AVELINA'S POV
The first thing I see is aunt Lucia's smile as she crawls out of darkness.
This is not the warmth I grew up with. It is not Zia who was with me when my mother died or the one who sang me lullabies.
This is the smile of a stranger. It’s sharp and cold, marked by betrayal.
Orlando stands beside her like a dog waiting for command. His gun is held in one hand and his eyes flickering with too much satisfaction.
Alessandro stands between us, gun raised, his body tense like a storm held upright by bones.
Lucia’s voice floats through the air.
“So, nipote… do you want to know what your father really did?”
My heart stops.
Alessandro stiffens beside me. I can feel his anger vibrating—like a pulse, like a countdown.
“Don’t,” he warns her, his voice low.
Lucia laughs lightly. “
