He’s not fooled. Not softened. Not looking away.
Tracking me like prey.
Good.
My stomach tightens—not from fear, but from something far more dangerous, far more inconvenient.
He’s watching me.I expected it. Counted on it.But I didn’t expect what his attention did to my body—the low, curling heat I can’t fully suppress.
Last night flashes through my mind:the confessional,his voice cracking,his hand closing around my wrist with something that felt too much like want.
I inhale slowly.Not useful.Not safe.But undeniable.
The group moves deeper into the church. I keep my steps small and unassuming, but inside I’m cataloguing every inch of stone. All the smears on the floor. Doors with chipped paint exist everywhere. Every corridor that smells like mildew. Every forgotten corner where Giovanni could have hidden secrets—or corpses.
Giovanni utilized labyrinths much like others used briefcases, this church being one.
As we pass beneath the balcony, I look up again.
Santino hasn’t moved.
He’s leaning forward now, knuckles pressed to the railing, jaw tight. Watching me with the same lethal focus he used on Giovanni’s enemies. The same quiet fury he once aimed across the breakfast table at Zina. The same barely contained violence he carried every time he swallowed down the monster Giovanni raised.
He’s unraveling.
I caused that.And I need him to unravel more.
But when I imagine him actually grabbing me—right now — in one of these forbidden halls,shoving me back against the cold stone the way he almost did last night…
Heat crackles through me, sharp and reckless.
Fuck.
Not part of the mission.Not part of the plan.But they're all the same.
The coordinator calls everyone back to the double doors. I turn obediently, the good-girl mask slipping into place like a second skin.
But my focus drifts upward.
The balcony is empty.
A spike of adrenaline pulses through me.
Men like him don’t just walk away.
They are in motion.They stalk.With each step, they descend into the darkness.
And if Santino Rivas is no longer above me—
Then he’s somewhere behind me.
Tracking me in the shadows.
Exactly the way I need him to.
Even if some reckless, hungry part of me needs it for reasons that have nothing to do with Giovanni’s sins.
The First Warning Strike
