Fine.
They locked me in.
They think that makes me powerless.
They forgot something.
They didn’t bury me alone.
They buried me with the one thing they can’t kill.
The truth.
And if I get out — if I survive — the evidence in my coat won’t just burn the Rivas name.
It will burn the man who just turned this chamber into my tomb.
13
Santino
Santino Breaks Free and Finds Hell
The blade at my throat bites just deep enough to draw blood — a thin, hot sting sliding down my neck — but the bastard behind me hesitates.
Rookie mistake.
You never hesitate when you’ve got a Rivas by the throat.
Especially me.
He exhales as if he thinks he’s already won. “Don’t fight, padre. Makes this easier.”
Wrong fucking thing to say.
I slam my head backward — hard. The crack of bone meeting cartilage is loud, sick, perfect. His nose shatters beneath my skull with a wet crunch, warm blood spraying across my cheek.
He swears, grip loosening.
I don’t wait.
I twist, catching his wrist long enough to wrench it. The knife clatters to the floor. I drive him into the wall, stone vibrating from the impact. His head snaps back; he stumbles, dazed.
Good.
I want him to be conscious for this.
One punch — his jaw jerks sideways.Second — he hits the shelves so hard ledgers spill to the floor.Third — he drops, wheezing, folding like a rag doll.
He scrambles away, hands slipping in his own blood, eyes wide with a fear he should’ve felt two minutes ago. He staggers into the dark tunnel and disappears.
I don’t chase him.
I don’t give a shit about him.
Because something else hits me harder than any blade ever could —
A sound echoing through stone.
