Chapter 18 Matteo
MATTEO
I’ve been through hell in my thirty years.
Fear and pain used to be constants, so ever-present that I forgot what normal felt like. I’ve been beaten, shot, stabbed, and burned.
None of it compares to this.
Sierra’s blood blooms through her sleeve, spreading fast.
A choked gasp leaves her lips, and the light drains from her eyes. She goes still, swaying on her feet, Then her knees buckle.
I grab her before she hits the floor, yanking her down behind the kitchen island for cover. My hand goes to her arm automatically, fingers slick and warm.
“Fuck.” I keep my other hand on my gun, eyes scanning the edge of the island. No movement. No footsteps. Viktor's either reloading or waiting us out.
I rip a dish towel off the oven handle, my hands shaking. I never shake. Not when I’m breaking bones, not when I’m staring down the barrel of a gun. But right now, with Sierra’s blood soaking through my fingers, my whole body is trembling with a rage so pure it feels like I’m coming apart.
“I’ve got you.” The words come out harsh. Unsteady. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”
I’m saying it for both of us.
The wound is a graze. The bullet carved a furrow along the outside of her bicep, deep enough to bleed but nothing more. She’ll live. But the way she’s looking at me, eyes glassy with shock and pain, makes me want to tear Viktor apart with my bare hands.
I loop the towel around her arm a few inches above the wound, keeping it loose. She’s shaking now too, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps that gut me.
“This is going to hurt,” I tell her.
She nods, teeth already digging into her bottom lip.
I twist the towel tight.
She grits her teeth. I pull both sides of the towel hard and twist the ends over each other, cutting off the blood flow. She winces but doesn’t cry out. Brave. So fucking brave.
I tie the towel in place and reach for my gun.
I’m about to peek out and locate Viktor when the apartment door slams open hard enough to bang against the wall.
“Fuck, he’s getting away.” I grab my gun as I surge to my feet and round the island, catching just a glimpse of Viktor’s coat flapping behind him as he disappears through the doorway.
My finger tightens on the trigger, but the angle’s wrong. He’s already gone.
I could chase him. Should chase him. He’s got a head start, but I’m faster. I could catch him in the stairwell, put a bullet in his skull before he makes it to the street.
But Sierra—
I look back.
She’s still crouched behind the island, one hand pressed over the tourniquet, her face pale as bone. There’s blood on her shirt. On the floor. On me.
The decision makes itself.
I lower my gun and go back to her. “He’s gone.”
“Gone?”
“He got away.”
The words taste like failure. Like ash. I should have been faster. Should have anticipated this. Should have put a bullet in his skull the second we walked through that door.
I take her uninjured arm and pull her to her feet. “Come on, Sunshine. We need to get you out of here.”
We don’t make it out of the kitchen before the cops swarm in. One of the neighbors must have called 911.
They cuff me immediately.
I don’t fight it. Just set my gun on the counter, lift my hands, and let some asshole with coffee breath shove me face-first into the wall. The metal bites into my wrists, cold and tight, and I focus on keeping my breathing even.
Another officer guides Sierra toward the living room, already radioing for paramedics.
I can hear Sierra talking, her voice rising in pitch as she tries to explain. But no one’s listening. There’s a hysterical neighbor in the hallway, wailing about gunshots, and the cops are too busy securing the scene to give a shit about what actually happened.
Then I spot Officer Lopez. Five years on the force, three years on our payroll. I catch his eye and jerk my head.
He wanders over and leans in close.
“Get them to actually listen to her,” I mutter. “And call Dario. Tell him what happened.”
Lopez nods and moves off.
The next two hours are a pain in the ass.
They separate us for questioning, which pisses me off more than the cuffs or the condescending cop eyeing me like I’m a rabid dog. I can hear Sierra in the living room, her voice strained as she talks to the paramedics, and every second I can’t see her feels like a knife twisting between my ribs.
My hands have dried tacky with her blood. I keep catching the smell of copper and iron every time I move.
I give my statement. Licensed to carry. Home invasion. Self-defense. All of it true, for once, which makes the whole thing almost funny.
The cop interviewing me eyes me like I’m a monster.
I know what he sees. A big, scary-looking guy covered in tattoos and radiating pissed-off energy.
He sees a criminal. He’s not wrong. I’ve got a few things on my record to prove it.
