Chapter 13 Santino #2
I close my eyes. It’s easier to picture her that way—knees drawn in, arms wrapped around herself, eyes wide and wild with fear she’s trying to pretend isn’t eating her alive.
“Tell me something true,” I say. “Something only you know.”
She goes quiet.
Too quiet.
All I hear is her breathing—fast, broken, scraped raw by panic.
Then she says, hoarse and low, as if the words are tearing their way out of her:
“My father begged for his life.”
My entire body goes still.
She doesn’t stop.
“He said my name,” she whispers. “He begged them not to let me see his body. They didn’t listen.”
My head drops forward, hitting the steel with a dull, sick sound. Shame burns through me like acid—hot, corrosive, merciless.
“Pia…” Her name comes out like a confession.
Giovanni’s voice echoes in my memory, overlapping hers:
Someone has to take the fall.And you… you will die quietly.
I want to rip the past apart with my bare hands.
“You asked why I came here,” she says, voice cracking. “That’s why. I wasn’t lying.”
I squeeze my eyes shut.
“No,” I whisper. “I knew you weren’t lying.”
I knew it the first time she said it—I just didn’t want to look at what that meant about my father. About my family. About me.
The truth I’ve been burying claws its way up my throat.
“And if I find the man who did that to him,” I say, my voice low, dangerous, and fully unholy, “I’ll kill him. I swear it.”
The vow settles in the tunnel like a loaded gun.
On the other side of the door, her breath stutters—then releases in a soft, shaking exhale. It’s a sound caught somewhere between grief and gratitude.
And it fucking undoes me.
She shouldn’t need a priest promising murder just to breathe easier.
“Why?” she whispers after a long beat. “Why do you care what happened to him?”
Because he was innocent.Because Giovanni scapegoated him.Because I’ve spent my whole goddamn life pretending I wasn’t made of the same rot.
But I can’t say that.
“Because it was wrong,” I bite out. “Because he was scapegoated. Because he didn’t deserve to die for another man’s sin.”
Silence stretches.Then, softly:
“You sound like you know that for sure.”
I flinch.
The ledgers flash behind my eyes.The red mark.The note about a son killing a king.
“I know enough,” I say, each word scraping my throat. “Enough to know he didn’t deserve what he got.”
Another tremor of breath from her side. Then:
“Thank you.”
Two words.And my chest feels like it’s collapsing in on itself.
I spread my fingers against the steel, palm flattening as if I could reach her through force of will alone.
“Pia,” I say, voice stripped raw, “listen to me. You’re not alone there. As long as I’m breathing, you’re not abandoned. Do you understand?”
She doesn’t answer immediately.
Then I feel it—the faintest thud against my hand.
She’s mirroring me.
Palm to palm.Steel between us.But the impact hits skin-to-skin.
“I hear you,” she whispers.
And for the first time since I opened Giovanni’s vault, I let the truth break through the last piece of restraint I’ve been holding onto.
“I’m not leaving you,” I murmur, forehead pressed hard against the door. “Not now. Not ever.”
Her breathing steadies—still too sharp, but no longer spiraling.
And in the dark, with my father’s sins on one side and her father’s blood on the other, I realize I’ve just made a promise I can’t take back.
Santino’s Confession: The Priest Falls Further
My palms stay pressed to the cold vault door, fingers spread wide as if I can hold her steady through six inches of steel. My forehead rests against it, breath fogging in uneven bursts, each exhale colder than the last.
I should be trying to force the door open again.I should be searching the tunnels for tools, leverage, anything.I should be thinking like a Rivas, like a man raised to solve things with violence and strategy and unforgiving efficiency.
Instead, all my thoughts funnel into one truth.The one I’ve been choking on since the moment I saw her turn pale in that alley.The truth that’s been scraping the inside of my ribs raw.
“I killed tonight,” I murmur.
The words scrape out of me like they’re cut from bone.
On her side of the door, she inhales—sharp, almost silent—but I feel it.I feel everything she does through this barrier: fear, shock, trust, that trembling thread of connection neither of us is ready to name.
I swallow hard, forcing more out before I can bury it again.
“For you,” I say. “And I wasn’t sorry.”
My voice breaks.
It shouldn’t.Because I'm a Rivas.Trained to keep my spine straight, even when bleeding.Trained to keep my voice locked behind my teeth, even when the world caves in.
