Chapter 7 Santino
Santino
The Gun in the Dark
The gun clicks again.Not loud. Not dramatic.Just a small, metallic whisper that slices through the alley’s silence and straight down my fucking spine.
I don’t think.I move.
My arm shoots back, shoving Pia behind me so fast her breath catches against my shoulder. She grips the fabric of my shirt—instinct, fear, both. I step forward, angling my body between her and the threat, muscles pulled tight enough to snap.
The alley is narrow. Wet. Lit only by the flicker of a distant streetlamp. Every shadow looks like a weapon waiting to be drawn.
I hear Pia breathe my name.I don’t let her finish.
Because a figure finally steps into the thin strip of light.
And my breath—locks.
“Romeo,” I say, voice low.
He stands there as if the alley belongs to him—hands in his pockets, posture relaxed, head tilted. But his eyes ruin the act. They sweep the scene with slow calculation:
Rocco unconscious on the ground.Pia pressed against the wall, chest —close enough to her, it looks like something it shouldn’t.
Romeo’s jaw ticks.
But the gun… isn’t in his hand.
It’s on the ground near his boot, like he dropped it. Or kicked it away. Or took it from someone else. He nudges it with the side of his shoe and scoffs.
“Well,” he mutters, voice dripping with disdain, “that explains the fucking rumors.”
The words hit like a slap.
I don’t move.Don’t blink.Don’t breathe.
Pia stiffens behind me.
Romeo flicks his gaze between us—he sees me shielding her with my entire body, her gripping my shirt, and her pupils blown wide from more than fear. Something sharp cuts through his expression. Not a shock. Not anger.
Judgment.Jealousy.And something darker he can’t hide.
“Pick up the gun,” I tell him.
“No.” A smirk. “I don’t need it.”
He’s taunting me, testing how far he can push before I break. Any other night, I’d let him keep talking just so I could choke the next word out of him.
But right now — Pia matters more.
I take her wrist.Tight.Firm.Unmistakable.
“Inside,” I order.
Romeo lifts an eyebrow. “You’re dragging her through the rectory now? Bold.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
I barely recognize my voice—too raw, too close to violence.
Something flickers across Romeo’s face. A shadow of hurt? Anger? Something old and festering? It’s gone in an instant as he rolls his shoulders like none of this touches him.
But I know my brother.And he saw more tonight than I ever wanted him to.
I pull Pia toward the church entrance. She stumbles once—I tighten my grip. She breathes shakily—I shift to block her with my body as we pass Romeo. Her hand trembles—I cover it with mine.
But Romeo…
He watches us go.Like a curse.Like a witness.It was as if he had just seen something he wasn't supposed to.
His stare crawls up my spine, heavy as sin.
“San,” he calls out.
I stop.Just for a second.
His voice isn’t taunting now. It’s quiet. Controlled.Dangerous.
“You really want to do this?”
I don’t answer.Because I can’t—not without giving everything away.
I shove Pia through the rectory door and slam it behind us hard enough to rattle the hinges.
Inside the dim corridor, she looks up at me—wide-eyed, breath trembling.
But all I can feel is Romeo’s stare, still clinging to my skin like blood.
This isn’t over.Not with him.Not with her.Not with anything buried beneath this church.
Not even close.
Dragged Underground
I shove Pia through the rectory door harder than I intend. The wood slams behind us, the sound ricocheting down the corridor like a warning shot. She stumbles, catches herself, and when she looks back at me, her eyes are wide—hurt flickering around the edges like a bruise forming in real time.
“Go upstairs,” I order.
My voice is low. Lethal. The tone I reserve for enemies, not… her.
She hesitates. Just a beat—barely long enough for guilt to snake its claws under my ribs. Then she nods and slips into the stairwell, her shadow swallowed by the dim light.
The moment she’s gone, my chest hollows—rage rushing in to fill the space she leaves behind.
I turn toward the hallway Romeo vanished into. He moves like smoke, but I know exactly where he’s going. Exactly where he hides when he wants answers only ghosts can hear.
The crypt.
Where Giovanni still breathes through stone.Where the dead whisper louder than the living.
I take off down the corridor, boots hammering against old tile. Every step feeds the fury burning beneath my skin. I can still feel Romeo’s stare from the alley—accusing, knowing, smug as hell. I can still hear the click of that gun. I can still taste Pia’s fear in the air.
And behind all —
The memory of her legs around my waist. The heat between us.
I rip the thought out of my mind and take the staircase down.
The crypt stretches beneath the rectory like a second spine—cold, buried, unforgiving. The air grows colder with each step. Candlelight flickers below, throwing warped shadows across damp stone.
I don’t knock.
