“You shouldn’t have found that.”
The words seep through the door like poison.
My blood runs cold.
I slam my hand against the metal again, knife clenched white-knuckled in my other fist. “Who are you?” My voice scrapes out. “Say it to my face.”
Silence.
Then the footsteps turn.
Retreating.Unhurried.Confident.
Whoever he is, he isn’t worried about what comes next.
He’s certain.Certain I’ll stay here.Certain no one will find me.Certain Santino won’t know where to look.
The fading echo of boots disappears, leaving me alone in the chamber beneath their church. Beneath their altar. Beneath their god.
I stand with my forehead against the cold door, breathing too fast, the chill leeching into my skin. My fingers twitch against the metal.
This isn’t where it ends. This isn’t where my father’s innocence dies a second time.
I force myself back.One step.Another.
The lantern’s glow shrinks, shadows stretching long and distorted across the walls. The smear of dried blood on the floor looks darker now, almost fresh—like it’s waiting for a new body.
Maybe mine.
“Think,” I whisper, dragging a shaky hand through my hair. “Come on, Pia. Think.”
I sweep the lantern around the chamber—walls, ceiling, floor—searching for anything. A vent, a seam, a crack.
Nothing.
This room wasn't for escape. It was for secrets.And corpses.
My gaze drops to the space where the lockbox sat, then to my coat, heavy against my ribs.
The cassette.The drive.The papers.
Evidence powerful enough to bring the Rivas empire to its knees.Evidence someone will bury me alive to keep hidden.
They know.Whoever locked that door knows exactly what I found—and what I intend to do with it.
Santino’s name hits me like a blow to the sternum.
Is he part of this?Does he know I’m here?Is he asleep upstairs while someone under his roof tries to erase me?
My vision blurs for a moment. I picture Santino’s hands crushing Rocco’s throat. The way he whispered, You are with me.
Am I?
Or did I just carve my own grave into his family’s foundations?
The silence presses in, thick, hungry. My lantern coughs once—the flame dipping low before catching again.
I tighten my grip on my knife and lift my chin.
