Chapter 28 28

Chapter 28 28
AURORA
The news came like a slap across the face.
Damiano had been ambushed again. At Rizzoto’s casino. Blood was spilled. His blood. Word reached the estate just before dusk, and before I could even process what it meant, Godfather Pachino had summoned us all.
A meeting of the Famiglia.
His voice had that tone, final, absolute. No one could refuse.
Not even Damiano.
I’m dressed in black. A long silk gown that clings to my waist and flows like a shadow behind me. My heels echo through the marble corridor of the estate as I enter the grand hall, each step tighter than the last. Every muscle in my body stiff with restraint.
The room is full. Lorenzo is already here, seated beside his foster father, his jaw locked. Soldiers line the walls, silent, watching. The tension is thicker than smoke.
Then I see him.
Damiano.
Sitting across from me, straight-backed despite the fresh bruises on his face and the tightly bandaged wound peeking beneath the collar of his black shirt. His suit is neat, but his pain seeps through the cracks like ink bleeding through paper. He’s flanked by his brother Alessio and his consigliere, Enzo.
His eyes flick to me.
Just for a second.
I look away.
Because if I hold that gaze, I know the fire in his eyes will light something I’ve tried so hard to kill.
Hatred still lingers. Betrayal. The image of my father’s death, the truth in the vault, all the lies… But somewhere deeper, beneath the wounds and ruin, my love for him sleeps, stubborn and silent.
Godfather Pachino rises.
“Tonight,” he says, his voice echoing through the chamber, “we face the truth. No more secrets. No more blood spilled for ghosts. The war with Rizzoto ends now. And you...” he turns his eyes toward Damiano, then to me, “you both need to decide. Love or vengeance. There is no place in this world for both.”
Damiano doesn’t speak. He doesn’t look at me again.
But I feel him.
Every breath. Every heartbeat.
And I don’t know which one of us is bleeding more, him, or me.
The air in the hall shifts. Godfather Pachino’s words hang like a blade suspended between us all.
“No more blood spilled for ghosts.”
But I am a ghost now. A ghost of the woman I once was.
I rise slowly from my seat, the long black gown brushing the floor, heels clicking like a countdown to something inevitable. All eyes turn to me. Lorenzo’s are steady. Damiano’s… unreadable. Bruised. Hollow.
I lift my chin and face the godfather directly. “With all due respect,” I begin, voice calm but iron-wrapped, “I’ve already made my choice.”
A pause.
“I choose vengeance.”
A whisper of shock spreads across the room like a gust of cold wind.
“I loved him once,” I continue, eyes flicking to Damiano just briefly. “But love died the day my father did. Damiano took his life. No matter what I once felt for him… I cannot stand beside his bloodstained name and pretend nothing happened. I will not.”
Damiano doesn’t flinch. He sits there like a statue carved from silence, jaw tight, eyes unreadable behind the pain.
“You are aware of what you’re saying?” Pachino asks, his voice grave.
“I am,” I reply, with fire in my bones. “And I accept everything that comes with it.”
Godfather Pachino looks at me with a slow nod, a flicker of something unreadable in his ancient eyes. Then, he turns to Damiano.
“Then so be it,” he declares. “The lines have been drawn. If blood must answer for blood, then let it. But this war ends soon. I will not let it consume what remains of my empire.”
Lorenzo stands next to me in quiet support. I feel the weight of his loyalty. But also, the weight of the war I’ve just reignited.
And across from me, Damiano says nothing.
Not a word.
But I know him.
His silence is louder than any gunshot.
And I just pulled the trigger again.
DAMIANO 
I wait until everyone has cleared the room. The hall now echoes with ghosts and grudges.
She’s halfway down the corridor when I catch up to her.
“Aurora,” I say—firm, low, wounded.
She pauses but doesn’t turn. Her back is to me, straight like a blade. Her black dress cuts a shape I once knew by touch. Now it feels like it belongs to someone else. Someone colder.
“Was that your final answer?” I ask, stepping closer. “Vengeance?”
She still doesn’t turn. Only her jaw clenches. I see it from behind.
“Say something.” My voice cracks—just enough. “You looked me in the eyes in that room and threw everything we had into the fire. You chose war.”
Finally, she turns.
Her eyes are quiet, unreadable. Her mouth a thin line. But there’s pain there. Under the surface. I know her too well not to see it.
“I chose justice,” she says flatly. “And you left me no other choice.”
“You think I don’t suffer every damn second for what happened?” I step forward. “You think I don’t replay it in my head? I didn’t know he was your father, Aurora. If I did—”
“You still would’ve killed him,” she interrupts, voice like ice. “Because that’s what men like you do. You take lives to climb thrones and then pretend love can cover it up.”
I stare at her. Her face. Her eyes. Her shaking hands that she’s trying to hide behind her back.
“I never faked what I felt for you,” I whisper. “And I never will.”
She looks away. Silent.
“You’re not even denying that you still love me,” I say. “But you’re too proud to admit it.”
She meets my gaze now. “Love isn’t enough to forgive murder, Damiano.”
The words gut me.
A silence falls.
“I abhor your decision,” I say finally. “Not because you chose vengeance. But because you chose to erase everything we were… like it meant nothing.”
“It didn’t mean nothing,” she replies, her voice cracking now, the tears threatening but not falling. “It meant everything. That’s why it hurts so much.”
I take one last look at her, the woman I would’ve died for, the woman now aiming her war at my heart.
“Then I guess we both lost something we’ll never get back.”
I walk away.
And this time, she doesn’t stop me.