The answer hit like a gunshot. Silence crashed through the ballroom. My breath caught. Santino froze. Completely. Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. Because somehow my sixteen-year-old brother had found the one thing nobody else saw.
Not the Devil. Not the killer. Not the monster.
“And I know what Leo did to your brother,” Matteo went on. “I know Leo killed him.”
I saw Santino’s anger flash across his face. The man who still bought birthday cakes. The man who still kept score for two people. The man who couldn't let go. Matteo held his gaze. Steady. Unflinching.
"You loved someone enough to break yourself." His voice softened. "Bad men don't do that."
For the first time since I'd met Santino Moretti... I genuinely didn't know what he was going to do. And somehow that was more frightening than if he'd pulled a gun. Nobody moved. Nobody breathed. The chandeliers glowed overhead. The city glittered beyond the windows. And Matteo remained on one knee. Waiting.
Santino stared down at him. Expressionless. Silent. Dangerously silent. Then he started walking. My pulse climbed. Because Santino walking toward somebody rarely ended well. Matteo didn't flinch. Didn't look away. Didn't move. Stubborn idiot.
Santino stopped directly in front of him. Then, unexpectedly, crouched. Not towering over him. Not intimidating him. Eye level. The movement surprised all three of us. Matteo looked shocked. I looked shocked. Santino looked annoyed that he'd done it.
"How old are you?" The question seemed to catch Matteo off guard.
"Sixteen."
"I killed my first man at sixteen." The room froze. My stomach dropped. Matteo's face drained of color. Santino's expression didn't change. Not even slightly. Like he was discussing the weather. Not murder. Not trauma. Not the thing that had probably broken him forever. "Nobody tells you that part."
His voice remained calm. Quiet. Controlled. "I threw up afterward."
I blinked. What? Matteo blinked too. Apparently we were both having the same reaction. Santino continued anyway.
"I couldn't eat for three days." The ballroom felt smaller. The city beyond the windows disappeared. Everything narrowed to the three of us. "I couldn't sleep for two weeks."
Matteo stared. Speechless. So was I. Because I'd never heard Santino talk like this. Never. Not even once. The Devil was speaking. But not like a monster. Like a warning.
"A month later, I stopped feeling guilty. That's when I got scared." The words landed heavily. Painfully. I watched Matteo absorb them. Watched the fantasy begin to crack. Not shatter. Not completely. But crack. Because this was the first real thing anybody had said to him.
Not honor. Not loyalty. Not glory. Consequences.
Santino stood. Slowly. The movement felt final somehow. "You're talking about morals." His gaze fixed on Matteo.
"Honor." A humorless laugh escaped him. "Protecting people. The mafia doesn't keep good men good."
Matteo's jaw tightened. Santino's eyes hardened. "It turns bad men useful."
Ouch. The words hit hard enough that even I felt them. Matteo swallowed. Then lifted his chin. Defiant. Ventura stubbornness. Again. "I don't believe that."
Santino almost smiled. Almost. "That's because you're sixteen."
The silence stretched. Tense. Sharp. Then finally I snapped. Because apparently nobody else intended to. "No."
Both men looked at me. I pointed at Matteo. Absolutely furious now. "You are not joining the mafia."
The audacity. The complete audacity. I looked at Santino. "Have all of you lost your minds?"
Neither answered. I rounded on Matteo. "What would Mom think?"
The words left my mouth before I could stop them. Immediate regret. Matteo froze. Like somebody had punched him. Pain flashed across his face. Raw. Unexpected. Real.
Damn it. The ballroom went silent again. Much quieter this time. Much sadder. Because this wasn't about the mafia anymore. It wasn't about Santino. Or loyalty. Or made men.
It was about grief. Everything always came back to grief.
Matteo looked away. Toward the windows. Toward the city. Anywhere except me. His voice sounded rough when he finally spoke. "I can't stay there."
