The temperature drops.
Ice in the middle of heat.
“And you need to hear it before you decide if you can forgive me.”
My pulse stutters.
I pull back just enough to see his face.
His eyes look—
Haunted.
I’ve seen that stare before.
On men who don’t sleep.
On people who touched something the past didn’t want found.
“Giovanni didn’t just destroy your family,” he whispers.
I forget how to inhale.
“He destroyed mine too.”
The room narrows.
“And what I learned,” he continues, voice rough with something old and dangerous, “about Romeo… about that night…”
Every nerve in my body catches fire.
The late drives.The half-answers.The way Romeo held his gun in the warehouse like it extended his arm.
Santino swallows.
“It might tie your father’s death to my brother’s hands.”
The words don’t echo.
They explode.
My vision bleaches out.
My stomach caves.
The room tilts like God shoved it sideways.
“No,” I whisper.
It comes out broken.
Bare.
Unwilling.
Santino doesn’t look away.
Doesn’t soften it.
