Chapter 35
It’s been less than a week, and every second here grates. Every move feels like walking a blade’s edge—duty on one side, desire on the other. Each day is a careful, exhausting dance between what needs to be done and the gnawing certainty that every moment I stay is time wasted.
Pointless dinners where Gianna may as well be a ghost. Meetings that steal hours from me and give nothing back.
Thinly veiled remarks about the Points—about how I’ll be glad to leave it all behind, how marrying into this empire will finally let me flourish, like I haven’t already sliced myself raw earning my place.
I’m supposed to be digging into whatever Antonio’s hiding, supposed to be paying attention, connecting dots, but all I can think about is Lily.
She’s just over five hours away.
Close enough that if I left now, I could be standing on her doorstep by sunset. Close enough to breathe the same air, to see her with my own eyes. Close enough to find out whether she still looks at me like I’m someone worth wanting or like the mistake she’s finally learned to survive.
I catch myself in the garage more often than I’ll ever admit, staring at the row of cars like one of them might drive me straight back to her on its own. My hands itch for the keys, for the wheel, for the stupid chance that she might open the door and not shut it in my face.
But every damn time I make it that far, Antonio’s voice saying her name slides through my skull like a warning, dragging me back to the one truth I can’t outrun—if I go to her now, I don’t just risk myself or this operation, I risk her.
But fuck, walking away when—for once—we were almost reading from the same page felt like tearing my own chest open and leaving my bruised and bloody heart at her feet.
The office smells like leather and expensive whiskey—Antonio’s signature rot disguised as luxury.
I’ve been sitting across from him for twenty minutes, nodding, pretending to care about import numbers while he talks in circles.
Every instinct screams that the books are cooked, but proving it is a nightmare.
“You still with me, Matthew?” he asks, smirking like he knows exactly where my head is.
“Just listening,” I lie, rolling my shoulders back, wearing calm like a mask. Working in the Pit with my Da taught me that the key to interrogation is to know your tells and how to hide them. Make sure your enemy never sees them or the next strike coming.
What matters isn’t these numbers. It’s Lily, pacing her flat, chewing her lip, second-guessing every word we didn’t say. What matters is that I left her believing distance would keep her safe.
And what keeps me up at night? The thought that Antonio already knows distance doesn’t mean a damn thing.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. Pulling it out, Liam’s name flashes across the screen.
What I don’t say is that the only thing I want to work on is the space between Lily’s heartbeat and mine. And that’s exactly what could get her killed.
A moment later my phone vibrates again.
I exhale slowly, jaw tight, tucking my phone away to deal with later. The last thing I need is Cora going rogue—she’s her parents’ legacy in one body, all sharp instinct and inherited fury—and if she draws Antonio or Jonathan’s attention before we’re ready, we’ll all pay for it.
“More Points business?” Antonio drawls, cocking a brow as he shifts in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight.
Jonathan might need to tread carefully to avoid an all-out turf war, but I’ll be damned if I spend one unnecessary second longer in this office than required.
Still, if sitting in this snake pit, breathing in cigars and rot dressed up as cologne, gets me closer to peeling back another layer of Salvatore’s operation, I’ll endure it.
At this stage, every careless word Antonio or Nico lets slip is leverage. And we need all of it.
“Always,” I say evenly. “What’s next? Anything you need me at?”
Antonio smirks, rolling the cigar between his fingers.
“Business as usual. Wine shipments, tastings, a few… portfolio meetings.” His gaze flicks to me, calculating.
“And of course, your wedding. These things don’t organise themselves, you know.
Lucky for you, Vera and Gianna enjoy the planning and spending my money. ”
Portfolio.
The word catches, sharp and wrong, something I’ve never heard him mention before now. Something that feels off, and the slight flare in his eyes, has me brushing past the wedding talk, and latching onto that word before he can take it back.
“Portfolio meetings?” I echo, letting a lazy smirk curve my mouth. “Didn’t know wine came with one.”
He chuckles, smoke spilling into the air between us. “Ah, well, we like to diversify. Keep things interesting. Nico’s got an eye for… potential.”
The pause is deliberate. Measured. A hook cast to see if I’ll bite.
I don’t. I just cock my head and let out a dry laugh.
“Potential,” I repeat, rolling the word around like something sour on my tongue. “Sounds like a headache. You sure Nico’s cut out for that kind of responsibility? Doesn’t exactly strike me as… gentle.” I shrug. “Maybe he’s better off sticking to the strip club. He looked right at home there.”
