Chapter Seven SANTINO #2
Aurora. Safe. Furious. Terrified. Completely unaware an entire city was preparing to burn for her.
I looked at the watch hanging loose around my wrist. Then toward the guest house. Then toward the dark ocean.
Four years ago, Angelo died, and something inside me died with him. For four years I'd existed. Nothing more. Until a stubborn girl walked into my club and ordered lemonade.
I laughed quietly. Because if someone had told me two weeks ago I'd risk my life, my empire, and possibly start a war over a girl who drank lemonade...
I'd have called them insane. Now? Now I was beginning to think insanity suited me just fine.
But there was still a permanent fucking hole where my brother used to be. The watch sat loose around my wrist. Too big. Always too big. I rolled it between my fingers. Silver catching moonlight from the windows. The same watch Aurora had noticed. The same watch nobody else had ever questioned.
Not family. Not friends. Not women. Nobody. Until her. A bitter laugh escaped me. Trust Aurora Ventura to walk into my life and start uncovering things I spent years burying.
I stood. Walked toward the bar. Poured myself whiskey. Didn't drink it. Just stared into the glass. The estate was quiet now. Not peaceful. Never peaceful. Just waiting, like the whole world was holding its breath.
I leaned one hand against the desk. Closed my eyes. And saw Angelo. Laughing. Alive. Fucking impossible. The memory hit so hard my chest tightened.
"We're going to die."
Angelo looked up from his cards. "This again?"
"Yes, again."
He sighed dramatically. "You're incredibly negative."
"We're being shot at,” I pointed out. "That's not negative. That's observational."
Bullets punched through the walls around us. Plaster exploded. Men shouted downstairs. The warehouse was actively on fire. And somehow my twin was sitting on a crate playing cards. I hated him. Deeply. Passionately. Violently.
"You are a psychopath,” I reminded him.
"I learned from the best,” he winked. He definitely didn’t mean me. And if he meant our father, that terrified the shit out of me.
I threw a card at his head. He grinned. God.
That grin. The exact same grin we'd shared since childhood.
The grin that got us expelled from schools.
Started fights. Ruined family dinners. Terrified grown men.
The grin that made us look so identical our mother used to threaten to tattoo our names on our foreheads.
Angelo caught the card. Looked at it. Then looked at me. "You suck at poker."
"We're literally under attack,” I reminded him again. “I’m trying to live through another one of your terrible ideas.”
"You can suck at multiple things simultaneously,” he grinned.
I hated him. So much. The memory shifted. Changed. Another year. Another city. Another night.
Me sitting behind this same desk. Angelo sprawled across the couch. Drinking whiskey I paid for. Making himself comfortable in my office. Again.
"I think it’s time we take over,” he told me. My stomach dropped. Not because I cared. Because I knew Angelo. And Angelo only made that face when disaster was approaching.
"What did you do?" I accused him.
His smile widened. Terrible.
"I gave Chiara Ventura my business card,” he winked.
I stared. Then started laughing. Hard. Genuinely. Tears-in-my-eyes laughing. Angelo looked offended. "Fuck you. It’s not for me.”
“I figured,” I scoffed. “You don't even know how feelings work."
He threw a coaster at my head. I dodged. The coaster shattered against the wall.
"One day," Angelo announced dramatically, "you're going to meet a woman, just like our cousin."
“Yeah, I’ve met enough, thanks,” I muttered.
His grin widened. "Then she'll ruin your life. You’ll be as whipped as the almighty Serpent."
I pointed toward the door. "Leave."
"You'll become pathetic and unimportant." He said, picking himself up. "You'll stare at her like an idiot instead of focusing on the real shit. Like pleasing our father. You think I’ll marry for love? Fuck no."
"Leave,” I hissed again.
"You'll smile for no reason, and I’ll have children everywhere,” Angelo went on dramatically. "You'll do stupid, unremarkable things for this soulmate that doesn’t exist. And I’ll carry on Father’s legacy."
I stood. Angelo started laughing.
And somehow… That laugh still existed perfectly inside my head. Clear as crystal. Four years later. Like he'd never left. Like he was still here. Like if I turned around fast enough, I'd find him sitting on the couch. Boots on my furniture. Whiskey in his hand. Being annoying. Being alive.
The memory shattered. Reality rushed back. The office. The ocean. The silence. The emptiness. I opened my eyes. And the room felt too big. Too quiet. Too empty. Because Angelo wasn't on the couch. Hadn't been for four years. Would never be again.
