A slow, precise curl of the lips…like he’s been waiting for me.Like he finally found the thing he came down here to hunt.
My lungs burn. I press myself tighter into the wall, willing my heartbeat to quiet before it betrays me. Sweat slicks my palms. I force my fingers not to shake.
He lifts the lighter slightly.
Just enough for me to see the weapon holstered at his hip. Not concealed—displayed.
A warning.A promise.
His gaze drags along the tunnel.
Slow.Patient.Predatory.
Then he speaks.
His voice is low, smooth, rolling along the stone like smoke.
“Pretty girls shouldn’t wander alone down here.”
The words slither through me, cold and deliberate.
He knows.He sees.He’s hunting.
I inhale sharply through my nose—silent, small, my body bracing for flight or fight.
My muscles coil.My fingers loosen around the parchment—just enough to move.To run.To survive.
He tilts his head, sensing it.
Then—
Click.
The lighter snaps shut.
The glow extinguishes.
Total blackout drops between us.
And his footsteps start again.
Closer.
Hunting.
9
Santino
The Silence That Means She’s Gone
Ican’t fucking sleep.
I’ve stared at the ceiling for an hour—maybe two. Time doesn’t mean shit when it feels like someone’s tightening a wire around your ribs, one slow twist at a time.The house is quiet. Too quiet. And being left alone with the quiet is the worst fucking thing for a Rivas.
Quiet leaves room for memory.
Giovanni’s dying confession.Romeo’s half-truths.The missing key.The vault.The darkness under the church.Pia’s mouth—fear and defiance tangled together—still on mine.
