“I like threats,” he says mildly. “They make me hard.”
I look at him.
And I let him see what took up residence in my skull when I stopped being afraid of hell.
“I declare war on the Vescari.”
The warehouse goes still.
Even the rats seem to hold their breath.
Carlo’s eyes narrow.
“If you touch her again,” I continue, voice level as a guillotine, “I will end every one of you.”
The guards adjust.
Knuckles white on triggers.
Muscle memory crackles through the room like exposed wire.
Pia shakes her head, raw.
“No,” she breathes. “No. Don’t do this.”
Her voice fractures.
“Santino… run.”
I don’t move.
I don’t look at her.
I don’t blink.
“I didn’t come here to run.”
Then—
I turn fully back to Carlo.
Slow.Deliberate.Final.
“I came here,” I tell him quietly, “to kill you.”
20
Pia
The Moment Santino Walks Into Hell
The first thing I notice is his throat.Bare.
No white strip of mercy at his neck. No rosary bruising his fingers. He contained absolutely no softness, nor holiness.
Santino steps through the warehouse door like dying isn’t on the schedule, and something inside my chest caves in with a sound only I can hear.
They’ve chained my wrists behind the chair. The metal is cold enough to burn—teeth of iron gnawing into skin that’s already gone numb. My shoulders howl from being dragged. My mouth tastes like rust and spit. The lights are wrong—too bright, too cruel—bleaching the world into concrete and shadow and gunmetal.
