Giovanni wrote this in a panic.A warning.A confession he never meant for his sons to see.
Or maybe he did.Maybe he meant for someone else to find it.
Someone like me.
My lantern flickers violently, the flame stretching long and thin before shrinking to a trembling ember. The air grows colder, heavy with the weight of the names that could fit this accusation.
Giovanni had four sons.Four heirs.Four possibilities.
And I don’t know which truth terrifies me more:
That the man who destroyed my family was one of them…or that the one hunting me now knows I’m inches from exposing him.
My fingers tighten around the parchment.
I’m not here to steal anything.I’m not here to escape.I’m not even here for justice.
I’m here to expose a killer.
My father’s killer.Giovanni’s betrayer.The shadow that still moves inside this church like it owns every stone.
I swallow hard, fighting the burn rising in my chest.
Santino.Romeo.Dante.Guido.
Raised on loyalty, violence, blood, and expectation—but one of them broke Giovanni’s kingdom from the inside.
And that betrayal set fire to my entire life.
I lift the parchment again, letting the lantern’s dim glow brush over Giovanni’s handwriting. The strokes are desperate, jagged, carved in anger rather than written. The last line trails off the page, as if something tore the quill from his hand mid-sentence.
Like he wasn’t alone when he wrote it.
My throat tightens.
Whoever Giovanni feared…whoever he tried to warn the world about…was right here with him in these tunnels.
The lantern snaps violently, throwing warped shadows across the walls. The air tastes metallic. Old. Wrong.
I fold the parchment with shaking hands and tuck it into the inner seam of my jacket—hidden, protected, close to my body.
Because of this?This is the truth the Rivas buried.
And if they buried it…they’ll kill to keep it that way.
I lift my lantern, turning back toward the sigil-carved door—toward the vault that holds whatever Giovanni died protecting. The flame wavers weakly, casting a sickly glow across the stone.
My voice barely leaves my throat, but it echoes like a vow:
“I’m not leaving without the truth.”
Because now?I’m closer than ever.
And the next step I take won’t just be toward Giovanni’s secret.
It’ll be toward whoever murdered him.And toward the end of whichever Rivas thinks he can bury me next.
Footsteps in the Dark
