My smile appeared. Cold. Sharp. Wrong. Marco swore. Because he recognized it. The smile Angelo used to call my funeral smile. The one that meant somebody was about to disappear. I looked toward the dark window overlooking the ocean.
Toward the room where Aurora slept. Toward the cliffs where she'd ridden free this morning. Toward the monster stupid enough to think he could threaten something that belonged to me.
Very quietly, I said, "Find him."
And God help whoever had sent the package. Because I already knew what would happen when I did.
Chapter Ten: AURORA
Thehousefeltwrong.I noticed it before I even opened my eyes. Silence. Not normal silence. The heavy kind. The kind that settles over a house after bad news. No music. No laughter. No Santino. No staff moving through hallways. Nothing. Just quiet.
I sat up slowly. Sunlight spilled across black sheets and polished wood floors, turning the room gold. Something felt off. For a moment, I couldn't figure out what. Then I realized.
Nobody had disturbed me. Nobody had checked on me. Nobody had brought breakfast. Nobody had annoyed me. Which meant one thing. Santino was missing.
My stomach did something strange. I ignored it. The man disappeared for a few hours and suddenly I was worried? Embarrassing.
I climbed out of bed. Pulled on one of his shirts I’d stolen, because I refused to wear the clothes he picked for me. And went looking. The mansion seemed almost abandoned. The kitchen sat empty. The living room sat empty. The terrace sat empty.
Even Marco wasn't downstairs. Which was unusual. Marco practically lived here.
I wandered farther into the house. A hallway I'd never noticed before stretched along the west wing. Dark. Quiet. Private. Every door stood open. Except one. A black door at the very end. Closed.
My eyes narrowed. Curiosity was a disease. I walked toward it. The closer I got, the stranger I felt. Not fear. Awareness. Like the entire house revolved around that one door. Like it mattered.
I reached for the handle. I turned it, and stepped inside. My breath caught. The room was frozen in time. Not old. Not dusty. Not abandoned. Preserved. Like a museum, a shrine. Like the occupant had simply stepped out for lunch and might return at any moment.
A perfectly made bed. Black leather jacket hanging on a chair. Watch collection displayed inside a glass case. Photographs. Books. Shoes lined neatly beside the wall. Everything was immaculate. Everything untouched. A chill crept down my spine. Because I understood exactly whose room this was.
Angelo.
I moved deeper inside. Slowly. Carefully. The air itself felt sacred. A framed photograph sat beside the bed. Two teenage boys. Identical. Laughing. Arms slung over each other's shoulders.
Santino. Angelo.
For the first time, I saw how impossible it must have been. Losing a brother was horrible. Losing a twin? Losing the person who looked like you. Sounded like you. Understood you. That felt different.
My chest tightened. A birthday card sat on the dresser. New. Fresh flowers beside it. A bottle of expensive whiskey. A small chocolate cake.
Happy Birthday, Angelo.
The words hit me like a punch. Oh. Today. Today was their birthday. But… Angelo was four years dead. And Santino was still buying him birthday cakes. My throat burned.
Now the room wasn't creepy. It wasn't unhealthy. It was heartbreaking. Because this wasn't a man refusing to let go. This was a man who genuinely didn't know how.
My eyes landed on a frame. Silver. Beautiful. Without thinking, I stepped closer. Reached toward it.
"Don't."
The word cracked through the room like a gunshot. I jumped. My hand jerked away. Santino stood in the doorway. My heart stopped. Not because he looked angry. Because he looked terrifying. Not Devil terrifying. Not mafia kingpin terrifying. Something worse.
Human.
His eyes were bloodshot. His jaw clenched so tightly I thought it might break. His hands hung rigid at his sides. Every muscle in his body looked locked. Like he was holding himself together through pure force.
The room felt smaller. I swallowed. "I'm sorry."
His gaze never left the watch. "Don't touch his things."
