Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Matteo
The war room smells like my father, old leather creaks under shifting weight.
When I was a boy, he brought me here once, late at night, told me to sit in the corner and keep quiet while the men argued over territory lines.
I remember being too small for the chair, my feet not touching the ground, listening to his voice cut through men twice his size.
He told me later the table remembers everything said over it—that decisions made here will outlive the men who make them.
Tonight, I feel that weight pressing down on my shoulders.
The Brotherhood is already here when I walk in, scattered around the table the way they always are.
I plant my palms on the table, and the first thing out of my mouth is, "I'm tired of getting fucked with."
Rafael snorts from somewhere to my left. "That's specific."
"The note in her room. The hit at the Meridian.
All the little shit that keeps happening—it's connected.
Has to be." I drag a hand through my hair, feeling the tension knotted at the base of my skull.
"Someone's been running plays on us for weeks and we've been too busy putting out fires to see the pattern. "
"What pattern?" Enzo asks, his voice level and measured like always.
"They're all about her. Every single move.
" I straighten up, feeling my shoulders pull tight.
"Emilio thinks she's pregnant with his grandson.
Half of Chicago is waiting to see if I'll trade her back.
Our own people don't even know if she's a prisoner or what the fuck she is.
And someone's taking advantage of that confusion to mess with us. "
Rafael leans back in his chair, and I hear the creak of wood under his weight. "So we make it clear she's off the table. Send word to Emilio that negotiations are done, tell the other families to back off."
"That doesn't solve the problem," I say, and I can hear the frustration bleeding into my voice even though I'm trying to keep it together. "As long as her status is unclear, she's still a target. Still something people think they can use against us."
"Then clarify her status," Dante says, and I hear the scrape of metal on wood—his knife hitting the table. "Make it crystal fucking clear what she is so nobody can twist it."
The words sit heavy in my chest because that's exactly what I've been circling for days now, trying to find another solution that doesn't involve admitting what I already know.
My throat tightens. I've been thinking about this constantly—at the casino when she won hand after hand and I watched my men start looking at her differently, like she was more than just leverage.
At the Meridian when Emilio sat across from me offering money for her like she was merchandise he could buy back, and all I could think about was how I'd kill him before I'd let him touch her.
Every time I wake up with her in my arms and realize I don't want to let go.
The thought scares me more than facing Emilio's ambush did, more than finding a traitor in my ranks, because wanting her this much makes me vulnerable in ways I've spent seventeen years learning to avoid.
My father taught me that attachment is weakness.
That caring about someone gives your enemies a weapon they'll use without hesitation.
But standing in that hotel suite with Emilio talking about her like breeding stock, I realized something had already shifted. The decision wasn't whether to care about her—that ship had sailed. The decision was what to do about it.
"You've already decided something," Enzo’s voice snaps out of my thoughts. His voice is measured, like he's already guessed where this is going but wants me to say it myself. "I can see it on your face."
I drag in a breath that doesn't quite fill my lungs the way it should. The air tastes like smoke and old leather and my own adrenaline, making my pulse hammer too fast. My palms are damp against the table, and I have to force myself not to wipe them on my pants like a nervous kid.
Luca pushes off the wall, and the leather of his jacket creaks as he moves closer to the table. "Well? What is she, brother?"
Part of me wants to deflect, give some bullshit answer about strategy and leverage, but that's not what Luca's asking and we both know it.
Mine.
The word surfaces in my head unbidden, and I try to push it down because it sounds possessive and irrational and exactly like something a man who's losing control would think.
But it won't go away. It's been sitting there since the casino, and earlier, definitely since the moment at the Meridian when Emilio talked about her like she was nothing more than an incubator for his family line.
I remember standing in that hotel suite thinking if he touches her, if he gets his hands on her, I'll burn Chicago to the ground. Not because she's valuable as leverage. Because she's mine and he doesn't get to take what's mine.
That realization should have terrified me. Instead, it felt like something clicking into place, like a puzzle piece I'd been trying to force into the wrong spot finally sliding home.
"I'm going to marry her," I say, and the words come out rougher than I intended, like my throat doesn't want to release them.
The silence that follows is absolute. Even Rafael's cigarette has stopped halfway to his mouth.
Then the room erupts.
"Cristo," Rafael mutters, setting his cigarette in the ashtray with deliberate care. "Did not see that coming."
Enzo's expression doesn't change, but his fingers unlace slowly, spread flat on the table.
Dante pulls his knife free with a soft scrape of metal on wood, turning it over in his hands. "Bold. Emilio won't like it."
"I don't give a fuck what Emilio likes."
But Luca doesn't move. He just stares at me from across the room, jaw working like he's chewing words before he spits them out. When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet.
"Convenient." He pushes off the wall in one smooth motion. "She comes here a prisoner. Weeks later she's in your bed. Now she's walking down an aisle. You call it strategy, but we both know it's not."
Rafael whistles low, and I hear him flicking ash into his glass. "Here we go."
I keep my palms flat on the table even though every muscle in my body wants to move. "And what do you think it is, brother?"
Luca steps closer. Lamplight catches the hard edge of his jaw, the storm building in his eyes. "She's inside your head, Matteo. Past your judgment. You don't want to make her untouchable or anything—you want her. And let’s be realistic, you're willing to risk everything we've built for it."
The word sits uncomfortably on my chest because he's not wrong, but I'm not about to apologize for it either.
"Risk?" I keep my voice level, but my hands curl into fists against the wood.
"I'm eliminating risk. Marriage makes her mine in every way that matters.
Legally. Publicly. It sends a message to Emilio that he's already lost, and to everyone else that she's untouchable. "
"That's the story you're telling yourself." Luca's voice hardens. "But I've watched you these past days. The way you look at her. The way you beat Marco half to death for speaking to her wrong. You're compromised."
