“Which son?” I ask.
It barely makes a sound. It doesn’t even feel like my voice.
It feels like a verdict.
Miguel’s mouth opens, then closes. His gaze flicks to the crucifix like it might save him from this.
“I cannot—”
My hand slams onto the back of the pew.
The crack of wood ricochets through the empty church, loud as a gunshot.
“Don’t,” I snarl. “Don’t quote doctrine at me while my family is burning alive.”
My breath saws in and out. Hot. Unsteady.
I step off the last altar stair completely, boots hitting marble. No more halfway. No more pretending priesthood shields me from this.
“I’m not asking you as a priest,” I growl, closing the distance, “I’m asking you as a man who watched Giovanni turn my mother into an absence and my brothers into weapons.”
Miguel flinches.
Good.
“At least be honest enough to admit what you saw,” I bite out. “What you heard. What you know.”
My voice drops, razor-sharp.
“We already buried one man in this family because nobody asked hard enough questions. I’m done treating silence like it’s holy.”
Miguel’s lips press together. His jaw works. Then he exhales through his nose like it hurts.
“The night Giovanni died,” he says slowly, “he couldn’t stop mentioning it.”
A chill claws down my spine.
“It?” I whisper.
Miguel swallows.
“One name.”
Heat crawls up my neck. My jaw locks until my teeth throb.
“Which one?” I rasp.
For half a heartbeat, I’m sure he’s going to fold back into the safety of his collar and leave me bleeding under stained glass.
Instead, his voice drops to almost nothing.
“One of your brothers.”
My head floods with faces.
Dante—quiet, controlled, always watching more than he speaks.Romeo—smiling, joking, never quite letting me see what sits behind his eyes.Guido—too young, too soft, the only one who still believes monsters look like something other than family.
My reflection flashes in my mind—collar on my neck, crown hovering like a threat.
