Her fingers brush mine.
Ground.
Carlo clocks it instantly.
His gaze flicks to her.
Lights.
He smiles like a man who’s finally found the artery.
“That’s right,” he croons. “You don’t know the half of it. Giovanni ruined her family. He made sure her father died.” His eyes never leave mine. “He lied to you about everything. He lied until the night he finally fucking died.”
The world shrinks.
Everything funnels into sound—
Blood.
Pounding.In my ears.In my skull.In my past.
Romeo.My mother.Her father.
He names them slow. Careful.Stacks them like knives.Waits to see which one bleeds me first.
“Shut up,” I warn, my voice dragged up from somewhere hollow and deep.
He steps closer.
Deliberate.Measured.
Like a man closing on a wild horse who doesn’t realize the animal is already deciding where his bones will break.
“You’re not a priest,” he continues softly. “You’re not a king. You’re just a pawn in Giovanni’s final game.”
And there it is.
Not the revelations.
Not the blood.
The poison hides in the prettiest sentence.
Pawn.
Expendable.
Disposable.
A piece moved by a dead man’s hand.
Something breaks.
Not loud.Not clean.
It tears like old leather inside my chest.
My vision clears.