I slam the door open hard enough that dust shakes from the hinges.
Romeo doesn’t flinch.
He’s leaned against an ancient marble column, arms folded, ankle crossed over the other like he’s lounging—not in a crypt, but in some fucking club. The torchlight cuts harsh lines across his face—smug, unafraid, hiding something he doesn’t want me to see.
“If you’re here to fight,” he says, voice bored, “go ahead. I’m bored.”
Heat flashes under my ribs.
“I’m not here to entertain you,” I mutter. I step inside and let the door slam behind me. The echo rings like a verdict.
Romeo pushes off the column, expression unreadable. “Could’ve fooled me. You dragged her through the rectory like you were covering up a crime. Then you storm down here like you’re ready to murder the next guy who breathes wrong.”
My jaw locks. “Watch your mouth.”
“Why?” He tilts his head. “Did I hit a nerve?”
He’s pushing on purpose. It’s working. Rage roars under my ribs—not because he’s wrong.
He’s too fucking close to the truth.
I step into his space. “Where the fuck were you?”
“In the alley,” he says simply.
“Watching?” My voice drops, darker. “Or following?”
Romeo’s lips twitch—not into a smile. Into something sharper. “You tell me.”
I’m on him before I think, closing the distance in a single stride. Heat spikes in the air, volatile and close to breaking.
“You don’t get to do that,” I growl. “You don’t get to watch her. Don’t get to judge me.”
Romeo arches a brow. “Oh? Because I saw you fucking her against a wall? Or because you’re dragging a hunted woman behind church doors like you think you can protect her?”
My breath punches out of me.
His tone softens—barely. “If you’re trying to keep her alive, San… you’re doing a shit job.”
I grab him by the shirt and slam him into the column. Stone thuds behind him.
Romeo still doesn’t fight back.
He looks right at me—eyes sharp, unblinking, too damn knowing.
“You’re spiraling,” he murmurs. “And dragging her with you.”
“Stay away from her,” I hiss.
Romeo’s jaw twitches. “Oh, I intend to.”
Then, quieter—cutting:
“But maybe you’re the one who should.”
Romeo’s voice drops. “Dad warned you about this.”
My blood turns to ice.
Romeo sees it. His chin lifts, eyes slicing straight through me.
“Yeah,” he whispers. “There it is.”
Before I can speak, he slips from my grip, brushing past me like he owns the room.
And I know — this chapter, this fight, this unraveling between us?
It’s only starting.
The Accusations Begin
I’m pacing before I even realize I’ve moved—tight, restless strides across the crypt floor, boots scraping old stone. The air down here is colder than upstairs. Colder than the alley. Colder than the look Romeo gave me when he saw Pia’s legs wrapped around my waist.
I try to breathe like a priest.Like a man of God.Like the version of myself everyone pretends still exists.
But with Romeo?
That part of me dies fast.
“What were you doing out there?” I demand.
Romeo doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t straighten. Doesn’t offer even a fake attempt at respect. He leans back against the column like he’s bored, arms crossing loosely over his chest.
“Following you,” he says with a humorless laugh.
“Lying,” I snap. “You were watching her. Why?”
Romeo tilts his head, playing it off, but I catch the tension tightening along his shoulders—coiled, deliberate.
“Because,” he says slowly, “you were two seconds away from getting yourself fucking killed.”
I stop mid-stride.
“And if you do,” Romeo adds, pushing off the column, voice flattening, “guess who gets blamed for your body hitting a morgue slab?”
My blood turns cold.
He doesn’t say her name.
He doesn’t have to.
Pia.
“And then,” he continues, “we start a war we’re not ready for.”
My breath comes sharp and uneven, too loud in my ears.
Romeo’s tone softens—not gentle, just honest in a way that lands like a gut punch.
“She’s not our enemy, San. Stop acting like she is.”
The truth of it hits harder than I expect.
But behind that blunt honesty — I hear the shadowed echo he doesn’t voice.
And you’re not acting like a priest.
I step forward.
Romeo doesn’t move.
We stand inches apart, the air between us vibrating with old wounds and older grudges.
“What do you know?” I growl.
Romeo’s expression shifts instantly.
The arrogance drops.The mocking tone evaporates.The smirk disappears.
What’s left is something I haven’t seen from him in years—
A flash of genuine fear.
Not for himself.
For me.
He goes quiet. Guarded. Locked down.
And that silence—
That silence is the answer I didn’t want.
Romeo knows something.Something about Pia.Something about Giovanni.Something about the predator stalking this church since the night our father died.
And whatever truth he’s carrying—
It’s poisonous.
It’s going to tear this family apart.
Giovanni’s Last Secret
Romeo doesn’t answer me right away.