Page 102 of Queen
Santino doesn’t flinch. He leans against the balustrade like he’s watching a fucking opera, eyes gleaming with contempt. “You never learned, Emiliano. You can’t crown yourself with ruin. It consumes you. Just like it consumed her.” His finger flicks toward Zina, crouched in the shadows below.
My vision goes red.
I reach the landing, shoving aside one of his soldiers with a blade across his throat, the man’s body collapsing in silence. My brother and I stand a breath apart now, the balcony trembling beneath our weight, the fire snapping at our heels.
“You want my throne?” My voice is raw, shredded by smoke and rage. “You’ll take it over my corpse.”
His grin widens. “That was always the plan.”
He lunges.
Our bodies collide in a storm of fists and steel, the balcony erupting into a personal battlefield. He swings wild, his blade flashing, grazing my ribs. I slam my fist into his jaw, feel bone crack under my knuckles. He spits blood, laughs through it, and drives his knee into my gut. Pain explodes up my spine, but I hold the dagger firm, slashing across his forearm, painting the stone red.
The courtyard below roars—soldiers, allies, enemies, all watching. But to me, there’s only him. Santino. My blood. My betrayal. The heir who thinks the crown is his by birthright.
I slam him back against the balustrade, the fire framing his face, sweat and blood mixing down his cheek. His laughter falters then, just a flicker, and I bare my teeth.
“This kingdom doesn’t belong to you,” I snarl, my dagger pressing against his throat. “It belongs to the fire. And she and I already rule it.”
The blade digs deeper. The world tilts. And the war between brothers explodes into its reckoning.
The Fall / Betrayal Revealed
The balcony shudders under the storm of bullets. Sparks spit off stone, fire licking higher with every detonation below. Santino’s laughter cuts through it all—high, unhinged, a sound that curdles blood faster than any gunshot.
I slam him against the iron railing, my blade pressed under his jaw. His pulse thrums against the steel, wild and hot. “You think you can unseat me?” I snarl, shoving harder. “You think you can takeher?”
His eyes blaze—not with fear, but with something fouler. Satisfaction. “Not take her,” he spits back, blood flecking his lips. “Destroy her. Destroyyou.”
The railing groans behind him, metal screeching as if the house itself wants to collapse under the weight of our war. Below, the men roar, the courtyard a sea of chaos—bullets, fire,betrayal. I don’t look down. I keep my eyes locked on Santino, because if I look away even a heartbeat, he’ll sink the knife already hidden in his palm.
“You betrayed your blood,” I growl.
He laughs again, sharp and cruel. “No, brother. I saved it. Giovanni’s crown was never yours. You stole it. You fucked his whore and paraded her as Queen. I’m the only true heir. I’ll bury you both, and Guido with you, before I ever kneel.”
The words rip straight through me, but worse—the venom aimed at my boy.Ourboy. Rage explodes hot and white in my skull.
The knife flashes—he lunges, fast as a snake. I catch his wrist, twist until bone snaps like dry wood. His scream rips through the night, but still he fights, spitting curses, thrashing like a mad dog.
Then his words shift, guttural, desperate: “She’ll never love you, Emiliano. She’ll never be yours. She was his. She’ll always be his.”
Giovanni’s name on his lips is the last straw. I drive him hard into the railing, and this time, the iron gives way.
The balcony explodes in a rain of stone and dust. Santino’s body crashes over the edge, swallowed by firelight and screams below. For a heartbeat, the world stills—just the sound of my pulse, the echo of his words.
When I look down, I don’t see a brother. I see the serpent who nearly split my kingdom in half. His body writhes among the wreckage, soldiers scattering, some reaching to pull him up. I snarl down at them.
“Leave him,” I thunder, my voice shaking the air. “Let him choke on the ruin he built.”
And they obey. They step back. They let him lie in the blood and rubble, broken and gasping.
Behind me, the door slams open. Zina bursts in, smoke tangled in her hair, Guido clutched to her chest. Her eyes find mine—wild, furious, alive. For a moment, the battle falls away, and all I see is her fire.
But then Guido whimpers, and I see it—the smear of blood across his cheek, not his but close enough to make my knees weak. My chest caves, not from bullets, not from betrayal, but from that single drop of red on my son’s skin.
The war isn’t over. Santino isn’t dead. And the cost of this night has only just begun.
The Choice: Crown or Family
