Chapter Nine SANTINO #3
For one second, the world narrowed. Ocean gone. Sun gone. Everything gone except that name. Edoardo. My father. Some men had ghosts. I had a living curse.
“When?” I asked.
“Twenty minutes ago.” Marco groaned.
“They still there?”
“No. Disappeared before we could grab them,” he grunted.
I stared at the image. The man in the gray coat had his hand near his mouth. Smoking. Smiling. I knew him. Paolo. One of my father’s dogs. Too loyal. Too stupid. Too alive. Not for long. Marco watched me carefully.
“He knows about Aurora.”
Of course he did. Because monsters could smell weakness. And for the first time in four years, I’d been stupid enough to have one. Aurora Ventura. Marco lowered his voice.
“Santino.” I said nothing. “If he knows she’s here, he’ll make a move.”
“I know.”
“He won’t care about her. He’ll only care that you do,” Marco reminded me.
My hand closed around the edge of the desk. The wood creaked. For a moment I was twelve again. Sixteen. Twenty. Every age at once. Standing in some dark room with Angelo beside me, both of us pretending not to bleed because our father hated weakness more than disobedience.
My father never needed reasons. Only opportunities. A broken glass. A wrong answer. A missed target. A son who flinched. A son who didn’t.
Angelo had always stepped forward first. Always. Like he thought sharing pain made it smaller. Idiot. I looked back at the screen. Paolo smiled at my home. At my land. At the place Aurora had chosen to come back to. Something inside me went very still.
“Double the men at the cliffs,” I said. Marco nodded. “Lock down the docks. No boat comes within three miles without my approval.”
“Done.”
“Find Paolo.”
“And?” Marco asked.
I looked at him. Marco’s expression didn’t change. He knew the answer. “And bring me his hands.”
A beat. Then Marco nodded again. “Alive?”
I stared at the screen. At the ghost of my father’s reach crawling across my property.
“No,” I said softly. “Not necessary.”
Marco left. I stayed. For several minutes, I stood alone inside the security room while cameras flickered across the wall. The estate in fragments. Cliffs. Gardens. Gates. Docks. Guest house. Hallways. Rooms. Then my gaze found her. Screen Twelve. Main library.
Aurora stood near a wall of books with her arms crossed, pretending not to be interested in anything.
She picked up a book. Read the cover. Made a face.
Put it back. Picked up another. That one interested her.
She looked around like she was making sure nobody saw.
Then tucked herself into the corner of the couch and started reading.
My chest hurt. Sharp. Unexpected. Annoying. She shouldn’t have looked right there. In my house. In my world. Curled up in a room Angelo used to nap in after we drank too much. She shouldn’t have fit. But she did.
That was the problem with some people. They arrived like accidents. Then made everything before them look empty.
My phone buzzed again. Unknown number. I stared at it. Only three people had this line. Marco. My lawyer. And the devil who made me.
I answered. No greeting. My father’s voice slid through the phone like smoke over bone. “Santino.”
My grip tightened. “Edoardo.”
A soft laugh. Not warm. Never warm.
“You always did insist on calling me by my name. Even as a boy.”
“You never earned anything else.” Silence. Then another laugh. Lower.
“You sound emotional.” I said nothing. “Is it the girl?”
There it was. My vision tunneled. “Careful.”
“Oh.” Amusement sharpened his voice. “It is the girl.”
I looked at Screen Twelve. Aurora turned a page, completely unaware death had just spoken her name. My father hummed softly.
“Pretty little thing. Ventura blood. Moretti connection. Chiara’s sister. Leonardo’s weakness by marriage.” A pause. “And yours, apparently.”
“She has nothing to do with you,” I reminded him.
“Everything that weakens my son has something to do with me.”
Son. The word landed wrong. It always had. Like a hand on the back of my neck. Like a locked door. Like Angelo’s blood on my shirt.
“You come near her,” I said, very calmly, “and I’ll cut out your tongue.”
“That temper.” Edoardo sighed. “Angelo had the charm. You had the violence. I wonder what Aurora has.”
The room disappeared. For half a second, I couldn’t breathe. Then I smiled. Slowly. Because if I didn’t smile, I’d put my fist through the wall. “You say her name again and I’ll make your death last a week.”
Silence. Good.
“Still a sentimental bastard,” Edoardo murmured. “How disappointing.”
I closed my eyes. Saw Angelo at ten, holding a frog over my head. Saw him at sixteen, bleeding from the mouth and laughing anyway. Saw him at twenty-six, still and covered in snake bites.
