I laughed harder.
"He wasn't even interested in her." His voice had gone distant now. Softer. "He just thought it was funny."
The laugh escaped him before he could stop it. A real one. Small. Broken. But real. And something inside my chest cracked. Because I understood. Nobody asked about Angelo anymore. Nobody asked who he was. Only how he died. Only what happened. Only the tragedy. Not the person. Not the brother. Not the boy.
The person was disappearing. And Santino was the only one still fighting it.
Chapter Eleven: SANTINO
Therooftopwasempty.The candles had burned down to puddles of wax. The whiskey bottle sat half-empty beside abandoned glasses. And Aurora was asleep somewhere beneath my roof.
I hated that I knew exactly which room. I hated that I knew exactly how she looked when she was tired. I hated that I knew she tucked one foot beneath herself when she sat. I hated that I knew she wrinkled her nose when she laughed. I hated all of it.
Because I should have spent tonight with Angelo. Instead, I'd spent it with her. The realization followed me all the way downstairs. The mansion was silent. Dark. Still. The kind of silence only existed after midnight.
I walked through it alone. Past empty hallways. Past sleeping guards. Past rooms worth millions of dollars. None of it mattered. My feet carried me automatically.
Toward him. The black door waited at the end of the hallway. Exactly where it always was. Exactly where it would always be. I opened it. The familiar scent hit. Cologne. Leather. Dust-free air. Memory. My chest tightened. Nothing had changed. Nothingever changed. The bed remained perfectly made. The jacket still hung over the chair. The shelves remained untouched. The watches gleamed beneath glass. Everything exactly where it belonged.
I looked anyway. The watch collection. The photographs. The books. The dresser. My gaze moved over every single item. Checking. Confirming. Verifying. I hated myself for it. But I did it every time. Every fucking time. Because if something disappeared... If something moved... If something changed... Then Angelo disappeared a little more too.
And I couldn't allow that. Not even a little.
My gaze stopped on the desk. A photograph sat there. One I'd brought earlier. A stupid photograph. Angelo standing on a yacht. Arm around my shoulders. Both of us grinning like idiots.
I stared. Then saw Aurora. Sitting beside me. Asking questions.What was he like?
The memory hit harder than it should have. Because nobody asked that. Not anymore. Not for years. People asked how he died. How many snakes. Whether Leo regretted it. Whether I still wanted revenge. Nobody asked who he was. Nobody remembered he existed before becoming a corpse.
My grip tightened around the photograph.What was he like? I laughed once. Softly. Bitterly. The room swallowed the sound.
"The bastard stole my girlfriend, and he’d steal you, too." The words slipped out. Nobody answered. Of course nobody answered. The silence hurt anyway. A knock sounded behind me. I didn't bother turning around.
Marco. Only Marco knocked. Everyone else was smart enough not to interrupt me in here.
The door opened. Then closed. Silence. A few seconds passed.
"You're talking to yourself now."
I rolled my eyes. "There are easier ways to announce your arrival."
Marco walked deeper into the room. His gaze swept across everything once. Never lingering. Never touching. He knew the rules. Everybody knew the rules. "You're in here."
"Observant,” I noted.
"Alcohol?"
"Obviously,” I added.
He sighed. "Healthy."
I took another drink. Marco remained standing. Watching me. Waiting. The prick knew me too well. Eventually he nodded toward the photograph. "You talked about him."
My grip tightened. I looked away. Marco's expression softened slightly. Not enough to be obvious. Just enough. "When was the last time you did that?"
I didn't answer. Because I knew exactly what he meant. Not that mentioned Angelo. Talked about him. Actually talked. Stories. Memories. The stupid shit. The real shit. The human shit. Not the murder. Not the snakes. Not the revenge. Him.
I couldn't remember the last time. Marco already knew that.
