“You smiled!” I teased. “I saw it. I saw teeth, Marco.”
“I hate you,” he muttered, but the corner of his mouth was still fighting to stay up.
I grinned wider, clutching the pastry box like a trophy. “Progress. I’m wearing you down.”
We drove in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the wipers keeping steady rhythm. Then Marco spoke again, quieter this time.
“You make him happy, you know.”
I froze, the laugh dying in my throat. The words landed heavy between us.
Marco’s grip tightened on the wheel, like he regretted saying it. “Shit. I didn’t mean to… Forget I said that.”
But I couldn’t. My heart was beating too loud.
He exhaled sharply. “I haven’t seen him like this since Angelo.”
The words hit like a direct punch to the chest.
I looked out the window, blinking hard against the sudden sting in my eyes. The city lights smeared into streaks of gold and red through the rain. Santino’s face kept flashing in my mind.
His focused expression in the gym this morning, the way he’d kissed my bandaged hand like it was something precious, the raw vulnerability he’d shown me when no one else was looking.
Marco didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to.
By the time we pulled up to the house, the rain had eased into a drizzle. I felt strangely full and hollow at the same time. Full of stories and warmth and new understanding, hollow with the weight of what it all meant.
I wanted to tell Santino about the little boy who’d been practicing his punches. About the ridiculous tie I’d picked out for him. About the way Marco had almost smiled. Stupid, small things. I wanted to watch his face when I said them. I wanted to make him laugh, or scowl, or pull me close like he couldn’t help it.
Not because I was trapped here.
Not because my body reacted every time he walked into a room.
Because he had somehow become my person.
The realization scared the hell out of me.
We stepped inside, and I headed straight for the gym before I could talk myself out of it. Marco trailed behind, probably making sure I didn’t get into more trouble.
The moment I pushed open the doors, Santino’s head turned.
He was mid-spar with Matteo, fist pulled back, sweat still pouring down his bare torso. But the second I walked in, everything else seemed to fade for him.
His dark eyes locked onto mine, intense, searching, like he’d been waiting for this exact moment since I’d left hours ago. Matteo was on the mat again, breathing hard, but Santino didn’t even glance down at him.
That look. God.
In that split second, I understood exactly what Marco hadn’t meant to tell me.
Santino’s happiest moments weren’t when he dominated the ring. They weren’t when he ran the city or closed deals or made everyone bend to his will.
They were the ones when I walked into a room.
And I was terrified, because I was starting to feel the exact same way.
Chapter Seventeen: SANTINO
Thestudysmelledofaged leather, whiskey, and the faint metallic tang of violence that still clung to the air like a second skin. Dim golden light from the desk lamp cast long shadows across dark wood paneling and shelves lined with ancient books no one ever read. Rain lashed against the tall windows, a relentless drumbeat that matched the dark pulse in my veins.