Then his attention cuts back to me.
“I’m worse.”
The courtyard feels smaller.
I swear the stone walls lean in, hungry.
Emiliano steps closer.
Not lunging.Not overtly threatening.
Just… inevitable.
“You walk into a house full of ghosts and wonder why the children scream,” he says. “You brought your war into a family that was already dying from it.”
Santino shifts like he’s about to move in front of me again.
Emiliano lifts one finger.
Not at Santino.
In the space between us.
A boundary. A warning. A cut.
“I’m not here to punish you,” Emiliano says. “I’m here to remind you.”
“Of what?” I bite out.
My voice shakes anyway.
His mouth curls, not quite a smile.
“What happens when you pretend your damage doesn’t bleed?”
The words claw under my skin.
I straighten my spine.
If I’m going to be judged, I won’t fold for it.
“I didn’t come to destroy them,” I say. “I didn’t come to hurt anyone. I didn’t come here to poison a child.”
Emiliano studies me.
For a long, brutal moment.
Then:
“Impact doesn’t give a fuck about your intent.”
The sentence slices clean.
Santino curses under his breath.
Heat stings the backs of my eyes.
I refuse to let tears fall. I will not cry in front of this man.