Enzo clears his throat. "Luca—"
"No." Luca's hand cuts through the air. "Someone has to say it.
You've bled with us, ruled with us, made decisions that kept this family alive and on top.
Good decisions. But now you're letting a woman inside, where she can do real damage.
The second a don puts his feelings before his empire, he's already lost both. "
Heat crawls up the back of my neck. My pulse hammers loud enough that I can hear it in my skull. "You think I haven't run every angle? You think I don't know how this looks?"
"I think you're not seeing clearly." Luca steps closer, close enough now I can see the vein pulsing in his temple, and I know that look—it's the same one he had when we were kids and he was about to say something that would get him hit.
"And I think if you're honest for one goddamn second, you'll admit why. "
Something in his tone makes my spine go rigid. "Careful, brother."
"You care about her," Luca says, and the words land between us like a challenge.
"And instead of dealing with that, you're doubling down by marrying her.
" The room goes cold. Or maybe it's just my blood, freezing in my veins as Luca's words sink like knives between my ribs.
Rafael's cigarette smoke curls between us, acrid and thick, but I barely smell it.
My pulse spikes until it's a roar in my ears, and for a heartbeat the room blurs at the edges. Red creeping in from the sides, narrowing my vision to just Luca's face and that knowing look in his eyes.
My hand shoots forward before I can think, fisting in his collar, yanking him close enough I feel his breath against my face. He doesn't flinch or try to pull away. His eyes stay locked on mine, daring me to do it, daring me to prove him right about being compromised.
Across the room, I hear Enzo rise from his chair. But I don't look at them. Can't tear my gaze away from Luca's face.
"You think I don't know what this looks like?
" My voice comes out low, shaking with the effort of control.
"You think I haven't fought this? That I don't see the danger?
" My other hand lifts, trembling, curling into a fist at my side.
One punch. That's all it would take to make him understand he crossed a line.
But at the last second, I catch myself. My fist hovers in the air between us, knuckles white, whole body locked tight with the effort of not following through.
For a long moment, we stand there. My hand fisted in his collar, his jaw set with Romano pride, the rest of the room holding its collective breath.
Then Luca speaks, quieter now, but no less cutting.
"That's exactly my point, Matteo. You can't even hear her name without losing control. That makes you weak. That makes you predictable. That gets you killed. Why the hell do you think marrying your enemy’s widow, who is not even from a powerful family, a good idea? "
"This isn't weakness." I force the words through clenched teeth. "It's strength. It's claiming what no one else can touch and making it clear to Emilio, to everyone watching, that I decide who stands beside me. No one else gets a vote."
I release his collar, pushing him back hard enough he has to catch himself. My hands shake as I lower them, curl them into fists at my sides to hide the tremor.
Luca rubs at his throat where my grip left marks, and I feel guilty for reacting so impulsively. His jaw is still locked tight, eyes still burning with everything he didn't say, but I know he won’t argue again. Just stares at me across the space between us, weighing something I can't read.
"Any other thoughts?" I ask, turning back to face the table. My voice comes out rougher than I intended.
Enzo sinks back into his chair slowly, and there's something almost like respect in the way he nods. "It's a power move. If you can sell it right, it shifts the entire board."
Rafael picks up his cigarette again, takes a long drag. "Plus, Emilio's head will explode. That alone makes it worth doing."
Dante nods once, knife spinning between his fingers in that unconscious way he has when he's thinking. "The wedding will be small but we’ll not keep it a secret. On the contrary, we’ll make it public."
"I agree. What if we make it within the week?" I ask. My breathing is still uneven, heart still pounding, but I force my shoulders square. "It’ll be better to do it before Emilio can make another move."
Another pause, longer this time. Then Luca's voice, quieter than before but carrying across the room. "You're sure about this?"
I meet his eyes across the war room. "I'm sure."
He holds my gaze for three seconds longer. Then his chin dips—barely, the smallest acknowledgment, but enough.
"Then we're with you," he says.
The tension doesn't break so much as transform into something else. Acceptance, maybe. Heavy and reluctant and real.
"Good." I straighten my cuffs with hands that still tremble slightly. "Then we're done here."
The meeting dissolves, and I hear Rafael already making jokes about tracking down decent whiskey for a wedding.
Luca stays against the wall for another moment, and when he finally pushes off and heads for the door, he claps my shoulder once as he passes, hard enough that I know we're good even if he still thinks I'm making a mistake.
By the time I look up, the room's mostly empty, just the smell of Rafael's cigarettes and the echo of footsteps fading down the hall.
When the door closes behind the last of them, I'm alone.
I sag against the table, bracing my weight on both palms, head bowed. My shoulders burn from holding tension too long. Sweat dampens my shirt collar, cooling against my skin. I drag a hand across my face and it trembles as I do, fingers unsteady in the empty room where no one can see.
The gouge in the wood catches my fingertip—deep, permanent, carved by my father's ring during some long-ago argument. I press into it until pain grounds me, until the sharp edge biting my skin pulls me back into my body.
Alessia's name still goes around in my mind, louder than Luca's accusations, more deafening than the silence he left behind.
Luca's words echo: You want her.
My jaw clenches. Maybe he's right. Maybe this isn't just strategy.
Maybe I'm marrying her because the thought of Emilio or anyone else touching her makes me want to burn the world down.
Maybe it's because when she looks at me with those golden eyes, I see the only person in this blood-soaked empire who isn't afraid to tell me no.
Maybe that makes me weak.
But she's mine. And in my world, you don't give back what's yours.
I trace the groove in the table one more time, then turn and walk out. The door closes behind me with the same heavy finality as every decision made in this room—permanent, irrevocable, marked into history whether I'm ready or not.