CHAPTER 39
Santino
“NO—”
The sound tore through everything. Roxanne reached me before I even realised I’d stepped back. Her hands clutched at me, her face pale with terror, lips moving too quickly for me to make sense of the words.
For a second, none of it felt real.
“Santino—”
My name didn’t sound right in her mouth. It broke halfway through, like she was choking on it. I followed her hands without thinking.
Down.
Blood. Mine. The warmth. The wetness.
The pain came heavily after—not sharp, not immediate. My knees gave out before I could stop it. She caught me halfway down, or maybe I dragged her with me. I couldn’t tell anymore.
The floor hit hard, but I barely felt it. All I felt—was her.Her hands were everywhere. Desperate. Like she didn’t know where to hold me to keep me here.
“Santino—no—no—stay with me—”
Her voice didn’t sound right. It sounded sharp and thin.I tried to focus on it. On her.
“Stay with me—please—please—”
Her words were breaking, falling apart before they could fully form, her hands pressing harder against the wound as if trying to force it close. Like she could undo what had already happened.
I lifted my hand slowly. It felt heavier than it should’ve been. I found her face anyway. My fingers brushed against her cheek, brushing just beneath her eye, smearing something warm—blood, tears, I couldn’t tell.
“You’re okay… safe,” I said. Or tried to.
It came out rough. Faint.
“I’ve got you.”
Her head shook violently.
“No—no—don’t—don’t do that—don’t—”
Her voice cracked completely now. Gone. She was sobbing now. She pressed harder against my chest, trying to stop the bleeding, like she could hold me here if she just didn’t let go.
“I’m here,” she whispered desperately, like she could still anchor me to this world. “I’m here, Santino—look at me—”
I was. I couldn’t look anywhere else.
My hand shifted, fingers catching a strand of her hair. Holding it. Soft. Familiar.
“Why… why this colour…” I murmured, the question slipping out without thought, without weight, like something from a different moment entirely.
Her breath hitched. A broken, disbelieving sound left her—half laugh, half sob.
“Because you call me Volpi,” she whispered, crying harder now. “Because you said I—”
The words broke. She couldn’t finish. But I knew.
A fox survives.
My lips twitched slowly, trying to smile. My chest felt wrong. Heavy. Warm. Fingers twitched once in her hair. Not enough to hold. Just enough to feel.
“Rox… I—”
The word caught and stayed there. She stilled, just for a second. Like she understood anyway. Her hand came up to my face, trembling.
“I know,” she said quickly, her voice breaking again. “I know. Don’t waste your breath—”
Her forehead pressed against mine, her grip tightening around my wrist suddenly, pressing there like she was checking my pulse—then rubbing small circles into my skin without realising she was doing it.
“Just stay,” she whispered against my skin. “Please… stay with me… please…”
Her lips pressed briefly to the corner of my mouth. Soft. Shaking.
“Don’t leave me.”
Maybe I should’ve stayed. Maybe I never should’ve walked away two years ago.
No.
Because then I would’ve never had this. Never had her. Not like this.
“I came back,” I whispered.
A tear slipped free, and I didn’t even feel it. It took more than I had left to get the words out, but I needed her to hear it. Needed her to believe it. To hold onto it—when I couldn’t anymore.
My hand stayed where it was, resting against her like it belonged there—like I did. Then it slipped. I didn’t feel it hit the ground. But her hand palmed my cheek.
“Santino—look at me—”
So I kept looking at her, as though I could take a piece of her with me if I just held on long enough.
The curve of her mouth, warmth of her skin. The way her eyes never stopped searching mine. I wanted to remember all of it.
I wanted—
“Just stay,” she said, frantically. “Stay with me… please…”
I tried.
The devil knows I tried.
But everything felt distant. Her voice. Her hands. The pressure in my chest. It was all still there. Just… further away.
Her hands tightened on me desperately, like she could still stop me from slipping through her fingers.
“I never got to tell you.” Her lips trembled. “You don’t get to—”
Her voice cracked completely. Somewhere in the distance, there was noise. Movement. Voices. Footsteps—fast, uneven, closing in.
She screamed then.
“HELP! SOMEBODY! PLEASE!”
My focus slipped, came back, then slipped again. But her face—stayed right there. Close. Blurry at the edges.
The noise around us grew louder. Closer. But it didn’t matter. None of it did.
Because she was still there.
Crying. Holding me.
And the last thing I saw—the only thing I held onto—
Was her.
And then everything disappeared.