“You’ll come with me,” I say before I can stop myself.
Her lips curve in the faintest smile. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
24
EVI
After nearly a month of gruelingly long days and late nights, the house is finally starting to resemble something alive again. The hallways don’t echo so emptily anymore, now that rugs have been laid down and the scent of fresh paint and cleaning solutions hang in the air instead of smoke and mildew.
Every day there’s a new layer of life—a repaired window, a cleaned chandelier, the muffled hum of staff moving between rooms. Even the east wing, the part that had been blackened by fire and rain, is starting to show promise. Contractors have finally stabilized the walls, and this morning they assured me that the scaffolding will go up by next week.
We still have a ways to go before it will be ready for Raf’s ascension ceremony, but it’s coming along. Over the past month, I’ve learned how to manage foremen, negotiate pricing, and direct crews of men twice my size who now treat me with the same deference and respect they give Sandro and Raf.
It feels good to be useful.
But it’s also been a long, lonely month.
Most days, I see Sandro only at night, when he comes home with bruised knuckles and blood staining his collar. Sometimes he’s talking with Raf when they arrive—other times, he’s quiet, simmering with the kind of energy that makes everyone else step back.
I’ve stopped asking where he goes. I already know. The underground fighting pits, where men bet on blood.
He says it’s business. That it’s a way of showing strength to the Irish, that Raf is making contacts while Sandro “proves their worth.” I want to believe that’s all it is, but the thought of him stepping into a ring to be pummeled half to death night after night makes my stomach twist.
Tonight, I’m standing in the ballroom that will soon host the loyalty ceremony. The walls are patched flawlessly, the cracked marble tiles replaced and the floor scrubbed clean. Fresh candles flicker in the ornate sconces, and for the first time, I can almost picture it the way it must have been when the Chiaroscuro family was at its height.
I run a hand over one of the long tables that will hold the ceremonial feast, checking for dust, when the sound of footsteps reaches me. Sandro. Even without looking, I know it’s him. The steady, grounded rhythm of his walk is so familiar now, it’s like a second heartbeat.
When he steps into the room, my chest tightens. His shirt is soaked through with sweat, and his cheek is split beneath the southern tip of his nautical star, still bleeding sluggishly. There’s blood on his knuckles, too, and I can’t tell how much of it is his.
I cross the room before I even think about it. “Sandro?—”
He gives me that lopsided smirk, the one that says don’tfuss over me, and shrugs out of his jacket. “Don’t look at me like that. I’ve looked worse.”
“That doesn’t make it okay,” I say softly, reaching for his hand. It’s already swelling, the knuckles scraped raw.
He doesn’t pull away. “The guy had surprisingly hard teeth. But his nose broke just the same.”
I exhale, torn between exasperation and relief that he’s even still standing. “How long are you going to keep doing this?”
His gaze darkens, the humor fading. “As long as it takes.”
There’s finality in his voice, and something about it scares me. I look up at him, trying to find the man who teases me beneath the covers, who holds me at night when I can’t sleep. “I just—please, Sandro. Be careful. I don’t want to lose you.”
For a long moment, he studies me. Then his expression softens, and he lifts his uninjured hand to cup my face. His thumb brushes my cheekbone. “You’re not gonna lose me, Evi.”
His tone is quiet but certain, the kind of confidence that feels unshakable.
“I mean it,” I whisper. “You think you’re invincible, but?—”
He chuckles under his breath, the sound low and rough. “Are you questioning me,raggio di sole?”
I blink, startled by the dark edge in his voice, and my stomach tightens with anticipation. “Maybe I am.”
That earns me a dangerous smile. “Careful. You know what happens when you challenge me.”
My pulse stutters. “And what’s that?”
He leans closer, his breath warm against my ear. “I make sure you remember who’s in charge.”
