THIRTY-FIVE
One moment I was burning with vengeance, the next, Paula was pointing directions to her uncle’s place. Vinnie wasn’t answering the phone, so I had no choice. We could have gone to a hotel, but a little voice in my head was telling me this had been the safer choice.
Half an hour later, I was sitting in Paula’s uncle’s living room, sinking into a horridly soft sofa that felt as if it were trying to eat me. I was built for steel, wood or leather – anything but this marshmallow death trap.
A tiny, rat-looking Pomeranian sat at my feet, gazing up at me adoringly.
It was unsettling. Every time I moved, the damn thing inched closer, as though planning the best way to ambush me.
Across from me, her uncle sat with his arms crossed, radiating prison-yard energy, his stare unblinking.
Instead of a cop, he rather looked like a man who knew a good place to bury a body. Or twelve. His skin was weathered, darkened by years of sun and salt air, his forearms covered in faded tattoos that looked earned, not decorative.
And those were not desk-job hands.
I locked eyes with him.
He locked eyes with me.
And the silent, gladiator-level battle of dominance went on.
Her brother was supposedly here, but was nowhere to be seen. And I had a few questions for him, too.
In the background, the house buzzed with the sound of women talking over each other in a blend of Italian and English, fussing over Paula’s bruises. Their voices overlapped like some chaotic symphony that grated at my nerves, but my focus stayed locked on the ex-con-lookalike in front of me.
Because, and I made no mistake, he might’ve been a cop, but he was definitely on both sides of the law.
I wasn’t intimidated. I didn’t do intimidated.
But I was in a bad fucking mood.
Firstly, Paula had clearly lied to me. Lied straight to my face about her family, their background. And that meant I had to teach her a lesson in trust.
Secondly, my fucking bed was a smoking crater, and I had nowhere to sleep tonight. Or any other night. The real-estate was a fucking circus, which meant I wasn’t going to find something I liked any time soon. And I was fucking picky.
And thirdly, that motherfucker was still out there – walking, breathing, unbroken and unflayed.
I flexed my fingers against my biceps, resisting the urge to grip the knife strapped to my shin and growl like a fucking animal.
The uncle finally spoke in a rough voice that was clearly used to barking orders in places where orders meant life or death. ‘Can you fight?’
I blinked.
‘Yep,’ I said flatly, arms still crossed, returning his stare with all the warmth of a loaded gun.
He narrowed his eyes, assessing. ‘Can you fight well?’
I remained composed. ‘Do you want a demonstration?’
A pause. Then another slow nod, as if he were mentally checking off boxes.
‘Ever killed someone?’
I let the silence sit. Let it breathe.
Just as I was about to respond, the damn Pomeranian decided to rear up on its tiny twig-legs and sniff the air between us in a small plea to scratch it.
My eyes averted downwards. I stared down at it. It stared up at me.
Exhaling through my nose, I turned my gaze back to the uncle. ‘I’m getting there.’
The corner of his mouth ticked – the only betrayal of emotion. Amusement? Approval? Hard to tell.
He leaned back then, still watching me. ‘No need to be scared of the pup.’
‘I don’t fear things that fit in my palm,’ I deadpanned.
And because karma hated me, the little bastard jumped straight into my open hand.
I grimaced.
Not exactly the most menacing look I’d ever pulled off. And, of course, that was precisely when Paula walked in.
The chatter in the room died instantly as the women pooled in.
And stared.
At me.
Then they stared harder.
Gianna, the eldest, smirked like the devil herself. The younger, a teenager with too much confidence, took one look at me holding the dog like an idiot and fucking melted.
Paula’s aunt, a sharp-eyed woman who had clearly ruled this household with an iron fist, propped against the doorframe and said smoothly in Italian, ‘Well, isn’t your better half handsome, Paula…’
I lifted a brow, unimpressed, but then offered a small, socially-accepted smile.
Paula slid beside me onto the sofa. I caught her by the waist with one hand, startling the rat-dog enough that it yelped and leapt off, then pulled her closer in one smooth motion.
The women shared glances – shock, amusement, even something approving.
The uncle?
Did not approve.
Just to add to the moment, I spread my hand wide over Paula’s knee, fingers resting possessively. I met the old man’s stare head-on.
He cleared his throat. Loudly, as if trying to make sense of whatever the hell just happened. The women settled into their seats, still throwing glances between Paula and me as if we were some kind of live-action soap opera.
‘It’s best if Paula stays with us,’ the uncle finally said.
‘She stays with me,’ I said without missing a beat.
Paula tensed, shooting me a look that promised death.
Her uncle’s jaw tightened. The air thickened.
And then, the wife shifted in her seat.
