I let a smile curl, mean and dead-eyed.
“If he comes here,” I finish, iron in my throat, “he’s burying you.”
Carlo laughs again—
But this time, just for a second, the edge frays.
And I know he heard me.
Pia’s Internal War: Love vs. Death Sentence
The phone is still glowing when he lowers it.
That small, violent rectangle of light feels brighter than the bare bulb overhead. Brighter than Carlo’s eyes. Brighter than whatever future I thought I still had left.
My name.My location.Santino’s number burning like a fuse.
I didn’t send it.
But it’s already done.
“He’ll walk into hell for you,” Carlo says softly. “Just like Giovanni did for your mother.”
I stop breathing.
Not a gasp.Not a beat.Just absence.
Air leaves and forgets to come back.
“What the hell are you talking about?” I manage.
Carlo tilts his head like he’s admiring a scratch on a new car.
Slow.Cruel.Curious how deep it cuts.
“You really don’t know?” he murmurs. “Your mother wasn’t just some woman Giovanni fucked and forgot.” His mouth curves. “She was insurance.”
My stomach turns to acid.
“A leash,” he continues. “A pressure point. A way to make sure your father remembered who owned him.”
I shake my head hard enough to make the cuffs bite.
“No,” I whisper. “You’re lying.”
Carlo’s mouth twitches.
“Giovanni didn’t take women for pleasure,” he says. “He collected them for leverage. They chose your mother because your father was useful. And usefulness requires obedience.”
My chest constricts.
Shrinks.Crushes inward.
“He used her,” Carlo goes on, unbothered by the collapse happening in front of him, “to keep your father in line. She was a quiet knife at his throat. The reminder that love makes men kneel faster than guns.”
“I don’t believe you,” I choke.
Carlo shrugs.
