Carlo claps once.
Sharp. Final.
“Enough,” he announces. “Take the girl back. Our guest is making me nostalgic.”
A guard clamps a hand around her arm.
Too tight.
She flinches before she can stop herself.
That’s all it takes.
That tiny break. That flash of fear she tried to kill before it reached her face.
Something in me detonates.
Not loud.
Deep.Final.
I step forward again.
“Touch her again,” I say, flat enough to sound holy, “and I will turn this place into a museum of your mistakes.”
Carlo lifts a brow.
“And you’ll do that how, priest?”
I look at Pia one more time, burning every line of her into whatever I’m becoming.
“I’m not a priest,” I tell him.
And for the first time since she staggered into that doorway — I feel the truth of it all the way down.
He Declares War
Carlo lifts his hand.
Two guns rise with it.One aimed at my chest.One aimed at Pia.
The symmetry is obscene.
“This is touching,” Carlo says, almost fond. “Truly. But if you want her back—bring us the ledger. And your father’s private keys.” He lets the words settle, enjoy themselves. “And your brother.”
The air thins.
“Which brother?” I ask.
Carlo’s mouth pulls wider.
“Romeo.”
My blood doesn’t cool.It drops.Hits somewhere deep and breaks.
“You’re lying,” I say quietly.
He shrugs like we’re discussing rain. “We want him. You know why.”
