I let go of his neck only to catch his shoulder instead, fingers digging in.
“But understand this,” I add. “You don’t get to keep playing both sides. If you ever put them at risk again—Dante, Guido, Zina—”
I lean in until we’re nose to nose, until he can see every ugly truth in my eyes.
“I will judge you, and there won’t be a priest left in me when I do.”
He flinches.
Good.
He should.
Romeo nods, a jerky, broken motion. Tears finally spill over, cutting clean tracks through the grime on his cheeks.
“I swear,” he whispers. “I’m done.”
I don’t know if I believe him.
I don’t say that out loud.
Faith in this family has always been currency, not a gift. And right now I’m spending mine where it counts most—on keeping us from turning on each other before the next war even starts.
Footsteps crunch somewhere inside the house. A door slams in the distance. Voices carry—Dante, probably, barking orders like he hasn’t slept in days; Guido asking questions no one wants to answer yet.
Romeo’s gaze flicks toward the sound, then back to me.
“What are you going to tell them?” he asks. “About who killed him?”
The question lands like a knife between my ribs.
Images slam into me at once:
Emiliano’s blade.Giovanni’s blood on the church stone.Pia’s father falling in front of her.The ledger.The letter.The fucking security footage.Romeo’s face on that grainy screen, trying to trade his own soul for ours.
The truth is a bomb.
I’ve spent my entire life standing in its blast radius.
I turn away from him and stare at the mansion ruins again—at the scorched arch where my father once stood and called this place holy, like the word meant anything in his mouth.
“The truth they can live with,” I say.
My voice is steady.
Lying feels too much like prayer now—mouth moving, hoping the words build something instead of burning it down.
“And the rest stays with us.”
Us.
Not me.Not him.
Us.
A shared sentence.A shared sin.
The word hangs between us like a noose and a lifeline at the same time.
