Page 205 of Safe Word

‘All good?’ Alessio called from the top of the stairs in Italian, his tone casual.

I glanced over my shoulder to see one of his hands near his holster.

‘Peachy,’ I bit out, my eyes locking back onto the ghost that had crawled out of my past and onto Paula’s uncle’s goddamn porch.

Ezio’s grin widened, rotted teeth exposed in a smile that didn’t reach his eyes – didn’t even try. Black gaps gleamed between the yellow, his gums a sick shade of wine. His breath hit me next – sour sweet, like meat turned foul in vinegar.

‘Aren’t you going to invite me in, son?’

‘Son?’ I echoed, my voice fracturing in disbelief. The audacity – after everything. After what he’d done. After what he’d made me do.

‘Let’s get off the street,’ Vinnie murmured beside him, his tone clipped, eyes flicking down the road, scanning. ‘How’s Paula?’

I jerked my head towards the kitchen, shoulders tight. I didn’t trust myself to speak. My fingers twitched at my sides – half-formed fists, half-formed pain. But I stepped aside.

Ezio walked past me like it was nothing. Like I wasn’t giving off the vibe that I was five seconds from tearing into his spine.

He walked slow. Confident. One hand brushing the wall as he entered, as if he’d been the one putting the plaster there.

He nodded up at Alessio.

‘Good evening,’ he said in saccharine Italian. Paula’s uncle didn’t return it, only gave a shallow tilt of his chin before vanishing behind the staircase. Just like that. Zero trust given. No invitation returned.

I trailed Ezio to the living room, where the lights were low and the dog had disappeared – probably smarter than all of us. Or it may have sensed the soundless screams dissolving in my throat.

My heartbeat pounded behind my ears. My skin itched. Every inch of me was boiling in silence.

Hearing Vinnie’s footsteps and muffled conversation in the kitchen reminded me how thin the walls in this house were, but I suddenly didn’t care if anyone heard.

‘Who let you out?’ I asked, the words landing hard, flat.

Ezio turned with that same void in his eyes that jittered like static before a flare.

‘Out?’ he echoed, mock-offended. ‘It’s not a prison, son. It’s a hospice.’

‘I’m not your son,’ I cut him off, tasting blood and freedom.

The silence that followed wasn’t silent at all. It rang like steel splitting bone.

That sentence – that one sentence – tasted like liberation in my mouth, like the breaking of chains. Not all at once. Just the first link – the loudest one.

Ezio’s eyes hardened. The thaw of his mask gave way to brittle bone and bitterness. His mouth pinched into a thin line. No smile. No words. Just the cold drip of realisation that he no longer had purchase in me.

And that? It was all the confirmation I needed.

Ezio’s lips twitched.

‘You look good,’ he said, as if we were having small talk, as if I hadn’t just dropped a bomb. ‘Didn’t think you’d turn out half-decent after what you put me through.’

My throat closed. My pulse spiked.

‘What I put you through?’

He waved a hand dismissively. ‘You always did twist things, Cain. So sensitive. Dramatic. You’d cry if someone looked at you wrong. So like your mother.’

He took another slow step forward, his shoes whispering against the rug, eyes dragging across the room like he owned every wall.

‘I did my best to raise you right. Make a man out of you. And this is the thanks I get…’