Chapter Twelve AURORA #2
I closed my eyes. Wonderful. Excellent. Fantastic. This was going beautifully. When I opened them again, Matteo was still kneeling. Still staring at Santino. Still refusing to surrender.
"I can't stay with Leo." The words hit the room hard. Harder than I expected. My chest tightened. Santino remained silent. Matteo continued anyway. "I won't. He killed my father."
The ballroom became deathly still. My stomach twisted.
Because that wasn't the whole truth. And yet it wasn't entirely a lie either.
Leo had saved us. Protected us. Given us a future.
But Lorenzo Ventura had still been our father, even though he was an abusive bastard.
And grief wasn't logical. Especially not for boys.
"I know what he did." Matteo's voice roughened. "He deserved it."
The confession surprised me. Apparently it surprised Santino too.
"But he was still my father."
Silence. Painful silence. The kind nobody knew how to fix. Matteo swallowed hard. Then looked down at the floor briefly. When he looked back up, his eyes burned. Determined. Fierce. Ventura eyes. Our mother's eyes.
"I don't want to become him." The words landed heavily. "I don't want power for power's sake. I don't crave fear."
His gaze never left Santino. "I want honor."
Something shifted in the room. Subtle. But real. Santino's expression changed. Not softer. Dangerous. "I want to be a made man people can respect."
Matteo's voice steadied. Strong now. Certain. "I want to protect people. I want to keep my morals."
The last word echoed strangely through the ballroom.
Morals. In the mafia. Almost laughable. Except Matteo wasn't joking.
Not even slightly. He meant every word. The realization hit me unexpectedly hard.
Because I wasn't looking at my little brother.
I was looking at the man he wanted to become.
And for the first time, I understood that Matteo wasn't a child anymore.
The thought terrified me. Santino remained silent for a long time. Studying him. Evaluating him. Judging him. Then finally he spoke. "What makes you think I have morals?"
Matteo didn't hesitate. "You saved my sister from a wedding she didn’t want. Kind of an insane way to do it, but… She seems happier than I’ve ever seen her."
The answer hit like a gunshot. Silence crashed through the ballroom. My breath caught. Santino froze. Completely. Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. Because somehow my sixteen-year-old brother had found the one thing nobody else saw.
Not the Devil. Not the killer. Not the monster.
“And I know what Leo did to your brother,” Matteo went on. “I know Leo killed him.”
I saw Santino’s anger flash across his face. The man who still bought birthday cakes. The man who still kept score for two people. The man who couldn't let go. Matteo held his gaze. Steady. Unflinching.
"You loved someone enough to break yourself." His voice softened. "Bad men don't do that."
For the first time since I'd met Santino Moretti...
I genuinely didn't know what he was going to do.
And somehow that was more frightening than if he'd pulled a gun.
Nobody moved. Nobody breathed. The chandeliers glowed overhead.
The city glittered beyond the windows. And Matteo remained on one knee. Waiting.
Santino stared down at him. Expressionless. Silent. Dangerously silent. Then he started walking. My pulse climbed. Because Santino walking toward somebody rarely ended well. Matteo didn't flinch. Didn't look away. Didn't move. Stubborn idiot.
Santino stopped directly in front of him. Then, unexpectedly, crouched. Not towering over him. Not intimidating him. Eye level. The movement surprised all three of us. Matteo looked shocked. I looked shocked. Santino looked annoyed that he'd done it.
"How old are you?" The question seemed to catch Matteo off guard.
"Sixteen."
"I killed my first man at sixteen." The room froze.
My stomach dropped. Matteo's face drained of color.
Santino's expression didn't change. Not even slightly.
Like he was discussing the weather. Not murder.
Not trauma. Not the thing that had probably broken him forever. "Nobody tells you that part."
His voice remained calm. Quiet. Controlled. "I threw up afterward."
I blinked. What? Matteo blinked too. Apparently we were both having the same reaction. Santino continued anyway.
"I couldn't eat for three days." The ballroom felt smaller. The city beyond the windows disappeared. Everything narrowed to the three of us. "I couldn't sleep for two weeks."