My throat tightened. I looked down at the watch. The one they'd returned to me in a plastic evidence bag. Covered in blood. His blood. I remembered sitting alone afterward. Holding it. Staring at it. Trying to understand how a man could exist one day and disappear the next.
How a twin was supposed to keep breathing when half of him was gone.
The answer turned out to be simple. You didn't. Not really. You just kept moving. Existing. Pretending. Until one day you woke up and realized years had passed. And nothing mattered.
Not money. Not women. Not power. Nothing.
Then a stubborn girl walked into your club. Ordered lemonade. Called you a serial killer. Insulted your face. Held your hand. Looked at your watch. And somehow made you feel something again. The realization hit harder than it should have.
Because that was the truth, wasn't it? Aurora wasn't replacing Angelo. Nobody could. Nobody ever would. She wasn't fixing me. Wasn't saving me. Wasn't healing anything. She'd simply done something nobody else had managed in four years. She made me care.
And that was infinitely more dangerous.
I looked toward the guest house. Toward the light glowing through the glass. Toward the girl pacing inside it. The girl currently planning my murder. The girl who hated me. The girl I'd started a war for. A slow smile pulled at my mouth.
"You would've hated her, Angelo."
The words slipped out before I could stop them. Silence answered. The ocean crashed below the cliffs. Wind rattled the windows. I laughed quietly.
"Well, maybe." I shook my head. A familiar certainty settled in my chest. "Or maybe you’d try to steal her."
For one impossible second, I could almost hear Angelo laughing.
For a long moment, I stood alone in the office. Listening. The ocean. The wind. The distant movement of men preparing for war. And beneath it all…
The faint hum of the guest house security system.
A small light glowed across the estate. Aurora.
Still awake. Of course she was. I checked the time.
Almost midnight. The smart thing would be to leave her alone.
The logical thing would be to leave her alone.
The sane thing would be to leave her alone.
Unfortunately, I had already established that sanity was no longer part of this equation.
I grabbed the whiskey. Took one sip. Then abandoned the glass on my desk. And headed for the door.
The night air hit my face the second I stepped outside. Cold. Salt-heavy. The ocean below the cliffs churned violently beneath the moonlight. A storm was rolling in. I could smell it. Rain. Electricity. Danger.
The estate lights illuminated the pathways winding through the gardens. White stone. Dark hedges. Silver fountains. Everything looked peaceful. Which was ironic. Because every man on the property currently had a weapon within reach.
I shoved my hands into my pockets and started walking. Toward the guest house. Toward the mistake I'd willingly made. Toward the woman currently ruining my life.
The glass structure glowed ahead. Warm golden light spilling across the grass. Beautiful. Fragile. Dangerous. Just like the woman inside it.
As I got closer, I slowed. Then stopped.
Because Aurora wasn't sleeping. She wasn't pacing either.
She sat curled up on the enormous white couch.
Bare feet tucked beneath her. The ruined wedding dress pooled around her like a broken cloud.
Her chin rested on her knees. She was staring out at the ocean. Completely motionless.
She looked lonely. Not angry. Not furious. Not murderous. Just alone. A strange ache settled in my chest. I hated it. I preferred angry. Angry meant she was fighting. Angry meant she was still herself. This version felt too small. Too quiet. Too vulnerable.
I reached the door. Entered the code. The lock disengaged. The sound echoed through the house.
Aurora's head snapped around. The transformation was immediate. The softness vanished. The vulnerability disappeared. Fire exploded behind her eyes. There she was. My little trouble maker.
"What do you want?"
Not hello. Not why are you here. Straight to violence. I smiled. "A warm welcome would've been nice."
Silence. Neither of us moved. The ocean crashed against the cliffs. Thunder rolled somewhere in the distance. Aurora folded her arms. I noticed she'd abandoned her heels. One sat upside down near the kitchen. The other near the fireplace.
"You threw your shoes,” I noticed calmly.
"I was aiming for your security cameras,” she spat out.
I looked around. "Missed them. You throw like a child."
"Oh, I’m sorry,” she hissed. “I didn’t get a perfect Papa like your spoiled ass.”
She sounded genuinely annoyed by that. My mouth twitched. Aurora pointed toward the door.
"Leave,” she said again. “We have nothing to talk about.”
"I don’t think I will,” I said. “I think we have plenty to discuss.”
I walked toward the kitchen. Opened the refrigerator. Pulled out a bottle of water. Aurora stared. "This is kidnapping."
"Thank you for the clarification, Aurora,” I said.
"You don't get to act casual,” she said fiercely.
I opened the bottle. Took a drink. "That's an interesting rule."