29. Matteo
29
MATTEO
S moke curls through the shattered study windows, acrid and sharp in my lungs as security sweeps the grounds. Radio chatter and tactical movements create a familiar symphony of controlled chaos, but I barely register it. All I can focus on is the precious weight of my wife and daughter in my arms, their bodies still protected by mine even though the immediate danger has passed. I won’t release them—can’t release them—while Mario’s message burns in my mind: “Time to play a game.”
My brother always did love games. Dangerous ones that left scars both visible and hidden. The product of Giuseppe’s affair with his secretary, Mario came into our world already fighting for a place. His mother fled shortly after his birth, leaving him to be raised alongside me in a household where competition meant survival. He grew up in my shadow, forever trying to earn our father’s approval, to prove he was worthy of the DeLuca name despite being the “bastard son.”
“I’m fine,” Bella insists, trying to step away from my protection. But I can’t let go—not when the memory of another explosion, another threat to my family, still haunts my dreams. “We both are.”
Her hand rests protectively over her stomach where our child grows, and the gesture ignites fresh rage in my chest. Mario’s timing is too perfect, too precise. He knows about the pregnancy—which means someone close to us has betrayed us. Someone with access to medical records, to security protocols, to our most intimate moments.
Another game, another test of loyalty.
I will find the traitor. And when I do, their death will serve as a message to anyone else considering betrayal.
“The compound’s clear,” Antonio reports, holstering his weapon. Through his earpiece, I hear the coordinated movements of our security teams sweeping the grounds. His weathered face shows the strain—he was there five years ago too, when Mario first turned on us. “No signs of other devices. But Boss…we’ve got movement at the old Brooklyn territory. Mario’s been seen meeting with some of your former captains.”
Bella goes rigid beside me. “The ones who were loyal to him before the exile?”
“Not just them.” Antonio pulls up surveillance photos on his tablet. The images flood the room’s screens—crystal clear shots that make my blood boil. “He’s been watching the wedding reception. These were taken right before all hell broke loose.”
The photos show Mario lurking in the shadows of the gardens at the reception, observing the chaos after Bianca’s outburst. He looks exactly as I remember—that same calculated cruelty in his eyes that I first saw when we were children. Even then, he watched from shadows, waiting for moments of weakness. I remember finding him in Giuseppe’s study once, going through private files, searching for something to use against me. When I confronted him, he just smiled that cold smile and said, “Knowledge is power, brother. And in this family, we take what power we can get.”
“He’s planning something,” Bianca says quietly. Her voice trembles slightly—the first crack in her armor I’ve seen since the explosion. “Using the chaos in our family to find weak points.”
“Like he did before.” Ice coats my words as memories assault me. Five years ago, that warehouse in Red Hook where my brother chose to make his stand. I can still smell the rotting fish and diesel fuel, still hear water lapping against the pier. The call had come at midnight—Mario’s voice carrying that edge of madness I’d always feared would surface:
“Remember how Father always made us compete, brother? How you always won? Well, now we play my game. Your empire or your daughter. Choose quickly—she’s running out of air.”
I’d found Bianca in a shipping container at a warehouse, curled into herself like a broken bird. Twelve years old, wearing the navy school uniform she’d been taken in, her wrists raw from fighting the restraints. The sight of her—my fierce, proud daughter reduced to that—broke something in me that’s never fully healed.
“Daddy?” Her voice had been barely a whisper, hoarse from screaming. “I tried to fight. Like you taught me. But Uncle Mario…he said it was just a game…”
The memory of her tears soaking my shirt, of her body trembling against mine as I cut her free, feeds the rage building in my chest now. Mario had wanted me to choose between my power and my child, never understanding that there was no choice. Never comprehending that real power comes from what we protect, not what we destroy.
My phone buzzes with another message from Mario, and the image that fills the screen makes my blood freeze. It’s us leaving Elena’s apartment yesterday—Bella’s hand resting protectively over her stomach, Bianca laughing at something, all of us unaware we were being watched.
New life brings new possibilities, brother. But can you protect them all? -M
The threat ignites something primal in my chest. Five years ago, I’d found my daughter terrorized by a man who shared my blood. I remember lifting Bianca from that container, how light she felt in my arms, like all her usual spark had been drained away. The days that followed were worse—nightmares, panic attacks, her voice breaking as she told me what Mario had whispered to her: “Your father always thinks he can save everyone. Let’s see who he chooses to save this time.”
Now he threatens not just my daughter, but my wife and unborn child. The parallel makes me pull them both closer, breathing in Bella’s jasmine scent, feeling Bianca’s strength as she stands tall despite her fear. I won’t let history repeat. Won’t let Mario play his sick games with another generation of our family.
“Let me see,” Bella demands, reaching for my phone. Her face hardens as she reads the message, understanding its implications. “He’s threatening the baby. Our family.”
“He’s threatening everything,” I correct, pulling her closer. This is what Mario never understood—that real power comes from protecting what matters, not destroying it. “Mario wants what he’s always wanted—total control. And he knows the best way to get it is to strike when we’re vulnerable.”
“We’re not vulnerable,” Bianca says fiercely, joining our huddle. “We’re stronger together. He doesn’t understand that.”
Pride and fear war in my chest as I look at my girls—my fierce daughter who survived Mario’s games once before, my brilliant wife carrying our child, both of them ready to fight rather than run. The memory of Bianca in that warehouse haunts me still—how she’d clung to me afterward, whispering “Don’t let him take me again, Daddy. Please.” I’d promised her then that Mario would never touch her again.
A promise I intend to keep.
