The evidence sits in my lap.My father’s innocence.Giovanni’s guilt.The weapon that could destroy the Rivas empire.
This should feel like a victory.
It feels like a blade turning inward.
Because Santino is tangled in this web — not by choice,not by loyalty,but by blood.Blood he never asked for.Blood he’s drowning in.Blood he spilled tonight for me without hesitation.
My fingers curl into fists, nails sharp against my palms.
If I use this tape — If I expose the truth — If I drag his family name through the fire—
…I destroy him too.
The revenge I’ve carried like armor sits in my lap.So why does it feel like plunging a knife into myself?
A tremor cuts through me — not fear,not grief,something darker.Something like choosing between the ghost of the man who raised me and the man who looked at me like he’d burn down heaven and hell just to keep me breathing.
I close my eyes.
Just for a moment.
A crack tears through my resolve, sharp as a fault line.
I’m not ready to decide.Not yet.
But the decision is coming.
And whichever way I choose…
someone I care about is going to bleed.
She Chooses the Evidence… for Now
My legs feel like water when I push myself upright, palms braced against the cold stone wall for balance. For a moment, the room tilts—the blood smear on the floor, the table, the safe—blurring into a dizzy smear of grief and fury.
I blink hard until the world steadies.
I don’t get to fall apart.Not yet.Not until the man who murdered my father is in the ground—or burning in whatever hell waits for men like Giovanni Rivas.
I draw a shaky breath and force the words through my teeth:
“Revenge first. Heart later. If ever.”
The chamber swallows my voice whole, echoing it back like a decree carved into stone.
I move to the safe again, hands faster now, surer. There's no time—no room—to be delicate. No space to think about the blood that stains these papers or the lives Giovanni destroyed to keep them buried.
I take everything.
The cassette tape — CONFESSION — P.M.The memory drive.The faded receipts.The transfer sheets.Every damning scrap of Giovanni’s guilt.
They disappear into the hidden lining of my coat, rustling like a heartbeat against my ribs.
This is it.
Years of chasing ghosts.Years of nightmares.Years of whispering my father's name into the dark, begging for truth.
Now, the truth is in my pocket.
