Page 39 of The Ache That Stayed

“They didn’t see me.”

“And you’re proud of that?” I asked, irritated.

“No,” he replied. “I’m concerned.”

Like two useless stronzi materialising on cue, they approached from the side of the property.

“Boss,” one of them said, slightly out of breath. “If we’d known you were coming, we would’ve met you at the airport.”

I didn’t look immediately. My eyes stayed on Santino.

“You didn’t know I was coming,” I said flatly.

“No, boss, but—”

“You’re done.”

Silence. They looked at each other and blinked. Too stunned to speak anything.

“Collect your things,” I told them without looking. “Before sunset.”

They didn’t argue. Just left. They knew they fucked up. Santino standing here was proof.

“You made your point,” I said.

He shrugged slightly. “Wasn’t trying to.”

I stepped closer. Close enough that old loyalty and old fractures stood between us like ghosts.

“You follow my rules.”

He huffed a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh.

“When have I ever?”

It was true. Santino did things his way. Not always to my liking, but he got the job done. His eyes flicked briefly toward the house.

“I operate on instinct. My way.”

His gaze came back to mine, steady, unblinking.

“And you know better than anyone, she’ll be safe.”

There was no bravado in it, no ego. Just certainty.

Because men who spoke like that either died trying or succeeded.

The next day settled into a rhythm that felt almost disciplined. At dawn, we walked the perimeter, checked sight lines, and shifted cameras a few degrees. We tested blind spots from the treeline and ridge, his silence constant, his presence heavier than the wind itself.

Inside, she worked, and we pretended this was normal. He kept his distance while she held her spine straight, the air between them tight enough to hum.

I had seen her angry with him before—playful, sharp, alive. But this was different. This was restraint, unfinished. And restraint always precedes something breaking.

The weekend ended soon. Too soon to my liking.

She stood in the doorway, arms folded across her chest, watching me pack.

“Do you really have to go?”