Savage Vows (Titans: Moretti Mafia #2)

Chapter 18

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Matteo

The Don is awake and asking for you.

Nash’s text jolts through me. Thank God. Last night was a nightmare I never want to experience again.

The wait for real news was interminable.

He made it through surgery, which was the hardest part, and the rest would be wait and see.

In a matter of another hour or so, my brothers, my mother, and I were permitted to spend five minutes in the ICU with him.

Though the doctors warned us about what to expect when we entered the room, I wasn’t prepared. The image of seeing the mighty Don Raffaele Moretti—my father, my hero—reduced to a maze of tubes and wires, machines beeping out the precarious rhythm of his life will haunt me for life.

I type in my response. Ready to roll in sixty seconds.

The explosion happened more than half a day ago, and we’re no closer to answers. I want to put my fist through a wall. Twenty minutes with my punching bag wasn’t as satisfying as I needed.

Someone needs to pay.

I’m already showered and dressed in a fresh suit, and I work to knot my tie as I walk to the bed where Alessia is sleeping sweetly.

Her dark hair is spilled across my pillow like liquid silk, her face peaceful despite the hell we’ve been living through.

In sleep, she looks impossibly young and vulnerable—a stark contrast to the strength she showed at the hospital.

The memory of her fingers laced with mine during those endless hours makes my chest tight. She never wavered, never complained, just offered silent support when I needed it most.

I lean down to brush my lips against her forehead, breathing in her familiar, comforting scent of jasmine and vanilla.

She stirs beneath my touch, her beautiful eyes fluttering open. “Matteo.” She smiles.

Then she blinks, evidently noticing I’m dressed. Quickly she sits up, the sheet falling away to reveal the tank top she borrowed from me. The sight of her in my clothes does things to me that I can’t afford to think about.

Duty first, no matter how tempting my future bride is.

“Rest,” I tell her, my voice rough with exhaustion and the hours I spent on the phone and talking to people in the waiting room. “A car will be ready whenever you want to come.”

“No.” She’s already throwing back the covers, all sleek limbs and determined grace. “I want to be with you.”

“We only got home a few hours ago.” And if the bruises under her eyes are any indication, she needs several hours more sleep.

But she’s already out of bed, and she straightens my tie with an incredibly gentle touch. “You’re just as tired as I am.”

I capture her hand and kiss it.

Throughout the endless night, she never left my side. When my hands shook with barely contained rage and fear, she pressed coffee into them. When I couldn’t stomach the thought of food, she convinced me to eat anyway, knowing I needed the strength. She handled my mother’s tears and Dante’s fury with equal grace, proving herself more valuable than I could have imagined.

If I have to marry—and I do—I’m not sorry it’s her. The thought surprises me with its intensity.

“He’s asking for me.”

“Seriously?” Her mouth forms a beautiful O. “He’s awake? Oh, Matteo! I’m so happy for you and the family.”

In a flash, she’s heading toward the bathroom.

“I’ll meet you at the hospital.”

She stops and looks over her shoulder. “I understand.”

But her eyes show her hurt. “Thank you.” I go to her and capture her shoulders and drop a kiss on her mouth. “Take as much time as you need. You really should get some more sleep.”

The drive to the hospital is silent, heavy with unspoken words. The decoy left ahead of us, and my driver takes a different route than yesterday.

My phone buzzes constantly with updates from Dario about suspicious financial activity and Dante’s reports on security sweeps. According to what we learned from the police chief, the area of town where the attack happened wasn’t near any high-value targets. Their investigation has turned up no terrorist activity. No politicians or stars were in that area, and the bomb was detonated remotely.

Dante is pissed. He left me a voicemail earlier saying the police are chasing ghosts and that he’ll find the truth before they even know where to look.

More and more, it appears someone tried to kill my father. And I’m thirsty for blood.

To distract myself, I thumb open my phone to scan the local news headlines. Though the explosion is the lead story, so far, the Moretti name has stayed out of the press. I give Bella and Celeste full credit. I’m sure Celeste exerted the Fallon influence in the right circles. Being a Zeta Society member helps.

The walls will close in soon. But they’ve bought us time, and that’s more than I could have asked for.

The hospital corridors are eerily quiet as me and my team make our way to the ICU. Our footsteps seem to echo like knife strikes off the sterile walls.

As we draw closer, the scent of antiseptic burns my nostrils. Two Moretti soldiers stand guard, and they straighten as we pass.

My mother is already there, along with Nico. She’s in the same clothes she was wearing yesterday, and I know she’s spent the night as close to him as possible. Since Sunday dinner, just days ago, she’s aged a decade. But her spine is straight, her chin high. No one would dare suggest that the Moretti family is anything but strong, even now.

Dante’s likely securing the perimeter, and Dario’s holding down headquarters. We’re a machine, each part moving in precise coordination, just as our father taught us.

Inside the room, my father looks smaller than I’ve ever seen him, the hospital bed somehow diminishing his larger-than-life presence.

But his eyes—those ones that have struck fear into the hearts of enemies for decades—are sharp, alert. Power radiates from him even now.

“Finally,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper but still carrying that edge of command that’s shaped my entire life.

My mother squeezes his hand, the diamonds in her wedding ring catching the harsh overhead light. “You should rest, amore, ” she says softly, but there’s steel beneath her gentle tone.

He shakes his head, the movement clearly costing him. “Time enough for that later.” His gaze finds mine, and I see in it everything he’s trying to tell me. “Matteo.”

Nico moves aside, and I take his place.

“The wedding,” my father says, each word slow and deliberate. “It needs to happen. Soon.”

“Father—”

“No arguments.” Even weak, his tone carries the weight of decades of absolute authority. “The family needs this alliance more than ever. Especially now.”

I catch sight of his ring, the one on his right hand that symbolizes his position as head of the family. He earned it through force, and he has worn it every day as a reminder of his duty to our family.

“You’ll step up as Don. Keep our people unified. Strong.”

My jaw clenches as the weight of his words—of my destiny—weighs on me like steel. Everything I’ve been trained for, everything I’ve fought for, crystallizes in this moment.

“The DeLuca alliance must be cemented,” he emphasizes.. “Our enemies are circling. They smell blood in the water.” He coughs. “You know what needs to be done.”

“Raffaele,” my mother insists, “rest now. There’s time for this later. When we have grandchildren.”

He gifts her a small smile. Then he looks back at me. “Protect the family.” Even in the last few minutes, his voice has grown weaker.

For the first time in my life, I see my father as mortal. And it terrifies me.

“That’s all that matters.” He coughs again, and his hand is shaking, so he closes it around the bed railing.

I’ll always do what’s right—because I have to.

“Everything else is negotiable, but not this.” He closes his eyes. Then he quickly forces them open again. “Matteo?—”

“Mother’s right. You need to rest.” I shoot a glance at Nico.

His expression holds compassion, and he nods.

“Promise me, Matteo.”

The machines tracking his heartbeat begin to speed up, their rhythm becoming erratic.

My mother lets out a plaintive sob.

I open my mouth to respond, to give him the vow he needs to hear, but before I can speak, alarms shriek and?—