My father’s innocence.My family’s redemption.My dagger aimed at the Rivas empire.
I should feel powerful.Triumphant.Vindicated.
Instead, nausea curls up my throat.
When I imagine pressing this evidence to the throat of the Rivas name…I don’t see Giovanni.I see Santino.
His jaw clenched.His eyes are storm-dark.His hands stained with blood he spilled for me.His voice breaking when he whispered my name, like it tasted like faith and sin at once.
A hot ache stabs through my chest.
No.Not now.My heart has no place in this.It never did.
I turn toward the chamber door.
And freeze.
The lantern flickers—once, then again—its flame bending as if disturbed by movement.
A shadow slides across the narrow gap beneath the door.Long.Deliberate.Human.
Someone is standing exactly where I would have stepped out.
A cold slice of fear cuts down my spine.
Someone followed me.Someone knows I’m here.Someone is waiting.
I take one instinctive step back, my heel scraping stone. My hand flies to the knife at my thigh, grip tightening until the leather digs into my skin.
The shadow shifts again.
Heavier this time.
Boots reposition.A breath—low, controlled—leaks through the crack beneath the door.
Not Santino.Not Dante.Not any Rivas I’ve met.
A stranger.Down here.With me.
My pulse spikes, a brutal, stuttering hammer in my ribs.
I move forward—silent, measured—knife lifted, blade catching the lantern glow.
Another breath.Slow.Patient.
Like the person on the other side already knows what I found.Already knows what I carry beneath my coat.Already knows I shouldn’t leave this room with it.
My throat dries.My skin prickles.
“Come on,” I whisper, barely audible. “Show yourself.”
But the shadow doesn’t move.
It listens.
Waiting.
One more step.One more inch.