But the Andrettis have a hell of a lawyer on payroll and a few judges in their pockets, so I’ve never had to do hard time.
Regardless, I don’t give a fuck what he thinks of me. I’m not in the wrong here. My only regret is that Viktor is still breathing.
“Why did this man attack you?” the cop asks.
“He’s my fiancée’s ex. I’d say he’s a jealous fucker who can’t handle rejection.”
The cop takes a small step back. Almost makes me laugh. I’m intimidating on a good day, and this is not a good day.
The questions continue. I answer them, but I’m not really here. I’m in that kitchen, watching her sway on her feet. I’m tying that tourniquet, her blood hot against my palms. I’m watching Viktor disappear through that door while I stayed behind.
I’ve never experienced this before. This overwhelming need to protect, to possess, to destroy anyone who threatens her. The only thing that comes close is how I felt about my mom during my childhood, when both our lives were hell. But that was different. My mom was my caretaker.
Sierra is different. She needs me in a way that feels primal. I’ve taken responsibility for her. I’m her man.
It might be something we’re still pretending is fake, but I know better.
I’m hers. And I’ll protect her from harm, no matter what.
Finally, they’re done with me. Sierra emerges from the living room looking less pale, a fresh bandage on her arm. One of the paramedics trails behind her, still trying to convince her to go to the hospital.
“Ma’am, we really recommend—”
“I’m fine.” Her voice is flat. Exhausted. She glances around the trashed apartment—the bullet holes, the blood on the kitchen floor. “I just want to leave.”
The paramedic looks at me like I’m supposed to talk sense into her. I don’t. She wants out of here, and I’m not about to force her into anything. She’s had enough of that.
“She said she’s fine,” I tell him.
He sighs and hands me a sheet of wound care instructions.
The cops say we can leave. I take Sierra to her bedroom first so she can stuff whatever she needs into a duffle bag.
“Bring anything you can’t live without,” I tell her. “Don’t worry about clothes or toiletries. I’ll buy you whatever you need.”
I just want to get her the fuck out of this apartment.
The police are still processing the scene when we leave. The hallway is full of nosy neighbors, but one hard look from me sends them scattering. I keep my arm around Sierra’s shoulders, tucking her close as we step into the elevator.
The doors slide shut. In the silence, she clears her throat.
“On the bright side,” she says, “at least the bullet holes will distract from the water stain on the ceiling.”
She’s trying. I can hear it—the ghost of her usual warmth, her stubborn optimism fighting to surface. But her voice is too thin, too shaky, and the joke lands flat.
I pull her tighter against my side. She lets me.
“I’m taking you home to rest,” I tell her. “It’s going to be okay. Nothing like this will happen again, Sunshine. I won’t allow it.”
I’m not sure I can even promise something like that. But when her brown eyes meet mine, I can see she believes it.
That’s all that matters.
The drive home is quiet. Not the peaceful kind we share when I’m working in the garage and she’s watching me. Not the easy kind when we’re on the couch, her watching TV while I read.
This silence is heavy. Wrong. And I don’t know how to fix it.
Of course I don’t. All I’m good for is violence.
I shake my head to dispel the thought. Now’s not the time to dwell on my own issues.
I texted Dario before we left the apartment, and when we arrive at my place, his car is already parked out front. I guide Sierra inside.
“I want to rest,” she says quietly.
I take her to the bedroom, pulling back the covers so she can climb in. She looks so small in my bed, so fragile with the blankets pulled up to her chin. I press a kiss to her forehead, and my hatred for Viktor intensifies.
He’s hurting her. Scaring her. Taking away her light.
He’s a snake that needs his fucking head cut off.
I leave the room and walk past Dario in the living room without a word. In the kitchen, I grab a bottle of water and a pack of peanut butter crackers from the pantry—the kind Sierra likes—and head back to the bedroom. Dario watches me curiously as I pass him again, heading back to the bedroom.
I don’t explain the urge to take care of her. I don’t fully understand it. It feels natural, this need to make sure she has food and water when she wakes up.
Sierra’s eyes follow me thoughtfully as I place everything on her nightstand. I feel strangely exposed under her gaze.
“You should see your face right now,” she murmurs.
“What about it?”
“You look like you want to burn something down.”
I do. I want to burn down every place Viktor has ever touched. I want to find him and take him apart piece by piece, slowly, so he feels every second of it.
“I’m fine,” I say.
