Back to the Costa estate. Back to my old life, my old room, my old routines.
No wedding. No alliance. No Santino.
This is what I planned for from the very beginning. What I worked toward with every chaotic act. What I wanted more than anything.
I should be celebrating this victory.
Instead, I look down at my raw, bloody wrists and stare out the window at the city passing by in a blur.
I got exactly what I wanted.
And it hurts more than I ever imagined it could.
Chapter 24: Santino
I watch the taillights of Dominic's car disappear around the corner, the red lights fading into the darkness like the last remnants of everything I thought I had.
Liana's gone.
The alliance is over.
Everything I thought I had secured gone in a matter of minutes.
"Boss." Bruno's voice sounds distant, like he's speaking from the end of a long tunnel. "We should get out of here. The Benedettis might regroup and come back."
I turn away from where the car disappeared, forcing myself to face my crew. They're all watching me with varying expressions of concern and uncertainty, waiting for orders.
I have nothing to give them right now.
"Go home," I say, my voice rough. "All of you. We'll regroup tomorrow and figure out our next moves."
"Santino—" Bruno starts, concern written across his face.
"Go. Home." The finality in my tone leaves no room for argument.
They exchange glances among themselves, silent conversations happening in looks and small gestures. But they know better than to argue when I use that tone. One by one, they leave, heading to their cars and disappearing into the night.
Until it's just me, standing alone in an empty warehouse parking lot at midnight. I pull out my phone and stare at it like it might offer answers.
No new texts. No calls. Nothing.
Just that photo the Benedettis sent earlier, still saved in my messages. Liana tied to that chair, terror in her eyes. The fear that was there because of me. Because I failed her.
I get in my car and start driving, my hands operating on autopilot. Not home. Not to the social club where my crew will gather to discuss what happened.
To my father, Vincent Marcello's house instead.
He's still awake when I arrive, sitting in his study with a glass of scotch in hand. Like he's been waiting for me, like he knew I would come.
"Santino." He doesn't look surprised to see me at this hour. "I heard what happened at the port."
"It's over." I drop into the leather chair across from his desk, suddenly exhausted. "Dominic called it off. The whole arrangement. The alliance. Everything."
"I’m not surprised." He pours me a drink without asking, slides it across the polished wood surface. "Vincent Marcello's son, engaged for less than a month, and it ends like this."
"I didn't—" I stop, the words tangling in my throat. "I thought she was lying. Playing games with me. How was I supposed to know this time was real?"
"You weren't supposed to know." Papa's voice is quiet, contemplative. "Because you didn't know her at all."
