Chapter 41 Matteo
MATTEO
Gunshots.
The crack of them hits my ears before we’re through the warehouse doors, and the world narrows to a single point.
I slam through the entrance with my weapon already drawn, Dario at my six and our soldiers fanning out behind us.
I see her immediately.
Sierra. Standing over Viktor’s crumpled body. A gun trembling in her grip. Her wedding dress soaked red, the white silk turned to something out of a nightmare.
Six men are closing in on her. Circling like wolves.
No.
I raise my weapon and fire. Two shots. Two bodies hit the concrete before the sound finishes echoing off the walls. Dario drops another. Our soldiers swarm the remaining three, and I don’t watch them die. I don’t care.
I’m already moving.
Sierra hasn’t shifted. Hasn’t blinked. She’s staring at me with those big brown eyes, but they’re wrong. Unfocused. Like she’s looking straight through me to somewhere far away.
I pry the gun from her fingers. The metal is still warm. I tuck it into the small of my back, and then I pull her against me so hard I’m probably hurting her.
She crumples into me. Her face presses against my shirt, and the sob that rips out of her is muffled but raw, scraping through my ribs like broken glass.
“You’re okay.” I press my mouth to her hair. “I’ve got you. You’re okay now.”
Her fingers twist into my shirt. Clinging. Shaking. I breathe her in, trying to convince my thundering heart that she’s real and solid and alive.
Christ. The drive over here took a decade off my life.
Those fifteen minutes will stay with me longer than any scar.
Dario moves toward the back of the semi-truck. His face twists. I follow his gaze.
Women. Girls. Twenty, maybe twenty-five of them packed into the trailer. I’ve heard rumors about operations like this. Seen the aftermath once, years ago. But standing ten feet away is different.
I count without meaning to. Note their ages. The youngest can’t be older than fourteen.
The Andrettis deal in drugs, gambling, violence. We hurt people who deserve it and some who don’t. But we don’t sell human beings. That’s the line. Apparently, Kozlov, and Viktor, built a whole fucking business on the other side of it.
One of my soldiers crouches beside Harper’s body. She’s lying in a spreading pool of blood, but as I watch, her chest rises. Barely.
“She’s alive,” he says. “Pulse is weak, but it’s there.”
Sierra’s head snaps up. “What?”
I lower myself, keeping one arm around Sierra, and press two fingers to Harper’s neck. The flutter beneath my fingertips is thready and faint, but real.
“He’s right. Her heart’s still beating.”
“Let’s get her to the hospital,” Dario says. “Now.”
One of our guys lifts Harper off the concrete. Sierra reaches for her sister-in-law’s hand, and I keep my arm tight around her shoulders as we move. I’m not sure I could let go if I tried.
The ride to the hospital is a blur. I’m vaguely aware of Paolo coordinating the women’s transport to one of our safe houses. Better that they avoid the system entirely. No testimony, no endless interviews, no bureaucratic nightmare. Just a quiet return to wherever they came from.
We’re going to find everyone connected to this operation. And then we’re going to end them.
The ER doc checks Sierra over first. Bruises, scrapes, nothing serious. Physically, anyway.
Her parents are already in the waiting room, pale-faced and rigid. Her mom pulls her into a fierce hug, tears streaming. Her dad wraps his arms around both of them. I stand back and let them have the moment.
I don’t know how much Lorenzo told them about what happened today, but they don’t ask questions. They just look at me with wary eyes, like they’re seeing me clearly for the first time.
I don’t have the energy to care. Not today.
But they don’t object when Sierra folds herself against my side. Don’t say a word when I wrap my arm around her and keep her anchored there.
When the surgeon finally emerges, Sierra’s whole body goes slack. I catch her weight, holding her upright as he delivers the news about Harper. Stable. Responding to treatment. The bullet collapsed one lung, but she’s going to pull through.
Sierra’s family huddles together, a tangle of arms and quiet sobs. I stay on the outside. She needs them right now.
A few minutes later, Sierra tugs my sleeve and nods toward the hallway. I follow her to a quiet corner near the vending machines, away from her family’s earshot.
