"And you're not," Massimo continues, unhurried. "You're not next after Whitford." Relief flashes across Sean's face, brief, pathetic. "You're next after her."
The meaning lands. Sean breaks down completely, screaming, pleading, bargaining with anyone who might listen. Marianne's cries rise to match his, desperation feeding on desperation.
Massimo turns to me.
"Ready?" he asks, holding out his hand.
I'm trembling. There's no denying that. My hands shake, my heart pounds, and every nerve in my body feels raw and exposed. But I straighten my spine. I don't let them see it. I won't give Marianne the satisfaction of my tears. I won't give Sean the comfort of my fear. Whatever emotions are tearing through me stay locked behind my ribs, contained, controlled.
"Ready," I nod once, taking his hand. His grip tightens, solid, grounding, a silent promise that I am not alone in this.
We move forward together, and I understand something with absolute clarity: This isn't mercy. This is consequence. And I will not look away.
The car door shuts behind us, sealing away the noise, heat, and screaming like it never happened. The city slides past the windows, indifferent.
"Are you okay?" Massimo asks.
I shake my head. "No." My voice doesn't wobble. I'm past that. "But I will be."
He nods once, accepting it.
Then I turn the question back on him. "Are you?"
He exhales slowly and drags a hand through his hair; the gesture is tired, unguarded in a way I haven't seen before.
"I killed my uncle. And my cousins. Over this lie."
The words hang in the air between us, heavy and irrevocable. I don't know what to say. First, the fact that he's telling me this at all, not just admitting it, but offering it, trusting me with something that raw, that damning? That's monumental, almost eclipsing the words themselves. Then I think of the lie. How big it was. How far it spread. How many lives it warped. How much blood it cost.
"I don't know what to say," I admit quietly.
He nods again, like he wasn't expecting absolution.
"It was inevitable," he admits after a moment. "Really." Then his mouth twists, just slightly. "But I don't like someone setting my terms for me."
That, I understand too.
I glance at him, something dark and familiar settling in my chest. "Yeah," I say softly. "I get that."
"Now what?" I ask after a few seconds.
He lets out a short, humorless chuckle and finally looks at me. "You're askingme?"
I lift a brow, unsure of his meaning. He shrugs lightly, but his eyes are serious. "He'syourfather." A pause. "What doyouwant to do?"
The question lands heavier than anything else today. Because for the first time in my adult life, it's actually mine to answer. I don't answer right away. The truth is, I don't know. Not yet. The question is too big, too layered, to unwrap in the space between traffic lights. My father's face flashes through my mind,not the monster from today, but the man who lifted me onto his shoulders when people were watching, smiling for the cameras like I was something to be proud of. The man who once fixed my broken toy at the kitchen table, silent and focused, like it mattered more than he ever let on. The man who decided, somewhere along the way, that my life was a problem to be managed.
"I don't know," I concede finally. "I just know I don't want him deciding anything for me ever again."
Massimo nods once, like that's enough for now. Maybe it is. The car rolls on in silence, but it's not empty. It's full of things unsaid, of futures pressing in from all sides. My hands rest in my lap, still trembling faintly, and I curl my fingers into fists until the shaking subsides. I think of Amauri. Of his laugh. His stubbornness. The way he believes promises matter.
"I promised him the pool." The words are meant to distract.
Massimo glances at me. "Then we keep the promise."
Something in my chest loosens at that. Not relief—resolve. We'll go back to the penthouse. We'll let him be a kid for a few hours. The rest—the truth about his grandfather, about his father, about the world he's been pulled into—can wait. For now, my choice is simple. I choose my son.
We pull up at the hotel a little while later. The elevator ride feels endless, and my nerves hum just beneath my skin, but the moment the penthouse doors slide open, everything else fades. Amauri spots us instantly.
