, Angelo used to steal my homework." A faint smile appeared. Small. Real. "He didn’t even bother to change the name."
I laughed before I could stop myself. The smile widened. Barely.
"He wasn't stupid, he just had a crush on the detention teacher,” he sighed.
"That seems insane."
"He'd be proud of himself if he heard you say that,” he nodded.
The smile disappeared again. The room darkened. The storm intensified. Then Santino quietly said,
"The day he died..." His voice stopped. Just stopped. The silence that followed felt enormous. I didn't interrupt. For once. I didn't joke. Didn't push. Didn't fill the space. Because something told me this mattered. Deeply. Finally he exhaled. Slowly. "The whole world got louder."
I frowned. His gaze remained fixed on the rain.
"People always talk about silence after death. That's bullshit. Nothing gets quieter." Thunder cracked across the sky. The glass walls vibrated. Santino didn't react. "The phones ring. The condolences start. The lawyers arrive."
A bitter laugh escaped him. "Everybody needs something."
My chest hurt.
"The world just keeps talking." The storm roared outside. "And eventually..."
His voice dropped lower. "...you realize they're all moving forward."
The words settled between us. Heavy. Permanent.
"You aren't, though,” I said softly.
For a moment neither of us spoke. The rain fell. The ocean crashed below the cliffs. The photograph sat quietly on the desk. And I understood. Not completely. But enough. Enough to see the outline of the wound. Enough to understand why he wore the watch. Enough to understand why the smile disappeared whenever Angelo's name appeared. Enough to understand why a man who seemed terrified of losing people might do something completely insane to keep one.
The realization made my stomach twist. Dangerous. Very dangerous. Because sympathy was a slippery slope. I looked away first. Toward the windows. Toward the storm. Anywhere except him.
"My mother died." The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Silence. I froze. Why had I said that? Why? I didn't talk about my mother. Not with strangers. Certainly not with kidnappers. Yet somehow the words had escaped anyway.
The room went very still. Santino looked at me. "I know."
My throat tightened. Of course he knew. He knew everything. The realization should've infuriated me. Instead it just made me tired. I looked out at the ocean. The darkness. The endless rain. I missed her. So badly my chest physically hurt.
My mother. The smell of her perfume. The way she'd braid my hair. The way she'd hum while cooking. The way she'd tell us stories before bed. Gone. The grief arrived so suddenly it stole my breath.
I hated that it happened here. I hated that it happened in front of him. I hated everything. Two people standing in different kinds of ruins. Finally Santino spoke. Very quietly.
"So now you know." I looked over. His gaze drifted toward the photograph. Toward the boys smiling forever from inside the frame. Toward Angelo. "My secret."
