Chapter 17
The Decision
The first thing Matteo became aware of was the dull, throbbing ache in his side. Pain radiated through his body in slow, pulsing waves, a stark reminder of the bullet he had taken. He winced as he shifted, the movement tugging sharply at the bandages wrapped tightly around his torso.
The wound had stopped bleeding, thanks to Aldo’s quick thinking and steady hands, but the loss of blood had left him weak, his limbs sluggish and uncooperative. His head felt heavy; his thoughts clouded in exhaustion as he blinked against the pale morning light filtering through the curtains.
He was lying on a narrow couch in a small, dimly lit living room. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and old wood, a stark contrast to the chaos of the previous night. As his senses slowly returned, he became aware of the weight of an arm draped over his shoulders, the solid warmth of a body pressed against his side. A slow, unfamiliar comfort settled in his chest, despite the pain and the lingering adrenaline of their escape.
Matteo turned his head, his breath catching as he saw Aldo asleep beside him. The De Luca boss looked almost peaceful in sleep, the hard lines of his face softened, his dark lashes casting faint shadows on his cheeks. His arm was wrapped protectively around Matteo, his hand resting lightly on his chest as if to reassure himself that Matteo was still there.
For a moment, Matteo just watched him, a strange warmth spreading through his chest. Aldo had stayed. Despite everything, the danger, the chaos, the unresolved tension between them, he had stayed. Matteo hadn’t expected it, not really. Aldo was a man who thrived on control, on keeping his emotions locked away. Yet here he was, vulnerable and unguarded, his presence a silent promise that Matteo wasn’t alone.
A flicker of something deep and unfamiliar stirred inside Matteo, something he wasn’t ready to name. He had risked his life for Aldo without hesitation, had taken a bullet meant for him. The weight of that decision settled over him now, heavy and inescapable.
Was it just instinct? Just survival? Or had it been something more? His fingers twitched against the sheets, aching to reach out, to touch Aldo in a way that wasn’t driven by necessity or fleeting impulse.
But before he could dwell on it, the sound of a faint groan from across the room pulled him from his thoughts. His eyes flicked to the closed bathroom door, where Russo was still locked inside.
The old Don had been quiet for most of the night, but now his muffled curses and the occasional thud against the door were a reminder that their problems were far from over.
Matteo sighed, his hand instinctively moving to his wound as he tried to sit up. The sharp sting made him wince, but he ignored it. The movement jostled Aldo, who stirred with a low grumble. His arm, still draped over Matteo, instinctively tightened before his eyes fluttered open, dark and unfocused.
“You’re awake,” Aldo murmured, his voice rough with sleep. He propped himself up on one elbow, his gaze scanning Matteo’s face with an intensity that sent a shiver down Matteo’s spine. “How do you feel?”
“Like I got shot,” Matteo replied dryly, though the corner of his mouth twitched into a faint smile.
Aldo exhaled a quiet breath, a ghost of amusement flickering in his expression, but his eyes were serious as they dropped to Matteo’s bandaged side. “You lost a lot of blood. You need to take it easy.”
“Easy isn’t exactly an option right now,” Matteo said, his voice edged with frustration. He gestured toward the closed bathroom door. “We’ve got a pissed-off Don in there and a compound full of guards who’d love to see us dead.”
Aldo followed his gaze, his expression darkening, his jaw tightening. “Russo’s not going anywhere. Not until we figure out what to do with him.”
Matteo nodded, though the weight of their situation pressed heavily on him. They had Russo, but they were still trapped, still hunted. Every breath felt like borrowed time, and he knew Aldo felt the same. He could see it in the tension lining his face, in the way his shoulders remained coiled, ready for the next fight.
A thought gnawed at the edges of Matteo’s mind; should he have called Enzo and Luca? His brothers would come, no questions asked. They’d back him up, help him finish what needed to be done. But as quickly as the thought surfaced, he dismissed it.
No. He couldn’t drag them into this. Not after everything that had happened last year with Giovanni De Luca, Aldo’s father. They had barely made it out of that alive. Enzo and Luca deserved to be free of this endless cycle of violence, at least for a little while. He wouldn’t be the one to pull them back in.
Aldo seemed to sense his unease. He sat up fully, his hand brushing against Matteo’s as he reached for the bottle of water on the nightstand. “Here,” he said, handing it to Matteo. “You need to stay hydrated.”
Matteo took the bottle, his fingers brushing against Aldo’s for a moment longer than necessary. The touch sent an unexpected jolt through him, something grounding yet electrifying at the same time.
“Thanks,” Matteo said softly, his eyes searching Aldo’s as if trying to decipher what was left unsaid between them.
Aldo held his gaze for a moment before looking away, his jaw tightening. “Don’t mention it.” But his voice was quieter, the roughness tempered by something more vulnerable.
