Page 70 of Queen
Zina’s hand slides into mine. Firm. Steady. No words, because she doesn’t need them.
The ghost of Giovanni Rivas has already spoken.
15
zina
The Whisper That Breaks Her
The kid’s hands shake so bad the cigarette between his fingers burns down untouched, ash spilling across his lap. He looks like he’s about to piss himself, and for once, I don’t have to lift a blade to make that happen. My silence is enough.
He stammers, eyes darting everywhere but mine. Coward. “Please, Donna Zina, I didn’t—I didn’t mean to hear it. I swear to God I didn’t. They’ll kill me if—”
“Spit it out.” My voice cuts sharp as broken glass, snapping through the air like a whip.
The soldier flinches, swallows hard. He can’t be more than twenty, a body shoved into a suit two sizes too big. Giovanni would’ve never let someone this green near the family. But Giovanni’s in the ground, and I’m staring at his mistake.
The boy leans closer, whisper trembling. “Santino. He—he made a deal. With Russo. Behind closed doors.”
My pulse halts. Russo. That rat-bastard capo has been circling like a vulture since Giovanni’s coffin dropped, waiting for flesh to rot.
The soldier’s lip trembles. “Your death… was the condition.”
The words don’t land like bullets. They seep like poison. Cold. Slow. Crawling through my veins until my whole body goes still, my breath caught somewhere between disbelief and rage.
For a long moment, I just stare at him. The shadows of the room seem to lean in closer, pressing against my skin. The sound of my own breath roars in my ears like surf pounding rock.
“My death,” I repeat, flat, empty, the syllables tasting of rust.
He nods so fast I think his head might roll off. “I didn’t want to say anything—I thought—maybe it wasn’t true—but I heard it, Donna. I swear on my mother’s grave. Santino… he said you were never meant to outlive Giovanni.”
Something inside me snaps clean in half.
I buried my husband. I gave my body to my enemy. But betrayal by blood? That I won’t forgive.
I don’t scream. I don’t cry. I don’t even curse. I just stand, slow and deliberate, smoothing my skirt with fingers that should be trembling but aren’t. My body knows what my mind hasn’t caught up to yet—this is war, carved into my bones.
The boy scrambles to his feet, desperate. “Please—don’t kill me for saying it. I only told you because—because I thought you should know.”
I finally meet his eyes. He wishes I hadn’t. Because what he sees there isn’t mercy. It’s death already written. His breath stutters, chest heaving, as though he’s staring at a blade pressed to his throat.
I step past him without a word, heels clicking sharp on tile, each strike a verdict. He exhales like he’s been spared. Maybe hehas. Maybe I’ll send someone else for him later, when the time is right.
Outside, the night air cuts cold into my lungs, sharp and clean, freezing me solid. I let it. Because if I let the fire touch me now, I’ll burn the whole city down before sunrise.
I murmur to the dark, a vow that tastes like iron on my tongue: “Blood for blood.”
And then I walk. Silent. Deadly.
Return to the Cathedral
The blade is a whisper against my ribs, cool steel pressed into the boning of my corset. No guards. No entourage. Just me, the echo of my heels on stone, and the weight of what I already know. If Santino wants me dead, he’ll have to earn it face-to-face.
The cathedral looms like the corpse of God Himself—hollowed stone, blackened beams from the fire years ago. Giovanni used to drag the boys here to confess, to kneel at the altar and swear they’d serve the family with clean hearts. Now the air tastes of soot, incense long gone, and secrets rotting under the floorboards.
I slide into a pew halfway down the aisle. The wood groans beneath me, a sound like bones breaking. I don’t pray. Haven’t in years. Instead, I rest my gloved hands in my lap, letting the silence coil around my throat until it’s a noose.
He arrives exactly as I knew he would—late, deliberate, a shadow stretched long across fractured stained glass. Santino. Giovanni’s golden son. My firstborn. My betrayal in living flesh.