The words taste foul leaving my mouth, but I force them out anyway.
Antonio’s grin is sharp, humourless. “He knows what sells. And Vera helps smooth things over when needed.”
My fingers tighten against the armrest before I can stop them. The way he says it—casual, almost proud—turns my stomach. People reduced to product. Lives flattened into margins.
“Sounds efficient,” I manage, voice bored, and steady. “Guess we all have our strengths.”
Antonio studies me too long, smoke coiling between us like a screen. “And what about you, Matthew? Found yours yet?” A pause. “Or are you still… searching?”
I lean back, mirroring his expression. “What’s the rush? I’ve got four months of walking this tightrope. Plenty to keep me busy.”
He laughs softly. “Soon you won’t have to balance at all. You’ll be all ours.”
Inside, the calculations snap into place—Vera. Nico. Portfolio meetings. Routes. The threads are tightening, and for the first time in days, I can see exactly which ones need pulling.
I shift in my chair, slow and uninterested, brushing an imaginary speck from my cuff. “Sounds like a full operation,” I drawl. “Must take a lot to keep it running smoothly.”
Antonio exhales smoke, eyes glinting. “What do you take us for? We don’t run ourselves ragged. I make sure the right faces are in the right rooms. Nico keeps track of where the market’s strongest.”
The pause is deliberate. The fucker is enjoying the gloat but I pay him no mind. I’m already too busy fitting together the pieces he’s carelessly scattered, the picture taking shape whether he realises it or not.
“He’s got a little trip coming up soon,” he adds lightly. “You might be surprised which circles he chooses to visit.”
Outwardly, I’m relaxed. Internally, my pulse is a drumbeat in my ears. Circles. Contacts. Movement. Every half-answer I’ve chased is suddenly starting to align.
If I can map Nico’s movements without tipping my hand, the whole structure starts to show its seams. One misstep, though, and I won’t be the only one paying for it.
Antonio taps ash into the tray. “You’d be amazed how simple it all is when you know who to lean on. Half of them will do anything for a chance to work with us.” His smile thins. “The rest… Nico knows how to make an offer they can’t refuse.”
The phrase lands cold. Old-world brutality dressed up in designer language.
I sling an arm over the chair, crooked smile in place. “Sounds like a goldmine. Maybe I should sit in on one of these meetings sometime, learn from the masters.” I pause. “We are about to be family, after all.”
His eyes narrow, just enough. He likes attention, but not intrusion.
“Someday,” he drawls finally. “But you’ve got a wedding to focus on. Leave the rest to us, for now.”
The warning is unmistakable.
I lift my hands in mock surrender. “Fair enough. You’re the expert.”
His phone rings and the moment fractures. I don’t move, don’t react but my mind is already racing ahead, slotting names into manifests, routes into timelines, danger into proximity.
Everything points back to Nico being the key to untangling this mess. My pulse hammers, but I keep my face neutral, letting him think I’m just another oblivious player in his game, while already planning how to stay one move ahead.
And through the calculations, an image keeps surfacing—midnight-blue silk, red-rimmed eyes, Lily in that hotel room, jaw tight, and defiant as hell. If I slip up, she becomes collateral. If I pull it off, maybe—just maybe—there’s a way back for both of us.
Later that night, the smell of cigars is gone, but the stink of Antonio’s words still clings as I get the guys on a call to hash things out. On one side of my screen, Liam, Aidan, and Owen are crowded into Owen’s home office, the space tight, the air thick with quiet intensity.
Liam leans forward, elbows braced on his knees, dark hair falling just past his shoulders, eyes sharp and unblinking. Every movement measured, every glance precise, he takes in everything without giving away a thing.
Aidan sits back, arms crossed, the light reflecting off the metal glinting in his eyebrow and ears, frown marring a face that rarely gives anything away. Silent and controlled, but coiled tight, ready to spring if the moment calls for it.
Owen, perched at the desk with a tablet in hand, his shaggy dark hair falling into green eyes that track flight manifests scrolling past like a slot machine of missing faces. Restless energy, quiet intensity—he keeps the room taut, even when still.
Together, they fill the space with presence alone, a team in perfect sync, each one a different edge of the same blade. I wonder if Jonathan realised that between the Finlay brothers as her guards and Owen at her side, he’d given Cora the bones of her own inner circle.