The courtyard gate creaks.
Not loud.Not dramatic.
Just enough to turn the night’s spine cold.
I look up.
My blood goes hostile.
Emiliano steps through the open iron like he owns the fucking dark. His coat swings with each step, the lining flashing like something alive. He doesn’t pause to read the scene. He doesn’t hesitate.
He arrives.
The way men do when death already checked the guest list.
My body reacts before my brain catches up. My back snaps straight. My shoulders lock. Every nerve pulls itself into a weapon.
Because this man doesn’t walk.
He judges.
Santino turns at the same time I do, fury snapping awake in him so fast it’s almost violent. I’ve never seen it rise that fast—raw and unfiltered.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he growls.
Emiliano doesn’t look at him.
Not even a flick of his eyes.
Nothing.
The silence is deliberate. The kind that strips you of importance and makes you wait to see where you land.
His gaze settles on me.
Not my face.Not my eyes.
My center.
Like he can see through skin and bone and bullshit straight into the part of me that still cares.
The part I fucking hate.
“You caused fear in a child,” Emiliano says quietly.
Soft.So soft, it feels obscene.
Killer-soft.
The voice men use when they’re about to decide whether you die quickly.
My breath cinches tight.
“No,” Santino snaps, stepping in front of me. “You don’t get to—”
“She brought the danger,” Emiliano cuts over him.
The words don’t rise in volume.