‘You can both stay here,’ she said, her tone still smooth, clearly accustomed to overriding male egos. ‘We have an ensuite upstairs with a double bed.’ Then, with a pointed glare at her husband: ‘I’m sure Cain is devastated after losing his home.’
The uncle exhaled hard, adjusting in his seat. His wife had a bite, and he knew what it felt like.
I liked this lady.
‘Thank you,’ I said, letting my voice soften just enough to rub it in.
The teenager, still watching me like I were some kind of exotic creature, tilted her head. ‘Wait… I know you. Aren’t you that model?’
I clenched my jaw. ‘Not really.’
Her old man snorted. My fingers flexed on Paula’s knee, and she covered it with her palm. The warmth was calming but did nothing to dissolve my growing irritation.
‘So what do you do now?’ he asked.
‘I’m an author,’ I replied to him.
Gianna grinned. ‘A dark romance author.’
Well…
There went the Big Bad Wolf.
Her uncle’s face twisted with disdain. ‘You write chick books?’
I stared at him blankly and levelled my voice. ‘If that’s what thrillers are considered to be.’
Gianna smirked. ‘And he’s very good.’
I angled my head at her. ‘I’m sure you know all about my work, Miss Bellini.’ She was at the Spice Me Up convention, after all.
Paula turned to glare at me again, and fuck, she was absolutely fucking hot when she was mad.
Letting out a frustrated sigh, she opened her mouth. ‘Thank you so much for letting us stay for the night, but I don’t like this. If he comes here, he’s bringing trouble.’
Alessio scoffed. ‘Trouble’s already here, tesoro. Might as well welcome it with open artillery.’
‘You mean open arms,’ I corrected, narrowing my eyes at him.
The side of his lip quirked up.
‘No. Artillery,’ Gianna interjected. And just to drive the point home, she leaned back in her chair as she stretched out her leg, displaying a .32 calibre nestled snugly in its ankle holster. ‘Besides,’ she said, ‘Travis is just a man. And men bleed easy.’
I looked to my feet, Gianna’s comment suddenly reminding me how Paula kept the truth about her family from me. I wasn’t scared of them – I don’t think I had it in me to be scared. But I was fucking pissed off.
When Paula made no retort, it made me wonder just how much of a little angel my little angel truly was.
She huffed and crossed her arms, levelling a glare at her cousin. ‘This isn’t a joke.’
‘Oh, I’m not joking,’ Gianna mused. ‘But if he does show up, I’d love to see if Cain here can actually fight as well as he glares.’
That made me grin.
Her uncle gave her a warning look, but I caught the amusement behind it. These women weren’t just packing heat for show. They were capable.
Which only made me feel more eager for the fight I had planned.
‘Get some rest tonight.’ Alessio rose to his feet, and the women instinctively followed. I stood taller – a good deal taller – but he met my gaze without hesitation.
‘I’ll make a few calls,’ he added with determination. ‘See if we can track this bastard down.’ He turned slightly, ready to leave. ‘Oh, and I sent that address you wanted to your phone.’
My heart stuttered, but I coached my face not to betray what lay beneath. Paula was too involved in the issue at hand to react.
‘Will he be deported when you catch him?’ Her voice wavered as she rubbed her elbow, a nervous tic I’d noticed earlier.
Alessio’s lips curled into a deceptive smile, his gaze turning towards her with an unsettling kind of knowing. ‘No, tesoro,’ he murmured, his voice smooth but final. ‘He won’t.’
Then his eyes met mine. Briefly. Pointedly. Then he turned fully and walked out.
I had to admit: I was beginning to like him.
A hush settled over the room as they all filed out.
Paula shifted closer, her hand still resting on mine – grounding me, grounding her.
Her hair smelled like flowers and lemons, paired with the house’s scent of wood polish. It was the sort of blend that clung to family homes and gave you a false sense of safety.
Somewhere down the hall, footsteps fell, the sound of a kettle boiling added a strange comfort to the chaos.
I inhaled slowly – though still nursing the hurt of her lie. But I rooted myself in this moment, when I wasn’t screaming inside, bleeding outside, and no one was trying to kill anyone.
Just Paula. Warmth against me. Just us, in a house I didn’t belong in, but somehow didn’t mind being in.
My fingers traced idle patterns on her thigh. She rested her head on my shoulder.
The rat-dog was still settled near my shoe as if it had declared allegiance. And for a few stolen seconds, it almost felt like peace.
‘I’m going to take a shower,’ I murmured, glancing up at his amber eyes – not as an invitation, though I wouldn’t have exactly complained if he followed.
I just needed a moment to myself. A moment to breathe, to untangle the chaos in my head and slot every fractured piece of the night back where it belonged.
