The difference now?
Back then, I thought grief was the worst this building could hold.
Halfway down, I pause for a heartbeat, letting their voices sink beneath my skin.
Romeo snarls something low and vicious.Dante snaps back.Something slams—wall, fist, doesn’t matter.
I exhale once.
Slow.
Controlled.
When I move again, my steps are steady, the pace of a man walking toward both the pulpit and the gallows.
Every step is a choice.
Priest or heir.Brother or king.
I already know which way this ends.
By the time my hand closes around the cold metal bar of the door, my decision isn’t a thought anymore.
It’s a crown made of knives settling on my skull.
I tighten my grip.
I walk toward the voices, knowing that whatever I hear next will decide whether I face Romeo as my brother…
…or as my king’s first judgment.
18
Pia
The Night She Runs
Into
the Trap
The gate slams behind me like a verdict.
Cold air knifes across my face as I step off Rivas ground and into the street, into a night that doesn’t bother pretending it has a soul.
I don’t look back.
If I do, I’ll see the iron bars.I’ll see the church tower.I’ll hear Santino’s voice breaking on my name.
I won’t survive that and still leave.
One foot in front of the other. My boots slap through shallow rivers collecting along the curb. Rain claws down my neck, threads into my hair, soaks the seams of my jacket. My hands shake, but not from the cold.
Guido’s eyes won’t get out of my head.
Wide.Gone.Terrified.
He looked at me like I’d crawled out of the dark to finish what the last nightmare started. Like I was the next wrecking ball God planned to send swinging through his half-built life.
