Chapter Eleven SANTINO #2
Surveillance. On Aurora. My jaw tightened. Dangerously. The urge to kill him arrived. Not because of the surveillance. Because he'd looked at her. Taken photographs. Followed her. Watched her. The thought made violence feel necessary. Marco saw it happen.
"Easy."
I ignored him. "What kind of updates?"
The prisoner swallowed. "Schedules."
My fingers curled.
"Movement." Worse. "What she looks like."
Much worse. The space felt very small. Very hot. Very temporary. The prisoner's eyes widened. He saw it. The moment. The exact moment murder became inevitable. "Please don’t hurt me."
I stood. Slowly. The chair beneath him rattled. His panic intensified. Good instincts. Too late. I removed my pistol. Checked the chamber. The metallic click echoed softly through the room. The man started crying. Actually crying. Embarrassing. Marco rubbed his forehead.
The soldiers remained perfectly still. Nobody interrupted. Nobody argued. Because everybody already knew. The decision had been made.
I stopped directly in front of the prisoner. Looked down at him. He looked very small from here. Very insignificant. A man who had willingly stepped into somebody else's war. And now discovered wars had consequences.
"Tell Edoardo something for me."
Hope flashed across his face. Poor bastard. He thought he was leaving. I almost felt bad. Almost. His eyes lifted. Desperate. Waiting. I lowered the gun. Placed it against his forehead. The room went silent. Completely silent.Then I smiled beneath the mask.
"The next man he sends near Aurora loses more than photographs."
The prisoner's face crumpled. Understanding. Finally. The gunshot echoed through concrete. The body dropped. Blood spread across the floor. Silence followed. I stared down at him. Nothing. No satisfaction. No excitement. Just business. Necessary. Finished.
Then I heard a small sound.
A gasp. Tiny. Soft. Human.
Every muscle in my body locked. I knew that sound. Impossible. My head snapped upward. Toward the glass door overlooking the holding room. Toward the shadows. Toward… Aurora.
My heart stopped. She stood frozen behind the glass. Barefoot. Pale. Horrified. Her dark eyes stared down at the body. Then at me. Then at the gun. Then at the mask.
Fear flooded her expression. Real fear. Not annoyance. Not irritation. The sight hit harder than any bullet ever could. For one terrible second neither of us moved. The room disappeared. The soldiers disappeared. The body disappeared. Only Aurora remained.
And she looked at me like she finally understood exactly what I was.
A monster. The Devil. A killer. Not the man from the rooftop. Not the man who talked about Angelo. Not the man who laughed.
Her lips parted. Then she stepped backward.
No. My stomach dropped. "Aurora."
The word left me. She flinched. Jesus Christ. She actually flinched. Then she turned. And ran. The sound of her footsteps echoed down the hallway. Fast. Panicked. Gone.
I stood motionless. The gun still hanging at my side. The mask still covering my face. The corpse cooling on the floor. And all I could think was one horrifying thing. The only person whose opinion had started to matter... Had just watched me become exactly what I was.
For three seconds after she disappeared, I didn't move. The room remained silent. The body lay cooling on the concrete floor. Blood spread slowly beneath it. Nobody spoke. Nobody breathed. Nobody was stupid enough. Because everybody in the room had seen it.
The moment. The exact moment.
Aurora had looked at me. And recoiled.
Something cold settled beneath my ribs. Not guilt. I didn't regret killing him. The bastard had been spying on her. Following her. Photographing her. I'd shoot him again.
That wasn't the problem. The problem was the look on her face. Fear. Real fear. The kind that couldn't be laughed away. The kind that couldn't be flirted away. The kind that lingered.
Marco sighed. Long. Exhausted. "Damn it."
I turned. Slowly. The mask felt heavy. The room felt small. The body felt irrelevant. I ripped the mask off. Tossed it onto a nearby table. Nobody reacted.
"She wasn't supposed to see that."
Marco stared. Then actually laughed. Not because anything was funny. Because life apparently enjoyed humiliating me.
"Really?" I glared. He shrugged. "What gave it away?"
I wanted to shoot him too. Instead I headed for the door. Fast.
"Where are you going?"
I didn't answer. Because the answer sounded stupid. I was going after her. Like some lovesick idiot in a romance novel. Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic. Unfortunately I kept walking.
The upper floors were empty. Her bedroom was empty. The library was empty. The kitchen was empty. My pulse started climbing. I hated it. The feeling. The urgency. The need.
I found one of the guards. "Where is she?"
The man straightened. "Outside."