Cain’s gaze darkened, sliding down the line of my throat, pausing at my chest, before settling on my knee, where his hand still rested like a claim he had no intention of lifting.
‘Got anything to tell me?’ he asked, voice low. ‘About this?’ His finger gestured vaguely at the ornate ceiling, tracing lazy circles in the air beneath its fragmented light.
I exhaled slowly. ‘Not really. I don’t know much. Only that Mum was sent abroad for her safety, and she met Dad there. Everything else is just… speculation.’
‘Now that would hurt Alessio’s feelings,’ came another voice.
The door pushed open halfway when Matteo filled the frame – cropped hair glinting under the chandelier, black leather jacket creaking with movement. A helmet with a demon sticker hung from one hand, his gaze as severe as I remembered.
‘Bro!’ I called, a grin breaking across my face, my heart filling with the kind of safety I hadn’t felt in a long while.
I crossed the room and threw my arms around him. His body stayed rigid, his jaw tight as his eyes skimmed past me – straight to Cain, who had already risen, his shadow cutting across the room.
‘D’Angelo, I assume,’ Matteo said in a clipped tone.
‘Be nice,’ I muttered, swatting his chest before stepping back.
‘Matteo DeLuca,’ Cain returned in a cool tone. ‘Nice to meet you.’
The silence between them stretched taut – a quiet, electric standoff that could’ve easily tipped into a brawl. Matteo’s hand scraped over his dark-blonde buzz.
‘I heard you broke that bastard’s face.’
Cain’s mouth twitched. ‘Yep.’
‘Anything crack?’ Matteo asked.
‘Yep.’
‘Good.’
I groaned under my breath. ‘Enough, both of you. Kitchen. Go. Aunt Francesca’s liquor cabinet is begging for a raid.’
‘You go ahead,’ Cain said, stopping me mid-step.
I frowned, meeting his eyes.
‘I need to call Vinnie. Tell him to check the office.’
My stomach sank. Shame flooded me. ‘Oh, fuck – you’re right! What if he went there too?’
‘All the files are in the cloud,’ he said, calm as ever. ‘We just need to prep for whatever the insurance throws at us.’
He gave Matteo a hard, assessing look before turning away, both of them moving in synchrony that didn’t feel friendly, but wasn’t quite hostile either.
And I stepped out of the living room, trailing after my brother with a pulse still racing as the door swung shut behind me.
In the kitchen, Matteo slung his jacket over the back of one of the barstools, before lowering himself onto it with a familiar thud. I caught the swirl of new ink crawling down his arms.
‘Those are new,’ I said lightly, already reaching into the cabinet for tumblers.
‘Why the fuck didn’t you tell us?’ he cut in the, the barely leashed fury pouring right out.
I froze mid-reach. The glass slipped slightly in my fingers, catching the light – almost crashed into the ground.
‘If you’d just said something, Birdie…’ His tone cracked at the edges.
‘Then what?’ I spun around, crystal still clutched in hand. ‘You’d beat him? Threaten him? Or go full psycho and torture him?’
Matteo’s jaw tensed, his shoulders squaring like a soldier bracing for war. ‘That’s uncalled for.’
I let out a bitter laugh, turning back towards the cupboard.
‘I did what I had to do to protect the family.’
‘You sound just like Dad.’ I reached for the nearest open bottle that happened to be Brandy and poured.
My phone hummed to life in my back pocket and I pulled it out to see Vinnie’s message asking where we were. Cain clearly didn’t know.
I typed up the address quickly, and turned to my brother.
‘Everyone who came at us wanted to hurt us. Dad would’ve done the same,’ he said.
‘So you figured you’d take the crown and keep the cycle going – another bully in the bloodline.’
‘I figured I’d keep us alive. The mob doesn’t ask questions!’ he snapped. ‘It’s big fish eat little fish, Birdie. That’s the way it is. But it still doesn’t explain why you kept this shit to yourself.’
I poured a second glass with more force than necessary, the bottle clinking against the rim. The scent of aged liquor curled up my throat.
I drank first. Matteo followed.
The burn was strong. Clean.Unlike everything else this week.
We locked eyes over the rim of our glasses. Mum’s seawater eyes stared back at me.
‘You had enough on your plate, Matt,’ I said softly, the anger bleeding out of my voice. ‘I knew about the smuggling deals.’
The words hit. I saw it in the drop of his shoulders – like a boy with his hand caught in a cookie jar.
He sighed, running a hand down his face. ‘We’ve both got a full plate now.’
That was it – the lid closed on the past. The door between us had creaked open, just enough for something new to step through.
He leaned in, resting his forearms on the counter and nodding at me.
‘Come on,’ he said, quieter. ‘Tell me everything so I know which bone to first break on him.’