Santino doesn’t raise his voice.He doesn’t have to.
“Move that gun one inch higher,” he says, “and I will peel the skin off your hands while you’re still breathing. I will make you watch yourself fall apart.”
The guard goes still.
For a heartbeat, nobody breathes.
Carlo’s eyes glitter.“There he is,” he says softly. “The Rivas I’ve been waiting for.”
I shake my head, desperate.“Don’t come in here,” I force out, fighting the pressure of steel and terror and the way my throat wants to close. “This is a trap, Santino. It’s about the ledger. It’s about your family. Walk away. Please—”
Carlo snaps his fingers.
The gun drives harder into my ribs, cutting my plea off with a strangled sound.
Carlo says, "Cute." He adds, "She thinks you can save yourself."
On the other end of the line, Santino inhales once.
When he speaks, it isn’t to Carlo.
“Pia,” he says quietly.
My whole body locks.
He can’t see me. The call has to be catching the hitch in my breath, the scrape of boots, the way everyone went still. Somehow, he just knows I’m here.
“I told you,” he says, voice low and devastatingly steady, “I don’t run from ghosts. Or from men who think they can use you to control me.”
Tears sting my eyes.
“Don’t do this,” I whisper. “I am not worth—”
“You don’t get to decide what you’re worth to me,” he cuts in.
It hits like a slap.
Carlo watches my face like he’s tracking every crack. “Beautiful,” he murmurs. “Say that again when you’re on your knees here, Bishop.”
Santino ignores him.
“Listen to me, Pia,” he says, words carved from stone. “Whatever happens next, this is not your fault. You hear me?”
I swallow, hating the wobble in my voice.“You’re an idiot,” I say.
“Probably,” he answers. “Open the door, Vescari.”
Carlo’s expression smooths at the use of his last name—flat, offended.“Well,” he says, straightening. “Since you asked so nicely.”
He nods to his men.“Let him in. Guns up. Eyes on. If anyone but the Bishop crosses that threshold, drop them.”
The guards move, all muscle memory and malice. Bolts scrape. Safeties click. The door groans as it opens, bleeding a slice of night into the warehouse.
Cold air knifes across my face.
For a second, all I see is darkness.
Then, a silhouette fills the doorway.
