Chương 3
They were not supposed to reassure people.
He sat down beside her.
“Let me see.”
Nora placed her hand in his.
The cut was small.
Barely visible.
But Santino stared at it longer than necessary.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
Nora looked confused.
“Why?”
Because I brought you here.
Because I thought I could protect you by controlling everything around you.
Because I spent so much time fighting my father that I did not notice parts of his world still surrounded us.
He almost said all of it.
Instead, he swallowed.
“Because you should never have been scared.”
Nora leaned against him.
“You were scared too?”
The question caught him off guard.
He looked down.
Children had a way of finding the exact place adults tried to hide.
“Yes,” he admitted.
Nora thought about that.
“Adults get scared?”
“More than you think.”
That answer seemed to comfort her.
Not because she wanted him to be afraid.
Because she realized he was not made of something different from everyone else.
He was just her father.
A man who sometimes did not know what to do.
A few minutes later, Elena stepped outside onto the balcony with Santino.
The city lights stretched below them.
The cold air helped clear the noise from the ballroom.
“You hit her,” Elena said.
Santino leaned against the railing.
“I know.”
“I have known you my whole life.”
“I know.”
“You always hated when Father used violence.”
His jaw tightened.
“I still do.”
Elena watched him.
“That is what worries me.”
He looked at her.
“You think I became him.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“I think you are afraid you did.”
The answer stayed between them.
Santino looked back toward the ballroom.
Through the glass doors, he could see August sitting alone at the table.
For the first time, the powerful old man looked old.
Not weak.
Never weak.
But tired.
“I spent my whole life trying not to be him,” Santino said.
Elena folded her arms.
“And tonight?”
He did not answer immediately.
That was answer enough.
“I lost control.”
“Yes.”
She did not soften it.
Santino appreciated that about her.
Everyone else either feared him or needed something from him.
Elena was one of the few people who could tell him something he did not want to hear.
“But,” she continued, “you also stopped something that needed stopping.”
He looked at her.
“That does not make everything right.”
“No.”
She looked toward Nora inside.
“It just means two things can be true.”
Santino looked away.
He hated complicated truths.
They were harder than enemies.
Enemies were simple.
You fought them.
But family could hurt you and love you in the same breath.
When Santino returned to the ballroom, August was waiting.
Not standing.
Not commanding.
Waiting.
That alone felt unfamiliar.
“You embarrassed me tonight,” August said.
Santino pulled out the chair across from him and sat.
“I protected my daughter.”
“You think this is about her.”
“It was about her.”
August tapped his fingers lightly on the table.
A habit Santino remembered from childhood.
Whenever August was preparing to say something difficult, he tapped twice.
Santino had not thought about that in years.
“You never understood the responsibility of this family,” August said.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“The speech.”
August frowned.
“The one where everything you did was necessary.”
The older man leaned back.
“You think I enjoyed making hard decisions?”
“No.”
That surprised August.
Santino continued.
“I think you convinced yourself that enjoying them was the same as being strong.”
For a moment, August looked almost hurt.
Almost.
Then the expression disappeared.
“You are more like me than you admit.”
Santino stood.
“That is exactly what I am afraid of.”
He walked away before August could answer.
But as he reached the hallway, his phone began vibrating.
The number was unfamiliar.
He almost ignored it.
Then he saw the message that followed.
A photograph.
Not from tonight.
Not from the ballroom.
It showed a document on a desk.
An old document.
At the bottom was August’s signature.
Santino stared at the screen.
A second message appeared.
You need to know what your father did before you decide what kind of man you want to be.
He read it twice.
Then a third time.
Behind him, the ballroom continued pretending everything was over.
But Santino knew better.
The broken plate had not ended the night.
It had only revealed the first crack.
Santino did not respond to the message.
He kept staring at the photograph until the screen dimmed and his own reflection replaced the image.
For a second, he saw two people.
The man standing in the hallway of the ballroom, wearing a tailored suit and carrying the weight of an entire family name.
And the younger version of himself, sitting at a kitchen table years earlier, watching his father sign papers without ever explaining what they meant.
The memory arrived without permission.
A pen scratching against paper.
A cup of black coffee growing cold beside August’s hand.
The sound of a newspaper folding.
Santino had been sixteen when he first realized his father could make a room quiet without raising his voice.
Back then, he thought that was power.
Now he wondered if it had only been fear.
“Santino.”
He turned.
Elena stood a few feet away.
She had noticed his expression change.
“What happened?”
He locked the phone.
“Nothing.”
She stared at him.
“You are terrible at lying.”
“I know.”
“That has never stopped you from trying.”
A small smile almost appeared between them.
Almost.
Then it disappeared.
Santino looked back toward the ballroom.
“Take Nora home.”
Elena frowned.
“What about you?”
“I need to handle something.”
“That sentence has never ended well.”
He looked at her.
She lowered her voice.
“Promise me you are not going to do something because you are angry.”
Santino did not answer immediately.
The hesitation worried her more than any answer could have.
May you like
“I am going to find out the truth,” he said.
“That is not the same thing.”