“I need to tell you something.” Her voice is barely above a whisper.
I wait.
“Harper let them in.” She swallows hard. “The men who took us. She opened the back door. Viktor promised he’d leave her and Julian alone if she cooperated. She handed me over to save herself.”
My knuckles ache from how hard I’m clenching them. I have to take several deep breaths before I say something I’ll regret. Her own sister-in-law? Jesus Christ.
“Are you going to tell your family?”
Sierra shakes her head. “Not yet. Her parents are flying in. Julian’s still in the hospital. I can’t...” She presses the heels of her hands against her eyes. “Not yet.”
I pull her into me. She sags against my chest.
“Okay,” I say. “Not yet.”
We walk back to the waiting room. Her family is still huddled together, talking about Harper’s recovery, her parents’ flight, visiting schedules. Sierra listens without saying much. I watch her face and wonder how long she can carry this.
Harper gets moved to the ICU, still unconscious. Visiting hours are over. Tomorrow, they say. Her parents should be here by then.
Sierra tells her family she’s coming home with me. Nobody argues.
I drive her back home in silence. She’s still wearing the wedding dress. I’m still in the tuxedo. Neither of us mentions it.
Inside, I lead her straight to the bathroom. My hands are gentle as I help peel her out of the ruined dress, the fabric stiff with dried blood. I run a bath, water hot enough to steam, and leave her to soak while I head to the kitchen.
I make her some comfort food. Tomato soup from a can. Grilled cheese with too much butter. Simple. Warm. The kind of thing my mom used to make when I was small and scared.
Sierra appears just as I’m setting it on the table.
Her hair is wet, braided to the side, dripping onto the shoulder of her tank top.
Pajama pants hang low on her hips. The bruises on her arms are already darkening, finger-shaped marks that make me want to resurrect Viktor just so I can kill him myself.
But he’s already dead.
She did that.
The image of her in that warehouse keeps flashing through my head. Blood-soaked silk. Steady hands. My sunshine, standing over the body of the man who tried to break her.
Sierra eats half the soup before pushing the bowl away. She’s quiet. Too quiet. The light is gone from her eyes, replaced by something gray and wounded.
I don’t push. If anyone understands needing to sit with the dark before you can talk about it, it’s me.
Instead, I hand her a Xanax and guide her to the bedroom. She doesn’t fight. Just swallows the pill and lets me tuck her under the covers like she’s something fragile. Something precious.
She is.
I watch her eyes flutter shut, and I finally let out the breath I’ve been holding all day. I almost lost her today. Came so goddamn close to walking into that warehouse and finding her body instead of her breathing and standing.
The knock at the front door pulls me from the bedroom. It’s Lorenzo and Dario. I let them in, and we settle in the living room, voices low.
“Sierra’s resting,” I warn.
Lorenzo nods. “Good. She needs it after today.”
“The women?”
“Safe.” Dario drags a hand through his hair, disgust still carved into his features. “I can’t believe that bastard was planning to sell them.”
“I can.” My voice is flat. “He was a piece of shit. I’m glad he’s dead.”
Part of me is also jealous that I didn’t get to put the bullet in him myself, but I keep that to myself. Sierra earned the right.
“I’ve already contacted Miguel,” Lorenzo says. “The girls were taken from his territory. He’ll handle that end.”
Good. Whoever supplied Viktor is going to have a bad time.
“Our focus stays on the Bratva here,” Lorenzo continues. “Kozlov thought he could run this through our city. We’re going to make sure he regrets that.”
“We dealt Kozlov a serious blow today,” Dario says. “Those women were worth a fortune to him. Bigger loss than the contract he lost from the construction site we destroyed.”
“Viktor’s death too,” I add. “He was important.”
“It’s not enough.” Lorenzo’s jaw tightens. “Kozlov made this personal. I’m going to return the favor.”
I don’t ask what he means. He’ll share when he’s ready.
Dario leans back in his chair. “One thing’s been bothering me. How’d Viktor know exactly where she’d be and when? Timing was too perfect.”