But this girl — this fucking girl—she bends things inside me I didn’t know could bend.
“I’m not who you think I am,” I whisper. “And I’m not who I pretend to be.”
A bitter laugh slips out, sharp and cracked at the edges.
"I was not destined for God. Not with this rage.”
The confession hangs between us like a noose.
In another life, I would’ve run from it.Dodged it.Buried it under a sermon or a scripture I didn’t believe.
Now?Now I lean into it.Lean into her.Lean into every dark truth I never had the spine to speak.
On the other side, she exhales softly.Not fear.Not judgment.Something softer.Something that shouldn’t exist between two people on opposite sides of a torture chamber door.
Then she whispers:
“You still came for me.”
My eyes close.
It shouldn’t hit as hard as it does.It shouldn’t feel like she just reached inside my chest and touched something I didn’t know was still alive.
Still.
As if I ever had a choice.
“I would tear this place apart if you asked me to,” I say, voice low, rough. “I’d burn every secret my father hid. I’d burn the whole church.”
My throat tightens.The old part of me—the priest, the dutiful son, the boy Giovanni raised—tries to claw the words back.
I don’t let it.
“You matter more to me than all of this.”
Silence follows.
But it’s not cold.Not empty.
It hums.
Heavy.Electric.Dangerous.
Then—movement.
A soft slide, her hand trailing up the inside of the door.
Her palm presses flat to the steel.
The sound is faint, but I feel the placement of it instantly—right where mine already rests.
I lift my hand slowly, fingers finding the invisible outline of hers through the metal.Six inches of steel.Two bloodlines soaked in sin.One connection neither of us meant to create.
We aren’t touching.
Not really.
But it feels like we are.
Heat pulses through my palm.Through the door.Through me.
I don’t know who moves first—her when she rests her forehead against the steel opposite mine, or me when I lean forward until I feel the faint echo of her breath warm against the metal.
But it doesn’t matter.
The moment locks in place, impossible and inevitable.
Forbidden contact.Two sinners kneel on opposite sides of a room designed for torture, as they discover something human where there shouldn’t be anything left.
And for the first time in my life, a confession doesn’t feel like sin.
It feels like a beginning.
Love Prevails Through Barriers
Her breathing changes first.
Not the sharp terror from earlier.Not the ragged, frantic gasps clawing at the walls of Giovanni’s chamber.
This is different.Quieter.Shallower.Trembling in a way that makes the heat coil low in my stomach.
“Santino…” she whispers, and the sound sinks into me like a hook. “What if we don’t get out?”
My pulse spikes—fast, brutal.
“Don’t say that.”It comes out harsher than I mean it to. Too raw. Too close to the truth I don’t want to admit.
But she keeps going, voice trembling, drifting through the metal like smoke.
“But if we don’t…”A thin breath.“A-and I mean if… there are things I want you to know.”
Pressure builds behind my ribs—tight, aching.She’s scared.She’s imagining dying in the dark with only steel and secrets between us.And instead of pulling away from me, she’s reaching for me.
“What things?”My voice comes out low. Rough. Prepared to bleed for the answer.
A beat of silence.Then:
“I haven’t stopped thinking about you.”
My fingers curl against the door so hard my knuckles crack.
Her voice dips—soft, trembling, hungry.
“Not since the alley,” she breathes.“Not since the confessional. Not since you—”
She stops long enough for my heart to slam once against my ribs.
Then:
“—touched me.”
My breath breaks.Something hot and lethal surges through me, sparking in every nerve.
“Pia…”It’s not a warning.Not a prayer.More like a sin trying to speak.
Her palm presses harder into the steel, heat finding me through cold metal.
Then—her voice slides under the crack of the door, soft and devastating.
“Come inside.”
My lungs stop functioning.
“Pia—”
“Even if you can’t open it,” she whispers.“Come inside.”
Emotionally.
Mentally.
Spiritually.
Completely. Let me feel you again. Maybe for the last time.
I know exactly what she means.And God help me, I want to.More than I’ve wanted anything in my fucked-up life.
I lower my head until my forehead scrapes the metal. My jaw aches from holding back a sound that wants to tear out of me.
“Pia…”My voice sinks into something rough, guttural. “If I touch you again, I won’t stop.”
“Good.”
