Chapter Eight
Luca
“Calm down, boy. We’re almost there.”
I tap a finger restlessly over the steering wheel, counting the seconds until the light turns green before pressing my foot on the gas. It's unreasonable, I realize, to worry about leaving Matilde all by herself when all these security features ensure no one gets to her… but I can't help but worry.
Every time I am forced to leave, my heart is always in my throat, worried that someone could get to her before me.
The thought of losing her… No, I can’t think like that.
“You really love her, don’t you?” my mother asks, and I can feel those sharp green eyes watching me. “I’ve never seen you this way with anyone before.”
“Matilde is it for me, Mamma.”
“I see that,” she muses before turning to look at the road ahead. “It gives me peace. Watching my babies fall in love and thinking about settling down.”
"We haven't been babies in a long time, Mamma," I say, taking the corner. and a sense of calm settles over me when I see Matilde's bakery from a distance. It’s still standing, and there isn’t a ball of fire coming from it.
The relief lasts for as long as I park the car and climb out, vanishing the moment I hear a crash come from somewhere in the building, followed by a loud yell, clearly male.
Matilde.
My heart is in my throat as I grab my gun, but my focus is slightly pulled away from the building when I see my mother climb out of the car. “No,” I yell. “Get back inside, lock the doors, and call Matteo.”
And then I’m off.
All I can think about as I take the stairs, two at once, is getting to Matilde. Christ, I shouldn't have left her alone tonight, no matter how many times she insisted I go. This dinner could have waited. There's nothing more important to me than making sure she's safe.
I promised her she’d be safe with me!
Please. I pray as I’ve never done before to whatever deity is listening to protect the woman I have fallen in love with. Please.
I rush up the stairs, following a man's yelling voice and the only thought in my head is to get to Matilde. I grip my gun harder, the voice growing clearer as I get closer. I’ve heard that voice before—at family gatherings, at Sofia’s wedding, demanding and entitled. Giovanni Marino.
Of course he's involved in this.
After what Leonardo told us about the heist, it wasn’t hard to connect the dots.
I wondered if Giovanni might have had anything to do with the murder of his brother and sister-in-law, but I didn't want to plant that seed in Matilde's mind until I was certain.
For all Giovanni's sins, he could have been innocent of that one.
To be fair he wasn't the only other person involved with the heist…
But lately, I've been hearing rumors. Talks on the street that maybe the rich and powerful Giovanni Marino isn't so rich and powerful anymore—hasn’t been for a while now, and it’s all been a show.
But would he still kill his brother and sister-in-law for money?
Whatever the case, I'm not letting him lay a finger on Matilde. I’ll kill him with my own hands if that’s what it takes to stop him.
The front door to her apartment is open, so I storm in, gun in hand and ready to tear Giovanni Marino to pieces.
I…miscalculate. In my hurry to get to Matilde, I didn't stop to think that maybe Giovanni might not be alone, and I realize a second too late when I hear it.
A click and the sharp press of metal against the back of my head.
My blood turns to ice, and I curse myself for being a fool.
Stupid.
Fuck, I am usually smarter and clearer-headed than this. I didn't become a capo by making such reckless decisions. My worry for her…my love—it’s clouded my thoughts. Still does.
I push down my own irritation and assess the situation. I study the seething man standing outside of Matilde's bedroom, banging on the door. Giovanni is not armed. Figured he didn't have to be with his muscle around to do all the dirty work for him.
“Drop your fucking gun and get on your knees,” a hard voice behind me grinds. “Now!”
The banging stops, and Giovanni turns around, grinning when he sees the turn of events.
The wicked grin on his face tells me all about his next intentions.
“Come out, little niece,” he drawls, grinning as he raps on the door.
“You'll never guess who decided to join us.
Now come out before we shoot your boyfriend. Do you think I won't do it?”
This sick fuck.
He’s the one who ordered the hit on his brother and sister in law.
And if that wasn’t already so low, he now sinks even lower.
He’s trying to kill their kids. And all for what?
Some stupid painting. Oh, what am I thinking?
The man was ready to sacrifice his own daughters for a little more money and power, but he’s not going to use me to get to Matilde.
No fucking way is he going to use me to lure Matilde out so he can hurt her. I'm not going to let him antagonize her a second longer.
I force in a deep breath, calculating...