Of course. Aurora ran toward freedom the same way flowers turned toward sunlight. I headed for the gardens. The night air hit. Cold. Sharp.
The estate stretched toward the water below, gardens illuminated by soft golden lights. Stone pathways wound through manicured hedges and fountains and flower beds worth more than some people's homes.
I found her near the cliffs. Standing at the edge. Arms wrapped around herself. Dark hair whipping in the wind. She heard me. Didn't turn around. I stopped several feet away. Far enough not to crowd her. Close enough to see her shoulders trembling.
For a moment neither of us spoke. The ocean crashed against rocks below. Wind moved through the trees. The city glittered in the distance.
"You killed another man tonight."
No greeting. No hesitation. Just that. I stared at her back.
"Yes." Her shoulders stiffened. The honesty surprised her. Good. I wasn't in the mood for lies. “This one was… less innocent than Sergio.”
"He was begging for his life."
"Yes,” I muttered.
Silence. Then she turned. Anger flashed across her face. Good. Anger was better than fear. Fear meant distance. Anger meant she still cared. "That's all you have to say?"
I frowned. "What would you prefer?"
Something dangerous sparked in her eyes. "You could start with being horrified."
I looked at her. Actually looked at her. Then looked toward the cliffs. Then back at her.
"No reason for that." The answer hit like a slap. Aurora stared. I continued anyway. Because lying would've been easier. And I was tired of easy. "He was spying on you."
"He was a person."
"He was a threat."
Silence. The ocean roared below us. Aurora looked at me like she genuinely didn't recognize me. The expression irritated me. Far more than it should have. Finally she laughed. A short, broken, disbelieving sound.
"The rooftop." The words came quietly. Dangerously. "The stories about Angelo."
My stomach tightened. Not good. Not good at all. Aurora looked away. Toward the dark water below.
"The man on that roof wasn't real."
The words landed harder than any bullet I'd ever taken. Because she was wrong. Completely wrong. The rooftop had been real. The grief was real. Angelo was real. The loneliness was real. That was the problem.
The Devil was the easier part.
I stepped closer. One step. Nothing more.
Jesus Christ. She was so afraid of me. The realization felt strangely violent. Like somebody had reached inside my chest and twisted. "You're wrong."
She laughed again. Humorless. "Am I?"
"Yes." The word came sharper than intended. Aurora froze. So did I. The wind whipped between us. For a second neither of us moved.
Then she asked quietly, "Which one are you?"
The question settled heavily between us. Which one? The Devil? The brother? The monster? The man on the rooftop? The man who laughed with her? The man who pulled the trigger?
I looked out toward the ocean. Toward the darkness. Toward everything I'd spent years pretending wasn't complicated. Then I answered honestly. "Both. All of them. Anyone. For you.”
Silence. Aurora stared. I continued. Because there was no point stopping now.
"The man who sat beside you on that roof misses his brother every day." My voice sounded rough. Raw. Uncomfortable. "The man who pulled that trigger protects what's his."
Her breath caught.
"The same man did both things."
The words hung in the air. Heavy. Unavoidable. True. Aurora looked away first. The movement felt like losing something. Small. But important.
Aurora's throat moved as she swallowed, her gaze fixed on mine.
The wind coming off the ocean whipped through her dark hair, carrying the scent of saltwater and rain.
Strands caught across her face, but she didn't seem to notice.
She simply stood there staring at me as though she was trying to solve a puzzle that didn't have an answer.
Neither of us spoke.
The city lights glittered beyond the cliffs, scattered across the darkness like gold spilled onto black velvet. Under any other circumstances, it would have been beautiful.
Instead, all I could see was her.
The fear she'd worn in the holding room had faded, but it hadn't disappeared completely. I could still see traces of it lingering behind her eyes. It bothered me more than it should have.
More than the body downstairs.
More than my father.
More than the fact that she'd just watched me put a bullet in a man's head.
"You keep saying things like that." Her voice was quiet, almost lost beneath the crashing waves below.
I frowned slightly. "Like what?"
A humorless laugh escaped her. "'That you protect what’s… yours.'"
The word settled between us. Possessive. Dangerous. The kind of thing a sane man would deny. I didn't. Because denying it would have been a lie.
Somewhere between the rooftop, the motorcycle, the endless arguments, and the way she looked at me when she thought I wasn't paying attention, I'd started wanting things I had no business wanting. The realization irritated me. Worse, it scared me.
Aurora shook her head. "Do you even hear yourself when you speak?"
“I have people for that,” I said. The corner of her mouth twitched despite herself.
A small victory. One I took entirely too much satisfaction in.