Lina’s POV
Three weeks passed by. Three weeks without gunfire. Without threats. Without bodies appearing as messages. Peace should’ve felt like relief. Instead, it felt like standing on thin ice and pretending not to hear the cracks when it's cracking.
The house was quieter, but not calmer. Phones rang more. Voices stayed lower. Doors closed faster. Money was moving — just not toward Carlino.
Investors were “restructuring.” Partners were “waiting to see how things developed.” Which was business language for: We don’t want to drown with you.
And me?
I started stepping back.
Not dramatically. Not enough for anyone to call me out.
I just stopped stepping in. I used to sit in Carlino’s office while he worked, because of the boredom, feet tucked under me on the couch, pretending to read
