18. Amara #2
"You weren't a fool," Dominic says, his voice rising in volume, filling the silence Turi refuses to. "A fool makes a mistake. You made a career out of it. You watched us grow up. You watched us bleed. You watched us become killers to defend a legacy you already sold."
"You didn't give your life," Alessio says, his hand moving to the hilt of the knife at his belt. "You stole ours. You lived in our house. You ate our bread. You let us call you father."
The word 'father' hangs in the air like a noose.
I step forward, putting a hand on Alessio's shoulder.
I can feel the heat radiating off him. He's ready to end it right here.
He's ready to carve the truth out of Turi's chest. But we need more than blood.
We need the full story. We need to know where Lorenzo Bellanti is hiding.
We need to know how to end the war so no more brothers have to die.
"He's not only a father," I say, my voice cutting through the tension. "He's the secret that rotted under the floor. And secrets don't get to stay in the house."
Dominic looks at me, eyes searching mine. He sees the strength I'm lending his brother. He sees that I'm not just an accountant or a victim. I'm with the Costas now. I chose that. I'm the one holding the line when the family is falling apart.
"He stays in the sub-level holding room," Dominic orders. "Under guard. Nobody touches him until dawn. We do this right. We do this as a family."
"A tribunal," Enzo says, nodding. "The old way."
"The only way," Dominic agrees.
Nico and Giovanni step forward to grab Turi by the arms. They haul him up, and Turi doesn't resist. He looks already dead inside. As they lead him away, he stops for a second, looking back at Alessio.
"I'm sorry, boy," he whispers.
Alessio doesn't answer. He just watches them drag the old man out. When the doors thud shut, the silence returns, heavier than before.
The brothers begin to disperse, movements jerky and uncoordinated. The adrenaline of the battle is long gone, replaced by the crushing weight of the betrayal. Matteo collapses into a chair, burying his face in his hands. Dante puts a hand on his shoulder, but he looks just as lost.
I turn to Alessio, but he's already walking away. He goes toward the window, looking out at the darkened grounds. I follow him, keeping a respectful distance. He needs to breathe.
The women move next, each in the role this family has learned to trust. Sienna brings a glass of water to Matteo. Natalia talks in a low voice to Dominic. They keep the room from becoming only grief and weapons. And as I stand there, a strange sense of calm washes over me.
Isolation is a slow-acting poison. I've spent ten years building a coffin and calling it a fortress. I thought that was the only way to stay safe. I thought being alone ensured I never lost anything again.
But looking at these broken men, at this family shattered by a man they loved, I see the truth. Staying behind walls just means you die before you're buried.
Alessio finally speaks, back still to me. "He was the one who told me I should be a doctor. He said the world had enough killers. He said I had hands that were meant to heal."
"Maybe he was right about that part," I say, stepping closer. "Even a liar can tell the truth sometimes."
"Maybe he meant it," Alessio says, a bitter laugh escaping his throat. "Maybe he also liked that healing kept my hands full while the old dead stayed buried. He played me, Amara. For eleven years, he played me better than any instrument."
"You found the truth anyway," I remind him. "You didn't give up. You built that room. You kept the evidence alive. You tracked the ghost. And when you couldn't get the last piece, you found me."
He turns around, and the look in his eyes is raw. "I didn't find you. You broke into my life through the one lock I thought no one could touch. You were the only thing in twenty years that I didn't see coming."
"Good," I say, reaching out to take his hand. His fingers are still trembling, but he grips mine like a lifeline. "Life shouldn't be a ledger, Alessio. It shouldn't be something you can predict."
"The secret was the only thing keeping the ghosts at bay," he admits, voice dropping to a whisper. "Now the doors are off the hinges and I'm standing in the wreckage with nothing but a knife. If the secret is out... what's left?"
"Me," I say, stepping into his space. I wrap my arms around his waist, pressing my face against his chest. I hear his heart, steady and strong. "I'm left. And your brothers are left. And this house is still standing."
He rests his chin on the top of my head, breath warm against my hair. "It's not a house anymore. It's a tomb."
"Then we rebuild this one," I say. "Or build something beyond it. Somewhere the ground doesn't decide who we become."
He lets out a long breath, and finally, the tension in his body begins to melt. He sags against me, and I hold him up. I'm the spine. I'm the one who doesn't break.
Hours later, the library lights are burning. Dominic has given the order: Turi comes up from the basement at midnight.
Not the tribunal. Not yet. Tonight is for the thing this family is owed before verdicts and stone courtyards.
The whole truth, from his own mouth.
I reach for Alessio's hand as the doors open—because he is about to hear the man who raised him explain how he killed his parents, and nobody, nobody, should have to hear that alone.