Chapter 11

Chapter 11
Chapter 11

Colina Rosetti & Santino Romano

“What the fuck do you want, Ryker?” Santino growled into the phone, his voice low but dangerous.

I flinched at the sound of it—the kind of fury that could shake walls. Then came the crash. His phone shattered into pieces against the wall, and I nearly stumbled backward from the sheer force behind it.

He was shaking.

Not from arousal like minutes ago, but something else entirely. His fists were clenched so tight, the veins in his arms bulged beneath inked skin. I’d never seen him like this. Not with me. Something had broken.

I took a step closer, heart racing. “Santino… what happened?”

He didn’t look at me. He couldn’t.

“My parents,” he said, voice cracking. “They’re dead.”

Everything inside me froze.

⸻

Santino

I couldn’t breathe.

Ryker’s words played over in my mind like a broken record I couldn’t rip free from.

“Your parents… both of them. They didn’t make it.”

No. No, this isn’t real.

Colina stood there, stunned, barely managing to zip up her dress as I pulled on my pants in a daze. I didn’t even meet her eyes. I couldn’t. My chest felt like it was caving in.

My hands trembled as I grabbed the keys. “I have to go.”

“Santino—” she started, but I was already gone.

I ran to the car and drove like hell, my thoughts chaotic. They were on their way to see me. To see Bianca. I should’ve gone to them. Should’ve insisted they stay the night.

I hit the steering wheel, hard. The horn shrieked in protest.

“Fuck!”

They were just here. Laughing. Breathing. And now—what? Gone?

No. No, this isn’t how this ends. They were strong. They had protection. They had people. They were Rosettis, for fuck’s sake.

But the moment I pulled up near the crash site on Via Santa Lucia, I knew the truth was staring me in the face.

Sirens wailed. Glass sparkled on the pavement under red and blue lights. The SUV—my father’s—was flipped, crushed like paper. I was out of the car before the engine stopped.

“Get the fuck off me!” I snapped as two of my men tried to hold me back.

I charged forward, breathing hard, eyes locked on the black wreckage and the tarred ground behind it. The smell of fuel and blood made me gag.

There were bodies.

Three of them.

My knees buckled.

I didn’t even hear Ryker approach. I only saw the look on his face—the silent confirmation. He didn’t have to say it again.

I saw my father’s body first. His throat was gashed wide open. His eyes—those sharp, calculating eyes—were glazed over, staring at nothing.

The second body… the driver. One of ours. He had a jagged piece of glass embedded through his temple.

But the third… the third broke me.

“Madre.”

I dropped to my knees beside her. Her face—barely recognizable beneath the blood—was pale. Cold. Gone.

My hands hovered over her, unsure what to do. I wanted to scream. I wanted to turn back time. I wanted to break the world open and make someone pay.

But then I saw it.

A mark.

Inscribed crudely into her forearm, carved deep into flesh—a symbol I knew all too well.

The Famiglia Rosetti’s old rivals.

The Mancuso mark.

I yanked the sheet off my father’s arm.

Same mark.

Even the guard.

The realization crashed over me like a storm wave, swallowing all breath from my lungs.

“They didn’t die in an accident,” I whispered, voice shaking. “They were hunted.”

Murdered.

This was an execution.

And it was personal.

The way they were marked? This wasn’t random. This was a goddamn message.

My fists clenched until I felt blood trickle from my palms. I turned to Ryker, trembling, but not from fear—from fury.

“This isn’t over.”

I stood slowly, shaking with rage.

“This is war.”

And I knew exactly where I was going.

⸻

Santino

I don’t remember the drive back. Just the cold burn in my chest and the sick twist in my gut.

Colina.

She distracted me. I let her in. I let her family get too close. Giovanni—her brother—was part of this. And I… I had her in my bed while her bloodline planned the execution of mine.

I was so fucking stupid.

I was supposed to protect them.

And now my parents were lying on a street under bloodstained blankets, while I stood there with guilt pouring out of every inch of me.

I failed them.

Now someone was going to pay.

No mercy. No negotiation.

I gripped the steering wheel tighter as I turned off Via Santa Lucia and headed straight to the Rosetti estate. I didn’t care it was 2 a.m.

I didn’t care who heard me.

I slammed my fists against the front door.

“Matteo!” I shouted. “Show your fucking face!”

The night air was heavy, and I could feel the weight of everything press down on me—grief, betrayal, rage. My hands shook, but not from weakness.

From the promise of blood.

They had taken everything from me.

Now I would return the favor.