One word.Soft.Certain.Fatal.
Our breathing syncs — fast, uneven, wrecked — two sinners pressed against opposite sides of a door built for torture, not longing.
The air thickens.Charges.Shakes with everything we’ve been fighting since the night she walked into my church dripping secrets.
She moves closer — I hear the faint whisper brushing the metal — I feel her heat bleeding through the steel like her body is reaching for mine without permission.
Then she says it.
The sentence that ends whatever restraint I had left:
“I need you.”
Something breaks loose inside me.A sound escapes—low, raw, nothing close to holy.
And suddenly nothing matters — Not the church.Not Giovanni.Not the blood in my veins or the sins in hers.
All that matters is her.On the other side of this door.Wanting me back with a desperation that matches my own.
I spread my fingers against the steel, leaning my entire weight into it, breath shaking as I imagine her doing the same.
Two bodies.Two hearts.One impossible barrier.
And a need so strong it feels like it could burn through the metal itself.
When Need Turns Dangerous
Her last words hit me harder than any blade ever has.
I need you.
Not want.Not crave.Need.
Something in my chest buckles—something I’ve kept locked behind vows, behind discipline, behind the fear of becoming the man Giovanni raised me to be. It cracks open all at once, spilling heat and hunger and something terrifyingly close to devotion.
My voice breaks before I can stop it.
“Pia—God forgive me…”
But the second the words leave my mouth, I know they’re a lie.
God has nothing to do with this.God has nothing to do with her.God has nothing to do with me anymore.
It’s just us — her breath trembling through steel,and my body leaning into the door like it’s the only thing keeping me upright.
My palms flatten against the cold metal. I lower my forehead to the spot where I feel the faintest warmth radiating from her side – even if its just in my mind. The chill bites into my skin, but she warms everything beneath it—rage, fear, desire, whatever the hell is left of my soul.
“Pia…”My voice is unsteady, scraped raw.“If you keep talking like that—I’m not walking away from you. Not now. Not ever.”
Her inhale stutters — a tiny sound, but it rips through me.
Slowly, softly, her silhouette leans into the metal on the other side, her body aligning with mine in perfect, impossible symmetry.
Her brow touches the steel where mine rests.Her breath fogs the surface — and mine merges over it seconds later, forming a single blurred shape.
The sight—two breaths becoming one — undoes me.
A low, broken sound slips out of my chest.Something starved.Something I don’t bother hiding anymore.
My hands slide down the steel until I find the imprint of her own.Two hands searching for each other through a barrier built for torture.
Her fingers twitch.Then…they spread, as if reaching for mine.
I mirror her.Our palms line up —not touching,but close enough that I swear I feel her heat bleeding through.
“Santino…”She whispers for the second time.“Come inside.”
My whole body tightens.Every muscle pulled like wire.Every breath a ragged, burning thing.
“Pia—”
“Even if you can’t open it,” she murmurs again, repeating with a tear in her voice this time.“Come inside.”
The meaning hits me like a blow.I grip the steel with shaking fingers.
“Say it again,” I breathe.
She does.
“Come inside….please!”
That’s it.That’s the moment.The one where every restraint, every vow, every lie I’ve used to cage myself…snaps.
My hands flatten against the door—drifting downward, sliding over cold steel until they land where her hips would be. I close my eyes and picture her — body leaning into mine,hips meeting my palms,head tipped forward in surrender.
The image is vivid.Perfect.Devastating.
“Pia…” My voice is a rough, tortured rasp. “If you touch me again through this door—if you breathe for me like that—I’ll break every lock in this fucking church to get to you.”
Her answer is a shuddering breath — a sound that tastes like surrender.
The air changes between us.Thickens.Charges.The small space of Giovanni’s torture chamber becomes something else entirely.
Our breathing syncs — uneven, harsh, hungry.
Two sinners choosing each other in a place built for pain.
The vault isn’t silent.It’s not still.
It’s a fuse.
And we’re the spark.
Their breathing slowly steadies — still ragged, still trembling, still too intimate for a place like this.
Then—
a sound slices the air.
A lock turning.Slow.Precise.Wrong.
Not from Pia’s side.Not from mine.
Somewhere else.
A hinge shifts.Footsteps echo through the tunnel.
Cold floods my veins.
I know instantly that whoever is opening that dooris not coming to rescue us.