AURORA
I SWEAR TO GOD
IF I HAVE TO CALL YOUR SISTER…
Oh no. Oh no no no. Chiara could absolutely never know. Because if Chiara found out I'd escaped my bodyguard and accidentally wandered into...whatever this place was... I would die. Not metaphorically. Actually die. My fingers flew across the screen.
Stop panicking
I deserve one night alone
Three dots appeared.
YOU ARE EIGHTEEN
Eighteen and a HALF
THIS IS NOT THE TIME TO BE SPECIFIC
I smiled despite myself. Poor Vincenzo was probably having a complete nervous breakdown somewhere. Another message appeared.
Sergio is going to murder me
My smile faded slightly at that. Sergio. God. Even thinking his name irritated me. I typed quickly.
I promise I'll meet you later
Please don't tell Chiara
Pause. Three dots. Disappeared. Came back. Disappeared again. Then finally:
One hour
ONE
HOUR
I grinned. Victory. I set my phone down just as the bartender placed my drink in front of me. I wrapped both hands around it and looked around the club again. Okay. Maybe I wasn't leaving right away. Because embarrassment was slowly starting to fade beneath something else.
Curiosity. Because this place was weird. Really weird. But also... kind of interesting. And for the first time all night nobody was talking about my wedding. Nobody was talking about Sergio. Nobody was deciding my future for me. For once, nobody expected anything.
I took long gulps of my drink until it was empty. And somewhere behind me, I felt it. A strange feeling. The feeling of being watched.
Chapter Two: SANTINO
Peoplethoughttheyknewme. They saw magazine photos and assumed they had me figured out. Santino Moretti. Thirty years old. Rich as sin. Reckless. Untouchable. Playboy.
I was photographed leaving galas with women whose faces lived on billboards and fashion campaigns. Haute couture models draped over my arm beneath camera flashes. Legs for days. Diamonds around their throats. Sharp cheekbones and practiced smiles.
The papers loved me. But none of them knew shit.
The women changed. The parties changed. The cities changed. But I stayed exactly the same. Cold. Angry. Empty.
Four years ago, I had lost Angelo. My twin. My other fucking half.
People always talked about twins like it was something mystical. Like we shared thoughts or felt each other's pain. Most of it was bullshit. But Angelo had been the only person in the world who understood me without explanations. The only one.
Then Leonardo Moretti had taken him from me. The Serpent. I still remembered getting the call. Still remembered blood seeping from the many snake bites on my twin’s massacred body. Still remembered dropping to my knees beside Angelo's body while the world around me turned into noise.
