The words rise like poison in my throat.
Thick.Burning.
They claw their way up from the pit I’ve been sealing off my whole life—from the place where my father’s face lives, where Giovanni’s shadow never leaves, where every why and what if was buried under obedience and blood.
I drag in a breath like it might save me.
Like it might give me courage instead of stripping it bare.
“My father…” I whisper.
It hurts just to say it.
The name.The weight.The ghost of his hands on my shoulders, steering my life like property.
“What Giovanni did,” I continue, my mouth dry, my pulse snapping too fast. “What I came here for…”
The truth waits behind my teeth.
Sharp.Poised.Ready to ruin everything.
I almost gave it to him.
Nearly let it all spill in one breath.
But something about this moment—
This thin, fragile pause between us—
Feels too sacred to poison.
Too breakable to pollute with something ugly.
The wall between us has only just fallen.
If I speak now, it will fly back into place.
I swallow.
The lie sticks.
The truth stays caged.
“Santino… if I tell you everything,” I say instead, my voice unwinding, “you won’t look at me the same.”
The fear in it is real.
Ravenous.Raw.
I brace for the distance.
For the hush of his retreating.
For the quiet click of something shutting down.
Instead—
“I already do.”