My jaw tightens. “Her sister-in-law, Harper. Viktor got to her at the hospital and made her a deal. Hand over Sierra, and he’d leave her family alone.”
“Jesus.” Dario shakes his head. “Her own family.”
“She was desperate. Viktor had already put her husband in a coma. She thought she was protecting him.”
Lorenzo’s expression goes cold. “She made a deal with the Bratva.”
“Against Sierra. Not against us.”
“Still.” Lorenzo looks at me. “What does Sierra want?”
The fact that he’s asking what she wants tells me he already understands what she is to me.
“To move on. Harper’s not a threat. Just weak.”
Lorenzo considers this. “Then we watch her. She steps out of line again, we have a different conversation.”
That’s more mercy than most people get. Lorenzo’s doing me a favor, and we both know it.
He holds my gaze for a moment, then rises. “Take a few days off. Be with your woman.”
Dario nods at me as they head out.
I head to the bedroom to check on Sierra. I find her awake, staring at the ceiling in the dim lamplight. That heartbreaking sadness is still written all over her face.
I sit on the edge of the bed and brush a strand of damp hair behind her ear. “How do you feel?”
“Sad.” Her voice is small.
“About Viktor?”
The scowl that crosses her face is fierce. “No. I’m glad he’s dead. Maybe that makes me a terrible person, but I can’t help it. I’m relieved. I don’t have to look over my shoulder anymore, waiting for him to ruin everything.” She swallows. “I’m sad about Harper.”
“She’s stable. She’s going to make it.”
“I know. But she...” Sierra’s breath hitches. “I never saw it coming. I never thought she’d do that to me. To Julian. Her own husband.”
The hurt in her voice guts me. I lie down beside her, pulling her into my arms. She fits against me like she was designed for this, her head on my chest, her legs tangled with mine.
“I’m sorry about Harper,” I murmur into her hair. “But I’m so fucking proud of you.”
She tilts her face up. “You are?”
“Of course.” My thumb traces the line of her jaw. “You defended yourself. Put an end to an evil piece of shit in the process.”
“I feel like I should feel guilty. About killing someone.”
I felt the same way after Scott. The confusion. The strange emptiness where remorse should have been.
“Some people deserve to die, Sunshine. Some people are too dangerous to let keep breathing.”
She’s quiet for a moment. Then she fully relaxes against me with a deep sigh.
“By the way,” she says, and there’s something almost teasing in her voice now, “I’m sorry for standing you up at the altar.”
A rough sound escapes my throat. Almost a laugh. “You owe me a wedding.”
The silence that follows is heavy. Thick.
“Are you sure?” she whispers. “That you still want that? Even with Viktor gone?”
I tighten my arms around her. Pull her closer until there’s not an inch of space left between us.
“I’m sure. But not an arrangement.” I pause, suddenly nervous. “I want it to be real. I want it to be because I love you.”
She goes completely still.
I keep talking because stopping feels impossible now.
“I didn’t think I could have this. Someone who sees what I am and doesn’t flinch.
” The words feel foreign in my mouth. I mean every one.
“I love you, Sierra. I don’t know when it happened.
Maybe it was there from the start. But I know I’m not letting you go. ”
She’s trembling. Or maybe I am.
“You love me,” she breathes, like she’s testing the words. Checking if they’re real.
“I do.” I press my forehead to hers. “What about you? Are you willing to marry me for real?”
She doesn’t answer with words.
She answers by surging up and kissing me. Deep and desperate and full of everything we’ve both been holding back. Her fingers curl into my hair. Her body presses against mine like she’s trying to crawl inside my skin.
When she finally pulls back, her eyes are wet. But she’s smiling.
“I love you, too.” Her voice is soft. “I love you, and yes. I’ll marry you for real, Matteo. I’ll marry you a hundred times if you want.”
I kiss her forehead. Then her eyelids. Then her mouth. Taking my time like we have all of it now.
She falls asleep in my arms. I stay awake a while longer, watching the rise and fall of her breathing.
I spent thirty years thinking I was only built for violence.
Turns out I was built for her.