“Liar.” But she says it soft. Almost fond. Like my rage doesn’t scare her.
It should. It scares me.
I stroke her cheek with my thumb. “Close your eyes and relax, Sunshine. Everything’s okay now.”
“Thank you,” she murmurs. “For taking care of me.”
I don’t know what to say to that. So I lean over and kiss her lips instead. Just a soft brush. Then I leave again.
Dario looks almost amused when I return to the living room. I shoot him a look that makes it clear I don’t want to discuss my relationship with Sierra.
We have business to handle.
I take a seat on the recliner but don’t relax back. My ass is on the edge, elbows on my knees. Dario sits on the couch, silent. He’s giving me a moment to get my thoughts together, and I appreciate it because my head is a mess. I’m still seeing her blood. Still hearing her whimper.
Rage and anxiety pump through my veins. I can hear my pulse in my ears.
I meet Dario’s gaze, jaw clenched. “I want Viktor dead.”
I know the order to wait came from Lorenzo.
I know the don has his reasons. Learning everything we can about Lightning is important.
Maybe vital to the war against the Bratva.
And there’s the FBI issue. Government agencies are already noticing the increased body count in the city.
If they send in investigators, it could create serious problems.
I’ve always put the family first. Always. It’s never even been a question.
But I keep thinking about her silence in the car. How wrong it felt. Viktor has stolen enough from her.
That fucker needs to die. She needs to be free.
Dario rubs his jaw and thinks for a long moment. I wait, feeling like everything hinges on his response. If he says no, if Lorenzo won’t budge...
The thought that follows is one I’ve never had before. Not once in my entire life.
I shove it down before it fully forms.
“I’ve been thinking,” Dario finally says. “With the way things are escalating, we aren’t going to be able to keep the body count down like we wanted. Word is Kozlov’s losing his mind over the construction site. Retaliation’s coming. If the FBI investigates, we’ll deal with it.”
“And Lightning?” I ask, daring to hope.
He grimaces. “Let me see what I can do about that.”
“What does that mean?”
“You know my father is determined to stop the Bratva from making and selling that drug in our city. Right now, our limited intel says Viktor is at the heart of the operation. Maybe wiping him out cripples it. But more likely, someone takes his place and things keep running smoothly. And then we don’t know who that person is or how to get to them. ”
“So you’re saying it’s not going to happen?” I surge to my feet and pace the room.
I hate that what he’s saying makes sense. It doesn’t change anything for me. Whether Viktor has useful information or not, I want him in the ground.
“I’m saying have patience. Would it really be so bad to continue with the plan? Draw Viktor out, snatch him, extract information by any means necessary. Then you kill him.”
“If it was Paige, you’d feel differently.”
Dario goes still. His jaw tightens, and for a moment he doesn’t say anything.
We both know I’m right. When his wife, Paige, was kidnapped, pregnant with his sons, he was ready to burn down the world to get her back.
He killed her own father because the bastard made a deal with the Bratva to hand her over to them.
That fucker is buried in concrete under the hotel now.
Dario doesn’t need me to remind him of any of that. He lived it.
“That’s not a fair comparison,” he says finally. But there’s no heat in it.
“Isn’t it?”
He scrubs a hand over his face and exhales. When he looks at me again, there’s something different in his expression.
“Are you saying you care about her? Legitimately?”
I don’t answer right away. The truth feels too raw, too new. But Dario’s my brother in every way that counts, and I owe him honesty.
I nod.
Dario holds my gaze for a beat, then nods back. He knows what it’s like to catch unexpected feelings.
“Viktor will die,” he says. “Let me talk to Lorenzo.”
I don’t tell him I’m not planning to wait for that conversation.
If I see Viktor before that order comes through, he’s dead anyway.
“You know,” Dario adds, “I’m starting to think they all should go. Kozlov. Viktor. The whole goddamn organization.”
“You think we’ll need to wipe out the entire Bratva?”
He shrugs, suddenly looking tired. “I don’t see a peaceful end to this. You were at that meeting with Kozlov. You know he’s an unreasonable prick. Things are just going to keep getting worse.”
He’s right. I’m familiar with men like Kozlov, so full of hate and cruelty that they can’t be talked down. Won’t ever compromise. They only understand violence and force.
“You’re right,” I say. “This won’t end until one of us is gone.”
Dario nods grimly as he heads toward the door. “Let’s make sure it’s them.”