Chapter Seven SANTINO
Ishould've felt victorious. That was the fucked-up part. I had her. The entire reason blood was drying on cathedral marble tonight sat less than two hundred yards away in a glass guest house overlooking the ocean. Aurora Ventura.
Safe. Alive. Mine. And somehow the estate felt like a funeral.
The moment I stepped through the front doors, I felt it.
The shift. The tension. The invisible pressure settling over everything.
Men moved differently. Soldiers walked faster.
Conversations stopped when I passed. Phones rang constantly.
Weapons appeared where weapons usually didn't. The entire estate had transformed into something harder.
Sharper. Like a beast preparing to bare its teeth. Because everybody knew.
Word traveled fast in our world. A wedding. A public execution. A kidnapping. A Moretti civil war waiting to happen. People would be talking about today for years. Assuming I survived it.
The thought almost made me smile. Almost. I loosened my tie while walking through the foyer. My reflection flashed briefly across black marble. Dark suit. Blood on my cuff. Aurora's lipstick still faintly visible on the collar of my shirt from the cathedral.
Jesus Christ. I looked like exactly what I was. A man who had completely lost his fucking mind. The worst part? I didn't regret it. Not even a little.
The realization should've bothered me. Instead it settled comfortably beneath my ribs. Like truth. Like certainty. Like the ocean. Dangerous. Unavoidable. Permanent.
I headed toward my office. Halfway there, Marco appeared. Well. Appeared made it sound accidental. The man looked like he'd spent the last hour actively searching for me. His expression suggested homicide. He stopped directly in front of me. Didn't speak. Didn't blink. Just stared. I sighed.
"There it is."
His jaw tightened. "What?"
"The face." I motioned vaguely at his expression.
"What face?" he hissed.
"The one where you're deciding whether to shoot me or strangle me." I sighed. “You really need to learn some manners.”
"Neither, actually,” Marco replied. I raised an eyebrow. Marco's expression darkened. "I'm deciding whether to throw you into the ocean and tell everyone it was an accident."
I laughed. Marco didn't. That was concerning. Because Marco usually laughed. Not often. Not enthusiastically. But enough. Tonight? Nothing. Not even a twitch.
The silence stretched between us. Finally he rubbed both hands over his face. Slowly. Like a priest preparing to deliver last rites. "Tell me you have a plan."
"I have a plan." Relief flashed across his face. Poor bastard. Then I ruined it. "I plan on keeping her."
The relief died. Marco stared at the ceiling. Then closed his eyes. Then looked back at me. "You are a fucking idiot."
"That seems harsh,” I grinned.
"You shot Leo's right hand in the face."
"Technically the forehead,” I reminded him.
His eye twitched. I smiled. The twitch got worse. Good. I started walking again. Marco followed. Because loyalty was a disease. And unfortunately he'd caught it years ago.
"You killed Sergio publicly."
"Correct,” I nodded.
"In front of the Five Families.” He was groaning now. “Everybody’s heard about it now.”
"Also correct."
"You kidnapped Leonardo Moretti's sister-in-law,” he kept going.
"Still correct."
"You started a war,” Marco hissed.
I pushed open my office door. "Probably."
Marco stopped walking. I kept going. Then realized he wasn't following. I turned. He was pointing at me. Accusingly. "You keep saying probably."
I shrugged. "Nothing's official yet."
His expression suggested he'd genuinely reached the end of his patience.
The office overlooked the ocean. Dark wood. Black leather. Floor-to-ceiling glass. Moonlight spilling across polished floors.
The room Angelo would sit in with muddy boots despite knowing it pissed me off. The room where we'd spent years planning futures neither of us would ever get. The room that still felt wrong without him. The memory hit harder than expected. I ignored it.
Marco was still talking. "...Leo is going to come for you, for fuck's sake."
"He'll definitely come." Marco froze at my words. "But I don't know if he'll kill me."
Silence. Then Marco laughed. A short ugly sound. The kind people made when reality became too absurd to process. "You think there's uncertainty?"
"There's always uncertainty,” I shrugged. “He’s an old family man now. You really think he’ll want to kill me now he’s settled down with kids? I’m the last bit of family he has.”
"Santino." Something in his voice made me look up. The anger was gone. Worse. Concern had replaced it. And Marco never worried. That got my attention. "Sergio mattered to Leo."
Silence settled heavily between us. Because that part was true. Leo didn't have many people. Not really. Chiara. The twins. A handful of blood relatives. A handful of trusted men. Sergio had been one of them. And I'd put a bullet through his skull.