Matteo stared. Speechless. So was I. Because I'd never heard Santino talk like this. Never. Not even once. The Devil was speaking. But not like a monster. Like a warning.
"A month later, I stopped feeling guilty. That's when I got scared." The words landed heavily. Painfully. I watched Matteo absorb them. Watched the fantasy begin to crack. Not shatter. Not completely. But crack. Because this was the first real thing anybody had said to him.
Not honor. Not loyalty. Not glory. Consequences.
Santino stood. Slowly. The movement felt final somehow. "You're talking about morals." His gaze fixed on Matteo.
"Honor." A humorless laugh escaped him. "Protecting people. The mafia doesn't keep good men good."
Matteo's jaw tightened. Santino's eyes hardened. "It turns bad men useful."
Ouch. The words hit hard enough that even I felt them. Matteo swallowed. Then lifted his chin. Defiant. Ventura stubbornness. Again. "I don't believe that."
Santino almost smiled. Almost. "That's because you're sixteen."
The silence stretched. Tense. Sharp. Then finally I snapped. Because apparently nobody else intended to. "No."
Both men looked at me. I pointed at Matteo. Absolutely furious now. "You are not joining the mafia."
The audacity. The complete audacity. I looked at Santino. "Have all of you lost your minds?"
Neither answered. I rounded on Matteo. "What would Mom think?"
The words left my mouth before I could stop them. Immediate regret. Matteo froze. Like somebody had punched him. Pain flashed across his face. Raw. Unexpected. Real.
Damn it. The ballroom went silent again. Much quieter this time. Much sadder. Because this wasn't about the mafia anymore. It wasn't about Santino. Or loyalty. Or made men.
It was about grief. Everything always came back to grief.
Matteo looked away. Toward the windows. Toward the city. Anywhere except me. His voice sounded rough when he finally spoke. "I can't stay there."
His jaw tightened. Hard. The same way Papa's used to. The realization hurt.
"I try." The words came quietly now. Painfully. "I really try."
My chest tightened. Santino remained silent. Watching. Listening. For once not interrupting. Not joking. Not provoking. Just listening.
"I know Leo saved us." The confession sounded dragged out of him. Like it physically hurt. "I know Papa deserved what happened."
My throat burned. Because Papa absolutely deserved it. But that didn't make him less dead. Or less our father. Matteo swallowed. Then finally looked at me. His eyes were glassy.
Not my brother. Not Matteo.
"Every time I see Leo..." His voice cracked. "...I remember Dad."
I couldn't breathe. Because it was unfair. Horribly unfair. Leo had saved us. Protected us. Loved Chiara. Loved our family. But grief wasn't fair. Grief didn't care. It never had. Tears burned unexpectedly behind my eyes.
Matteo looked away again. Embarrassed. Ashamed. Like admitting it somehow made him weak.
"I don't hate Leo." The confession came softly. "I just... I can't live with him anymore."
The words shattered something inside me. Because for the first time, I understood. This wasn't rebellion. This wasn't teenage stupidity. This was pain. The kind nobody knew how to fix. The ballroom remained silent for several long moments.
Then Santino spoke. "You're not becoming a made man."
Matteo froze. The hope disappeared from his face. Crushed. Gone. My heart broke a little. Relief flooded me at the same time. A strange combination. Then Santino continued.
"Not now." Matteo looked up. Confused. So did I. Santino folded his arms. Expression unreadable. Dangerous. Thoughtful. "If you want this life... you earn it."
Something changed in Matteo's eyes. Hope. "Which means no gun. No oath. No blood. You're becoming my apprentice."
Even Santino looked slightly surprised by his own words. Then I found my voice. "Absolutely not."
Santino ignored me. Naturally. I hated him. Profoundly. Matteo looked stunned. "Apprentice?"
Santino nodded once. "You want honor? You want morals? You want to protect people?"
Matteo nodded. Too quickly. Too eagerly. Santino's mouth twitched. The bastard was amused. I could tell. "Then learn how first."
And I realized something terrifying. My little brother looked happier than I'd seen him in years. And Santino Moretti looked like he'd just accidentally adopted him.