“I said, get down on the fucking floor,” the man behind me roars, so I slowly make a move as if to lower my gun.
A commotion erupts behind me—my mother’s voice shouting something I can’t make out—taking everyone in the room by surprise, but I snap out of it quicker.
I drop, my body moving before my brain can fully comprehend the action.
I spin fast and slam my elbow back, connecting with something solid.
The gun wavers, and I see the man's face for the first time: a mask of surprise and fury.
I lunge, my hands reaching for the weapon, and we grapple.
I kneed him, but his grip on the gun stays firm.
We stumble, crashing into the coffee table, shattering glass and sending debris flying.
Son of a bitch.
The gun bucks in his grip as he tries to squeeze the trigger, but I twist hard on his wrist and snap it.
He hollers, crying like an injured animal, so I wrench the gun from his loose grasp and toss it away.
It disappears under the sofa. There is something familiar about his eyes when they meet mine, but I don’t stop to wonder as I drive a knee into his gut, watching him gasp as air leaves his lungs.
There's rage boiling inside me for the man holding his wrist and weeping.
I don't care for all the noise he's making, so with one final move, I bring my fist down, connecting with his jaw.
His eyes roll back, and he collapses, unconscious, onto the floor.
I stand over him, chest heaving, adrenaline coursing through my veins.
Then I turn to Giovanni.
The smug grin is gone, and instead, he looks pissed. But under all that is a man who's clearly terrified. I follow his gaze to my mother, who’s standing by the door, pointing a gun at him. “Mamma,” I say with a sigh. “I told you to stay in the car. Where did you even get that?”
“Your glove box,” she says, her hand surprisingly steady on the gun. “All those years of holding the wooden spoon over you and the Rossi boys finally paid off.”
I guess it did. It helps that she was stubborn enough to come upstairs. Her distraction was what I needed to deal with the gunman.
“Who do you think you are?” Giovanni rages, pulling our attention back to him as he slams a fist against the locked door. “Do you think you can stop me? I had Alessandro killed, and I will kill you all.”
“I don't think so,” a hard voice says from the door, and I turn around to see Matteo walk in, men by his side. “I'll take that as a murder confession.”
“W-what?” Giovanni sputters, fighting when two men move to restrain him. “I didn’t confess shit, and you don’t have any evidence of anything. You can't take me! I have connections in the police force. I'll be out of jail before you can blink.”
“You're wrong if you think we're taking you to the cops,” Matteo laughs, voice dark and sinister. “I warned you, Giovanni. I told you to stay away from the girls. Now you'll wish you had.”
Giovanni starts yelling and sputtering as two men grab him and drag him out. The sound of groaning pulls our focus to the man on the floor, but I notice something shift on my mother's face as she stares at the man.
“Do you know him?” I ask her.
“Rubio,” she whispers. “He's my older brother.
I haven't seen or spoken to him in twenty-seven years.
Not since he convinced my parents that I was a whore and made them kick me out with nothing but the clothes on my back and my children growing in my belly.
Bastard probably hoped I would die on the cold streets, and then he'd inherit everything.” Her face is a mask of fury as she watches him begin to wake up.
“I would like to say that he fell in with the bad crowd when we were younger, but Rubio Conti was always the bad crowd.”
“What do you want to do with him, Silvia?” Matteo asks.
“I don't care," my mother says, and it's the coldest I've ever heard her.
“He and the rest of the Conti family became dead to me the day they kicked me out of my home, pregnant and alone, hoping my kids and I would die in the streets like strays.
He's no brother of mine, and today, he almost killed my son again… He deserves to pay for his sins."
“Then we'll deal with him as we do Giovanni.”
My mother nods, turning her face to me and then to the locked door. “She hasn't come out yet,” she says. “Should I—”
I shake my head. “I'll deal with it,” I say, turning to Matteo. “Do you mind giving my mother a ride home? I need to take care of Matilde,” I say, nodding toward the locked door.
“I was going to offer to drop you off, Silvia.”
I can read the uncertainty and worry on my mother's face, but she nods. “Call me, amore. I’ll want to know if she's okay too.”
I nod and watch as everyone files out of the apartment. I close the door behind them and lock it before walking to the bedroom door.
“Matilde,” I call out. “Open the door for me, baby.”
Silence.