“Giovanni’s secrets didn’t die with him,” he says. “You know that now. You bled for it tonight.” His eyes slide to Pia. “She bled for it.”
My grip on the knife screams in protest.
“What secrets?” I demand. “You want to stand there and preach? Fucking say it. Say what you came here to say.”
He tilts his head, almost thoughtful.
“I came to say this,” he answers. “You think you’re choosing her over your father. Over the Church. Over the family.”
I lift my chin.
“I am.”
“For now,” Emiliano says.
The corridor feels colder.
“Giovanni built you in layers, Bishop. Priest on top of soldier on top of son. You can’t just tear one out and expect the rest to stay standing.”
He nods in the direction Guido ran, voice dropping even lower.
“You’ve already cracked one of his foundations. The boy won’t forget what he saw tonight. What he heard. You think that doesn’t have a cost?”
Behind us, another boot scrapes stone.
Closer.
Too close.
Pia whispers, “Santino—”
“I said,” I snarl, never taking my eyes off Emiliano, “you’re not taking her.”
He exhales once through his nose, like he’s finally bored.
“Who said anything about taking?” he asks. “You brought her to the altar yourself.”
There’s something in his tone that makes the hair rise on the back of my neck.
The tunnel feels like a throat about to swallow.
He takes one more step forward.
“You should never have come down here,” he says. “These tunnels don’t let go. Once you walk this deep into Giovanni’s bones, you don’t walk out free. Not you.” His gaze flicks to Pia again. “Not her. Not the boy.”
My heart slams once, twice, so hard it hurts.
“Then let it keep me,” I bite out. “Let it take me. It’s not getting her.”
Emiliano’s eyes burn faintly in the dim light—something old and lethal waking up behind them.
“Oh, it will keep you,” he answers quietly. “That’s the point.”
Another step behind us.
Metal kisses stone.
The unmistakable slide of a gun being shifted into a new grip.