The realization sat quietly between us. Heavy. Ugly. Unavoidable. I leaned back slowly. "She's worth it."
Marco laughed again. This time there was genuine disbelief in it. "That might be the stupidest thing you've ever said."
Considering my history? That was impressive.
A phone buzzed on my desk. Then another.
The city was exploding. Captains. Council members.
Allies. Enemies pretending to be allies.
Everyone wanted answers. Everyone wanted reassurance.
Everyone wanted confirmation their boss hadn't completely lost his fucking mind.
Unfortunately for them... I absolutely had.
Eventually Marco left. Not because he was satisfied.
Because he realized the conversation was pointless.
The second the door closed, the silence swallowed the room.
I sat alone. The ocean crashed against cliffs below.
Moonlight glittered across dark water. For a moment, I reached automatically toward my wrist.
Toward the watch. Angelo's watch. Still too big. Still hanging loose after four years.
I thought about the girl who'd noticed. The only person who ever had.
A strange ache settled low in my chest. Then I reached for the security tablet.
Thirty-two camera feeds appeared. Gates. Driveways. Perimeter walls. Gardens. Hallways. Roofs. Security checkpoints. The guest house.
My thumb stopped moving. Feed Twelve. Aurora.
The guest house glowed softly against the darkness. A beautiful glass cage. And inside it… There she was. Still wearing pieces of the wedding dress. Barefoot. Furious. Alive.
She was pacing. Back and forth. Like a tiger trapped inside a zoo enclosure. Dark hair wild from the motorcycle ride. White fabric trailing behind her. Tiny. Angry. Absolutely fucking beautiful.
I watched her march across the room. Turn. March back. Turn again. Tiny storm cloud. Then she grabbed a pillow. And launched it across the room. I laughed. The pillow bounced harmlessly off a couch. Another one followed. Then another. A violent campaign against interior decorating.
I watched every second. Because apparently I had become pathetic. Eventually she stopped. The anger disappeared. Just for a moment. Just long enough. Her shoulders sagged. Her hands covered her face. She looked younger.
Not the girl who argued with me. Not the girl who insulted me. Not the girl who challenged every single thing I said. Just a scared eighteen-year-old who'd lost everything in a single afternoon.
My amusement vanished. The cameras had no audio. I couldn't hear her. Didn't need to. I knew. Knew she was crying. Knew she was thinking about Chiara. About Sienna. About Matteo. About home. About Sergio.
That last thought hit harder than I expected. Because Sergio was dead. And I'd killed him. No justification changed that. No obsession erased it. No amount of wanting Aurora made that blood disappear. I had caused every tear currently falling down her face.
And if somebody offered me a second chance? I'd do it again. That was the worst part.
I'd walk into that cathedral tomorrow. I'd pull the trigger again. I'd take her again. I'd start the war again. The certainty should've horrified me. Instead it felt natural. Like gravity. Like breathing. Like truth.
I shut the tablet off. Regretted it. Then turned it back on. Jesus Christ.
Pathetic.
A knock sounded at the door. I ignored it. Another knock. Then Marco entered anyway. "Phone call for you."
"Not now,” I dismissed him.
"Leo wants to negotiate."
Silence. I held out my hand. Marco surrendered the phone. Then left. Smart man. I stared at the screen.
Leonardo Moretti calling. The entire city would've been terrified to answer. I accepted. Neither of us spoke. Not at first. Just silence. Breathing. The ocean below. The distant hum of the estate.
Then Leo finally broke it. "Give her back."
Calm. No anger. No threats. Nothing. Which somehow made it worse. Because men like Leo didn't scream. They buried people. I smiled despite myself.
"No."
Silence. Long enough to feel. Long enough to understand. Long enough to know this wasn't a negotiation. Then Leo sighed. Softly. Almost tired.
"You know how this ends."
I looked through the glass. Toward the guest house. Toward Aurora. A single light still burned inside. She was there. Somewhere. Probably plotting my murder. The thought made something warm stir inside my chest.
"Do you?" I asked him thoughtfully. “She was relieved, Leo. We both know she never wanted to marry that man.”
The words settled heavily between us. Not arrogant. Not threatening. Factual. That certainty bothered me more than any threat could have. Then the line disconnected.
No goodbye. No warning. No negotiation. Nothing. Just certainty. I stared at the dead phone. Leo Moretti didn't make threats. He made plans. And somehow I knew he'd already started.
Outside, the ocean crashed endlessly against the cliffs. The wind howled. A storm gathered somewhere beyond the horizon. And across the estate, a single light still glowed inside the guest house.