16. Matteo
16
MATTEO
M ilitary jets flank us on both sides, close enough that I can see the pilots’ faces through their cockpit glass. Too close. Dangerously close. Bella remains in my lap, her fingers digging into my shoulders as our pilot executes another evasive maneuver. The wound in my arm throbs with each movement, blood seeping through the fresh bandage, but I barely notice. All my focus is on getting my wife out of this alive.
The morning sun catches on the jets’ wings, creating deadly metal angels bracketing our flight path. They’re herding us, I realize. Like wolves circling prey, waiting for the kill order. “They’re boxing us in,” I manage to say. “Forcing us towards Kennedy.”
“Sir,” the pilot’s voice crackles through the intercom, tension evident even through the static. “They’re threatening to shoot us down if we don’t comply.”
“They’re bluffing,” I respond, though I’m not entirely sure. The fact that Carmine has military backing suggests his reach extends far beyond what I’d anticipated. My uncle-in-law has apparently been planning this coup longer than any of us realized. “Keep on course for the private strip in Montreal.”
“The fuel line’s been hit,” the pilot reports grimly. Through the window, I catch sight of liquid trailing from our wing like a dark ribbon against the sky. “We won’t make it to Montreal.”
Bella stiffens in my arms, but her voice remains steady when she asks, “Options?”
I almost smile despite our dire situation. My wife, already thinking like a strategist. Giovanni would be proud. “Antonio,” I speak into my phone, calculating distances and possibilities, “how close are we to the backup location?”
“Twenty minutes out, Boss. But there’s a problem.” Antonio’s voice is tight in a way that makes my blood run cold. “Bianca’s missing.”
The words hit me like a physical blow, worse than any bullet. “What do you mean, missing?”
My heart pounds against my ribs as scenarios flash through my mind—each one worse than the last. Bianca, my daughter, my greatest vulnerability. The one person I’ve spent seventeen years protecting from the truth about her parentage, about what my father did, about why Sophia really had to die.
“She never made it to the safe house.” Antonio’s voice carries notes I’ve never heard from him before—concern, fear, guilt. “Her security detail was found dead ten minutes ago.”
Beside me, Bella inhales sharply. She’s close enough to hear both sides of the conversation, close enough to feel how my body has gone rigid with tension. The military jets edge closer, but they’re suddenly the least of my concerns.
“Johnny or Carmine?” she asks quietly, her mind already connecting dots. Her hand finds mine, squeezing gently. The gesture grounds me, helps me think past the panic trying to cloud my judgment.
“Neither.” The pieces click into place with sickening clarity. “She went willingly. Didn’t she, Antonio?”
“Security footage shows her meeting someone at a private airstrip three hours ago.” Antonio pauses, and I already know what he’s going to say. Know it in my bones. “It was Father Romano.”
“The priest from our wedding?” Bella’s brow furrows, but I see the moment understanding dawns in her eyes. Because of course—who better to manipulate a teenage girl than the priest who’s known her since birth? The man who heard her confessions, dried her tears, became the father figure she thought I failed to be.
My jaw clenches so hard I taste copper. “He’s been close to our family for years. Close to Bianca.” Too close. The priest had known Giuseppe, had heard his confessions, knew exactly what those medical records would prove. What they would do to Bianca if she ever learned the truth.
“Keep your friends close but your enemies closer.” Rage burns hot in my veins as pieces of a decade-old puzzle finally align. “Father Romano was my father’s confessor. He knows things…about my father, about Sophia…”
The knowledge sits like acid in my stomach. All these years, I thought I was protecting Bianca by keeping her close. Instead, I left her vulnerable to the one man who knew every dark secret our family possessed.
“Now they’ll use her against you,” Bella finishes, her analytical mind cutting straight to the heart of it. Something dark crosses her face, and I know she’s thinking of the video, of Sophia’s final moments. But what she doesn’t understand yet is that the video isn’t just about Sophia’s death—it’s about why she had to die, about what my father did, about secrets that could destroy not just me, but everything I’ve built to protect Bianca.
The plane lurches suddenly, dropping altitude so fast my stomach rises to my throat.
“Sir,” the pilot’s voice cuts in again, tight with barely controlled panic. “We’re losing altitude. We need to land. Now.”
My mind races through scenarios, each worse than the last. If we land at a proper airport, Carmine’s people will be waiting. If we crash…My arms tighten around Bella instinctively. I’ve already lost my daughter to this mess; I won’t lose my wife too.
“The lake,” Bella says suddenly. “There.” She points out the window where a large body of water glints in the sun like a silver promise. “Can we land on water?”
The pilot’s response is immediate: “It’s risky, but possible. Better than crashing in the forest.”
“Do it,” I order, already reaching for the emergency kit under my seat. Years of paranoia—of planning for every contingency—might just save our lives. Inside the waterproof bag are weapons, cash, and documents. Everything we need to disappear, to become ghosts until we can find Bianca.
“You’ve done this before,” Bella observes as she helps me prepare. Her hands are steady despite the fear I see in her eyes. Fear she’s trying to hide from me, just like I’m trying to hide my terror about Bianca.
I check my spare gun, then hand her a smaller one. The weight of it looks wrong in her artist’s hands, hands meant for creating beauty, not dealing death. “You know how to use this?”
“My father taught me.” She handles the weapon with surprising confidence, checking the magazine like she’s done it a thousand times. Another secret Gio kept—preparing his daughter for this world while pretending to keep her from it. “Though he probably never imagined I’d need those skills on my honeymoon.”