The silence between them stretched, heavy and charged, pulsing just beneath the surface. Matteo wanted to say something, needed to, but the sound of Russo’s voice from the bathroom shattered the fragile moment.
“Let me out of here, you imbeciles” Russo’s voice was muffled but filled with venom. “You’re dead men. Both of you.”
Aldo’s expression darkened instantly. His entire demeanor shifted from quiet intensity to something cold and dangerous. He stood, his movements sharp and deliberate, exuding a quiet rage that Matteo had come to recognize all too well.
“I’ll deal with him,” Aldo said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Matteo watched as Aldo crossed the room, his mind racing with everything unsaid between them. The weight of exhaustion pulled at him, but so did something else, something he wasn’t ready to name yet. He let his head fall back against the couch, exhaling slowly as he tried to steady himself.
They were running out of time, and they needed a plan. But for now, as he sat there with the warmth of Aldo’s presence still lingering beside him, he allowed himself a rare moment of quiet.
???
Aldo paced the length of the small space, running a hand through his disheveled hair, while Matteo sat propped against the edge of the bed, his wound aching but his frustration sharper.
“We can’t keep him here forever,” Aldo muttered, throwing a sharp glance toward the closed bathroom door where Russo was tied up. “We need a plan, and we need it now.”
Matteo exhaled, running a hand over his face. “You think I don’t know that?” His voice was edged with irritation, the pain making his temper shorter than usual. “We can’t kill him; not yet. We need to send a message.”
Aldo scoffed. “A message? To whom? The people who are probably already hunting us down as we speak? Keeping him alive is a risk.”
Matteo narrowed his eyes. “And killing him solves nothing. Russo might be a snake, but he’s a connected snake. If we just take him out, we’ll have an all-out war on our hands.”
Aldo’s jaw tightened as he turned to face Matteo fully. “And what do you suggest? We let him go with a nice little warning?”
“Don Vittorio.” The words left Matteo’s mouth before he had time to second-guess them.
Aldo stared at him, the name hanging between them like a loaded gun. “You want to hand Russo over to Vito?”
Matteo nodded, pushing through the lingering pain in his side. “It was his villa that got attacked. Russo was part of that. We give him to Vittorio, let him deal with it.”
Aldo hesitated, his expression unreadable, but Matteo knew he was considering it. Then, just as quickly, Aldo’s frustration flared again. “And what if Vito decides we’re just as much of a problem? What if handing over Russo doesn’t solve anything?”
Matteo clenched his teeth. “Then we deal with it when the time comes.”
Aldo took a step closer, tension coiling between them like a fuse about to be lit. “You’re reckless, you know that?” His voice was low, dangerous, but there was something else beneath it, something that sent a rush of heat through Matteo’s blood.
Matteo smirked despite himself, tilting his head up. “And you’re a control freak.”
Aldo’s hand curled into a fist at his side, his breath shallow, his body taut with the effort of restraint. But then, as if the pull between them was too strong to resist, he moved forward and grabbed Matteo’s face, crashing their mouths together in a fiery, desperate kiss.
Matteo groaned into the kiss, his fingers twisting into Aldo’s shirt, yanking him closer until there was no space left between them. Aldo’s grip tightened on Matteo’s waist, fingers digging in with the force of all the emotions he couldn’t put into words.
The kiss was urgent, unrelenting, a battle of tongues and teeth, of frustration and need colliding in a storm that had been building for too long. Aldo’s breath was hot against Matteo’s skin, his hands mapping over his body as if trying to memorize every inch of him.
Matteo’s pulse pounded, the pain in his body forgotten for a moment as he gave in to the raw hunger between them. Aldo kissed him like he wanted to devour him, like he needed him more than air. Matteo responded in kind, his nails dragging along Aldo’s back, a low sound escaping his throat as Aldo’s hands ghosted over his ribs, pressing him further into the heat between them.
A sharp, stinging pain flared in Matteo’s side as he twisted too hard, and he sucked in a breath, breaking the kiss with a groan. Aldo froze instantly, his grip shifting to steady him, his forehead pressing against Matteo’s. His breath was heavy, uneven, his lips still brushing against Matteo’s as he muttered, “Shit. I almost...”
Matteo huffed out a breathless laugh, his fingers still gripping Aldo’s shoulders. “Worth it.”
Aldo shook his head, his eyes dark and unreadable as they searched Matteo’s face. Then, with a ragged sigh, he pulled back, dragging a hand down his face as if trying to regain control. “We’re calling Vito,” he said, his voice rougher than before. “Before I do something even more reckless.”
Matteo exhaled, trying to steady his racing pulse. “Yeah. I’ll call him.”