Leo killed him. But my father made us into men who were always going to die violently. That was the truth. One pulled the trigger. The other loaded the gun years before.
“What do you want?” I asked.
“To see what kind of woman makes my son stupid.” Another soft laugh. “Keep her close, Santino.”
My eyes opened. On the screen, Aurora shifted deeper into the couch, tucking her legs beneath her. Safe. For now.
My father’s voice dropped. Almost gentle. Almost fond. Which meant cruel. “You were never very good at keeping what you loved.”
The line went dead. For a moment, I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. The security feeds flickered silently across the wall. The ocean crashed somewhere beyond stone and glass. My father’s words remained in the room. Alive. Rotting.
You were never very good at keeping what you loved.
I stared at Aurora on the screen. At the girl who had left. At the girl who had come back. At the girl who had no idea what returning had just made her. A choice. A target. Mine.
Four years ago, I lost my brother. They weren’t taking another piece of me.
Ichecked the cameras twelve times before breakfast. Which was twelve times more than a sane person would. Fortunately, sanity had never been one of my stronger qualities.
The security room glowed blue in the darkness while dawn crept slowly across the ocean outside. Monitor after monitor flickered with images of the estate.
Cliffs. Gardens. Docks. Gate. Guest house. Main house. And Aurora. Always Aurora.
There she was in the kitchen stealing strawberries. There she was wandering through the library. There she was standing on the terrace staring at the ocean like she was trying to solve it. Every camera eventually became Aurora. I hated that. Mostly because Marco kept noticing.
"You're doing it again."
I looked away from Monitor Seven. "No, I'm not."
"You are,” he said. "You literally zoomed in."
"Security reasons."
Marco stared at me. I stared back. The man sighed.
"I miss Angelo,” he muttered.
"What a strange thing to say." I pretended his words didn’t have an effect on me.
"He would've bullied you."
"You bully me."
"Well," Marco corrected. "Angelo would've made it funny."
The room went quiet. I looked back at the screens. Monitor Seven. Aurora. Again. She stood at the edge of the garden wall wearing one of my oversized black sweatshirts and sunglasses that were definitely stolen from somewhere in the house.
Probably my bedroom. Criminal. I almost smiled. Then Monitor Seven emptied. Aurora disappeared. I frowned. A few clicks later, I found her again. Walking toward the eastern cliffs. Alone.
Absolutely not. I stood.
Marco groaned. "You've got to stop doing this."
I ignored him. Ten minutes later I found her exactly where I expected. Trying to climb a locked gate. I stopped several feet away. Folded my arms. And watched. She almost made it over. Almost.
Then her foot slipped.
"Interesting technique."
Aurora nearly fell off the gate. She whipped around. Dark hair flying. Murder in her eyes. Perfect. "Do you just appear whenever I'm doing something?"
"Yes."
Her jaw dropped. Then snapped shut. "That's horrifying."
"Thank you,” I said.
She pointed accusingly. "You are stalking me."
"I own the estate,” I reminded her. “And you know, you could’ve asked someone to open the doors."
She jumped off the gate. Badly. I caught her automatically. For one glorious second Aurora Ventura ended up directly against my chest. Warm. Soft. Startled. My hands settled around her waist. Small waist. Very small. Her eyes widened. Mine probably did too. Then she shoved herself backward.
"I absolutely had that."
"You were about to die,” I hissed.
"I was falling two feet."
"Tragic death." She rolled her eyes so hard I worried they might remain stuck. I liked her. That was becoming a serious issue. "Come on."
I grabbed her wrist. Aurora dug her heels into the dirt. Like an angry cat. An extremely attractive angry cat. "We're going to the range. I cut it short last time."
"I hate guns,” she grumbled. "I don't need experience to hate things."
"You sound like a little girl,” I said with a grin.
"I am deeply offended."
Good. That got her moving. The shooting range sat on the far side of the estate carved directly into the cliff. Concrete. Steel. Ocean. Very relaxing. Aurora looked significantly less relaxed.
The moment she spotted the weapons, she crossed her arms. "Not today."
I picked up a pistol. "You're running out of arguments."
"I'm not touching that,” she insisted.
I unloaded the magazine. Cleared the chamber. Then handed it over. Aurora eyed the weapon suspiciously. Like it might personally insult her. "It's empty."
"I know.”
“So what's the problem?"
She narrowed her eyes. "You."