Despite everything—the military jets on our tail, my missing daughter, the fuel hemorrhaging from our wing—I feel my lips twitch. “Not the romantic getaway you imagined?”
“Please.” She manages a smirk even as the plane descends sharply, making everything not bolted down slide toward the nose. “Most women get roses and champagne. I get gunfights and water landings.”
“When this is over,” I promise, cupping her face with my free hand, memorizing every detail in case it’s our last moment, “I’ll give you any honeymoon you want.”
“I just want us both alive.” She leans into my touch, and fuck, the trust in her eyes undoes me. “And Bianca safe.”
The fact that she includes my daughter—after everything she’s learned about Bianca’s parentage, about the lies I’ve told—does something to my chest that I can’t afford to examine right now. Not with our death spiraling closer with every passing second.
“Brace for impact!” the pilot shouts.
I pull Bella tight against me, shielding her with my body as the jet hits the water. The impact is brutal, like hitting concrete at speed. The noise is deafening—screaming metal, shattering glass, the roar of water rushing in through the damaged fuselage. My injured arm screams in protest as I hold Bella steady, but I barely feel it through the adrenaline.
“Move!” I order, helping her out of her seat as icy water starts flooding the cabin. The sun streaming through the broken windows turns the rising water pink, like we’re drowning in blood. “Through the emergency exit. Now!”
She doesn’t argue, doesn’t hesitate. We splash through the rising water toward the exit, my body between her and the military jets still circling overhead like vultures. The water is shocking cold as we emerge onto the wing, the metal groaning beneath our feet as the jet starts to sink.
“We need to get clear before it sinks,” I shout over the wind and the sound of military engines overhead. Water sprays around us as the jets make another pass. “Can you swim?”
“Better than I can shoot,” she returns, already slipping into the water. The sight of her—my bride of less than forty-eight hours—diving into a freezing lake while being shot at makes me want to kill everyone responsible for bringing us to this point.
We strike out for the shore, staying low in the water to avoid being spotted from above. The lake is larger than it looked from the air, each stroke a battle against the cold and our waterlogged clothes. My injured arm feels like it’s being torn apart with every movement, but the pain helps me focus. On surviving. On getting Bella to safety. On finding Bianca before it’s too late.
Finally, we drag ourselves onto a rocky beach, both gasping for air. In the distance, our jet makes its final descent, slipping beneath the surface like a dying beast. The evidence of our passage disappears with it—exactly as planned.
At least something’s going right.
“The pilot and flight attendant?” Bella asks between breaths, water streaming from her hair. Even half drowned and shivering, she thinks of others. It makes me want to kiss her and shake her in equal measure.
“Have their own escape routes.” I help her to her feet, noting how she tries to hide her trembling. “They’ll meet us at the rendezvous point.”
“Which is where?”
Headlights suddenly appear on the road above the beach. I pull Bella behind a large boulder, pressing her between my body and the cold stone. Her heart hammers against my chest, matching my own rapid rhythm as voices carry down to us.
“Find them,” Carmine’s distinctive voice slices through the morning air. My uncle-in-law sounds different now—gone is the oily charm, replaced by something colder, more calculating. “I want confirmation they’re dead before nightfall.”
“And if they’re not?” Another voice that makes my blood boil—Father Romano. The man who blessed my marriage to Bella less than two days ago, who’s heard every confession I’ve made since I was fourteen, who’s been playing us all for fools.
“Then we move to plan B.” Carmine’s footsteps crunch on the rocky beach. “How’s our insurance policy?”
“Sedated, but safe.” The priest’s response makes my muscles lock with rage. “Bianca’s quite upset about her father’s…unfortunate accident.”
Bella’s hand finds mine, squeezing hard enough to ground me before I do something stupid—like emerge from cover and tear Romano’s throat out with my bare hands. They have my daughter. They’re drugging my daughter.
And they’re going to use her to destroy everything.
“Check the shoreline,” Carmine orders. “They had to have made it to land somewhere.”
We press tighter against the boulder, hardly daring to breathe. Bella’s soaking wet body trembles against mine, though whether from cold or fear, I’m not sure. Probably both. Water drips from her hair onto my neck as footsteps crunch closer to our position. One beam of light passes inches from us, and I feel her hold her breath.
My mind races through options, each worse than the last. We’re trapped between armed men and deep water, with my injured arm making swimming back out nearly impossible. The guns I managed to keep dry during our swim are professional grade, but we’re outnumbered at least five to one based on the footsteps I’m counting.
But it’s not the odds that make my blood run cold—it’s Carmine’s casual mention of Bianca being sedated. My daughter, who’s already lost one parent to violence, who doesn’t know the truth about her parentage, about why Sophia really died. Now she’s drugged and being used as a pawn in Carmine’s power play.
The rage that builds in my chest is almost overwhelming. I want to step out from behind this rock and empty both clips into Carmine and Romano. Want to make them suffer for touching my daughter, for threatening my wife, for thinking they could take what’s mine.
Bella must sense my tension because she turns her face into my neck, her lips brushing my skin as she mouths silently: “Together?”
I meet her eyes, seeing trust there despite everything she’s learned about me, everything she’s lost because of me. My free hand cups the back of her neck as I nod once, drawing both guns.
Whatever comes next, we face it as one. Because Carmine and Romano have forgotten something crucial—a wounded animal is most dangerous when protecting its family.
And they’ve threatened both my wife and my daughter.
God help them all.