Me: Eventually.
My phone buzzes almost immediately. Santino.
Santino: Never do that again.
I smile to myself and type back. Me: Do what? :)
Santino: You know what.
Me: I really don't! You'll have to be more specific!
The three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again. He's struggling with how to respond.
Santino: Dinner tomorrow. My place. I'm cooking. 7pm. Don't be late.
Wait. His place? He's inviting me to his home?
Me: You cook?
Santino: Yes. And you're going to sit at the table, eat what I give you, and not touch anything dangerous. Understood?
He's doubling down. I terrified him and his entire crew, and instead of canceling the engagement or running away, he's doubling down. He's inviting me deeper into his life.
This is either very good or very bad for my plan.
Me: Sounds perfect! What time again?
Santino: 7. And Liana? I mean it. Don't be late.
Me: Would I ever be late?
Santino: Yes.
I laugh out loud in the empty car, genuine amusement bubbling up.
Me: Fair point. See you at 7!
I drive home through the winding streets of Genoa, already planning what chaos I can cause in his house tomorrow. But there's something else there too, something I don't want to examine too closely or acknowledge.
He didn't run. He didn't cancel the engagement. He didn't tell me to stay away.
He invited me to his home. His personal sanctuary.
Either he's the most stubborn man alive, or...
No. Don't think about the "or." Don't go down that road.
Stick to the plan. Remember why you're doing this.
I can do this.
I have to do this. For Papa. For Gia. For our family's future.
I have to.
Chapter 10: Santino
I've been cooking for three hours in the kitchen in my private residence. This isn't the family estate. This is the penthouse apartment I bought two years ago in the heart of Genoa's financial district, my personal sanctuary away from family obligations and mafia politics. The space is spotless, modern, with everything in its designated place, exactly how I need it to maintain control over my life.
