Page 97 of Trapped

He cocked his head. “What are you up to?”

I stabbed at a photograph. “Who are the people in this picture?”

He leaned over. “No idea.”

I frowned, pointing at another. “This one?”

He shrugged. “The neighbor’s kid.”

“Are you sure?”

“It was a million years ago.” His smile widened when I sank back onto the couch. “Why do you care?”

“I’m just trying to get to know you.”

Santino’s gaze sharpened, but then he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You don’t have to dig through old photos for that. Just ask.”

“I like visuals. It helps me connect the dots.”

Santino flipped through a page, chuckling. “I haven’t looked at these in a while. Jack looks just like my brother. Unreal.”

I leaned into him. “Is that Luca?”

He tapped another face. “No, that’s him.”

I examined the picture, but I couldn’t say he was a dead ringer for the adult version. “Can you show me more photos of him?”

Santino hesitated and pointed to three boys opening presents under a tree. I squinted, trying to determine if he had a birthmark under his eye.

His smile faded as he reached the end of the album. Then he closed the cover and seemed to realize I had more of them underneath. He gave me a strange look. Finally, he let out a huge sigh.

“There’s something you should know.”

I clutched my hands, waiting.

Santino’s eyes never wavered from mine. “The fire that killed my aunt, uncle, and cousin? It was orchestrated by the Romanovs. Luca was caught in the crossfire of a long feud between our families.”

The ground fell away beneath me. I felt sick, the room spinning around me. My family had done this?

“Why would they do something like that?” I whispered.

“Years ago, the Romanovs were in Boston. There was a turf war. Territories in Southie were up for grabs, prime real estate for any family willing to spill blood for it.”

My breath caught. “And my family…?”

He nodded grimly. “Your grandfather wanted control over the docks. He wanted to send a message to anybody who thought they could operate on his turf.”

“So, they set a fire?”

“Yes. They thought my uncle was becoming too influential. He had connections. Your grandfather believed eliminating him would scatter his allies and solidify the Romanov’s control.”

That chilled me to the bone. “But Luca was just a child.”

Santino’s expression darkened. “Collateral damage.”

The albums suddenly felt like relics of a past soaked in blood.

I felt sick. “And now?”

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