Chapter Nineteen SANTINO #3
“Take it,” I told Matteo, holding the watch out to him.
My voice was rough, unsteady. “You earned it today. You protected what matters most to me in this world. Angelo would’ve liked you.
Stubborn as hell. Loyal to the bone. A little fucking insane, just like us.
Wear it. Honor it. And never forget what it means to fight for family. ”
Matteo stared at the watch, eyes widening in raw recognition. He knew exactly what this meant. Everyone in my inner circle did. This wasn’t just jewelry. It was legacy. Grief. The last tether to the brother I had lost.
His hand trembled slightly as he took it, fingers closing reverently around the silver band. He looked down at it for a long, heavy moment, then back up at me. His eyes were glassy.
“I won’t lose it,” he said fiercely, voice thick with emotion. “And I won’t let anything happen to her again. I swear it, Santino. On everything.”
I nodded once, unable to speak past the massive knot in my throat. The garden blurred for half a second. I blinked it away.
Aurora watched the entire exchange in silence, her fingers tightening on my shirt.
Tears glistened in her eyes. She understood.
Giving away the last piece of Angelo wasn’t something I would ever do lightly.
It was trust. It was family. It was me admitting that this kid had proven himself worthy of carrying part of my broken soul.
For the first time in three days, she looked at me. Not with distance, but with something raw and real. Something that felt like the walls cracking.
I pulled her closer, my hand sliding to the small of her back, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Matteo stepped back respectfully, clipping the watch onto his own wrist.
It looked right there. Heavy. Meaningful.
I left Aurora and Matteo in the garden with strict orders for Marco to stay close. She needed a moment with her brother after what just happened, and I needed to make a call before the rage inside me boiled over and burned everything down.
The study door slammed shut behind me. I didn’t bother with the lights.
The only glow came from the city far away and the single desk lamp I clicked on.
I poured myself a glass of whiskey, downed half of it in one burning swallow, then dialed the number I rarely used unless absolutely necessary.
It rang twice.
“Santino,” my father’s voice answered, smooth and amused, like he’d been expecting me. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“You sent him.” My voice was ice. “The man in the garden. The professional with the silenced pistol aimed at my woman’s chest.”
A low chuckle came through the line. Edoardo Moretti never denied his moves when he wanted them seen.
“I was wondering how long it would take you to figure it out.”
I gripped the edge of the desk so hard the wood creaked. “What the fuck do you want?”
“Want?” He sounded almost bored. “I want you to learn, son. You’ve been playing house with that Ventura girl for weeks now. Parading her around like she’s some kind of queen instead of a liability. I thought a little reminder of how fragile your new obsession is might sharpen your focus.”
My blood turned to fire. “She is not a lesson.”
“Oh, but she is,” he replied calmly. “Your greatest weakness, wrapped up in a pretty little package with big dark eyes and a tight pussy. I’ve seen the way you look at her.
The way you killed for her today. You’d burn everything we’ve built for that girl.
And that… that makes you dangerous. Not to our enemies. To us.”
I laughed, cold and hollow. “You think you can test me with a fucking hitman in my own garden?”
“I think you still have things to learn,” Edoardo said, his voice hardening. “You’re soft with her. Distracted. Giving away your dead brother’s watch to some stray Ventura boy like it’s nothing. Angelo would be ashamed.”
The mention of my twin made something inside me snap. Knowing my father had eyes on what was happening was a pure threat.
“Don’t you fucking say his name.” My voice dropped to a lethal whisper. “I am no longer your son.”
Silence stretched for a beat.
Then my father laughed. Low. Amused. Completely unbothered.
“You’re disowning me now, are you?” he asked, clearly entertained. “Going to declare yourself free of the Moretti name because of some whore you knocked up?”
I didn’t hesitate.
“Yes.” The word came out like a death sentence.
“Consider this my formal resignation from whatever fucked-up legacy you think you’re building.
I want nothing from you. No territory. No money.
No name. You come near Aurora again, you send another man into my home, and I will end you myself.
Slowly. I’ll make what happened to Angelo look like mercy. ”
Another laugh rolled through the phone, richer this time, almost proud.
“There he is,” Edoardo said softly. “My real son. Finally.”
The line went dead.
I stood there in the dark study, chest heaving, the phone still clenched in my fist. The whiskey glass shattered against the far wall before I even realized I’d thrown it. Glass rained down like crystal shrapnel.
He thought this was a game. A lesson.
He had no idea I’d already chosen her over everything.
And if he forced my hand again, I would paint the streets of this city red to keep her safe.