“Antonio,” I bark, decision made. “Full lockdown of the compound. I want every possible entry point covered. And get me everything on Mario’s movements since he arrived back in New York. Now .”
“Already on it. But Boss…” Antonio hesitates, his hand tightening on his weapon in a way that speaks of old loyalties and older fears. “He’s not working alone. The explosives used in that package? They’re military grade. Someone with serious connections is backing him.”
“The Irish.” The pieces click together—the weapons, the timing, the precision of the surveillance. “That’s where he went after the exile. Built connections with the O’Connor family in Boston.”
“Which means we’re not just fighting Mario,” Bella realizes, her analytical mind already mapping the implications. “We’re fighting an entire organization that wants to take New York.”
“Let them try.” I move to my desk, pulling up building plans for all our key properties. The blue light from the screens casts shadows across the room, turning the smoke still curling through broken windows into ghostly figures. “Antonio, get the war room ready. Full briefing in one hour. We need to know exactly what we’re dealing with.”
“And Elena?” Bella asks quietly. The worry in her voice makes my chest ache. “She could be in danger if Mario’s watching us all.”
“I’ll increase her security detail,” I assure her, though my heart clenches at how pale Bella looks, how one hand stays protectively over our child. “But right now, we focus on the immediate threat. Mario won’t wait long to make his next move.”
I pull both women close, breathing in their strength, their trust, their love. “We plan together,” I tell them, meeting Bella’s eyes, silently begging her to understand, “but when we move…” I can’t finish the thought. The idea of her in danger, of our child at risk, makes something primitive rise in my chest.
“We plan together, you execute,” she finishes for me. Her hand finds mine, squeezing once. “But Matteo?” Her voice hardens. “End this. Before he can hurt anyone else we love.”
“Oh, he’ll pay.” The promise of violence coats my words. “Mario wants to play games? Fine. But this time, we make the rules.”
I lose myself in building plans and security protocols, marking vulnerable points and potential threats. Time blurs as I study evacuation routes and safe houses, my mind racing through scenarios. Every detail must be perfect—I won’t risk my family’s safety because I overlooked something.
“Boss,” Antonio’s quiet voice breaks through my focus. “Mrs. DeLuca left about ten minutes ago. She seemed…unsettled.”
My head snaps up, guilt flooding my chest. With everything happening, I’d forgotten how this must be affecting her—newly pregnant, just finding happiness with our family, and now this threat hanging over us.
I find her in our bedroom, staring out the windows with her arms wrapped around herself. Her shoulders shake with silent sobs, and the sight breaks something in my chest. My fierce, strong wife finally letting her guard down.
“Come here,” I murmur, my voice low but steady as I hold out my hand. She hesitates for a moment before crossing the space between us, letting me pull her into my arms. She melts against me, her soft curves fitting perfectly against the hard planes of my body, as if she was made to be here.
“I won’t let him hurt you,” I promise, my lips brushing against her temple. “Or Bianca. Or anyone. I’ll protect you all. Always.”
Her hands clutch at my shirt, her fingers twisting the fabric as if anchoring herself. “I know,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “But we just found this happiness, Matteo. Found each other, this family we’re building. And now…”
Her voice breaks, and I can’t stand to hear the pain in it. I cup her face, tilting her chin up to meet my gaze, before silencing her with a kiss. It starts soft, a gentle reassurance, but the fear and need bubbling between us quickly turn it into something fiercer.
Her lips part beneath mine, and I deepen the kiss, pouring every ounce of my love and desperation into it. She meets me with equal intensity, her fingers sliding into my hair, tugging just enough to make me groan. Her mouth is warm and demanding, all teeth and tongue and promises, and I lose myself in her.
“I choose you,” I breathe against her mouth. “I choose this family. Like I did five years ago with Bianca, like I do every day since you walked into my office.” My hand splays over her stomach, where our miracle grows. “Mario never understood that real power comes from protecting what matters, not destroying it. I’ll protect you and this baby with my life.”
Her lips crash into mine again, stealing the rest of my words. Her hands slide down my chest, tugging at my shirt until she pulls it free. Her touch is urgent but tender, her nails raking lightly over my skin as if she can’t bear to leave any part of me unexplored.
I lift her into my arms, her legs wrapping around my waist as I carry her to the bed. Her breath hitches when I lower her onto the soft sheets, and I pause, taking a moment to admire her. The golden light catches in her hair, her flushed cheeks, her swollen lips, and she’s breathtaking.
“Bella,” I whisper, my voice thick with emotion.
She doesn’t respond with words, just reaches for me, her hands sliding up my chest and curling around the back of my neck. With a gentle pull, she brings me down until I’m hovering above her, our bodies separated by the frustrating barrier of clothing. Her breath is warm against my face, her lips parted, her eyes heavy with longing.
Her hands trail down my chest, her fingertips brushing over every ridge of muscle, until they find each button of my shirt. Slowly, deliberately, she unbuttons them, her fingers grazing my skin as she helps pull it off my shoulders. The moment it’s gone, her hands are back on me, exploring every inch like she’s memorizing me anew.
“Yours,” I murmur, capturing her lips in a kiss that’s deep and consuming.
She answers with a quiet moan, her nails lightly scraping down my chest as she moves to the waistband of my pants. Her fingers work the buttons with surprising steadiness, even as her breaths grow quicker. The slight scrape of metal against fabric fills the space between us as she slides the pants over my hips, letting them fall to the floor. Her gaze dips, a flicker of heat in her eyes as she takes in the sight of me.
But I can’t wait any longer. My hands move to her dress, my fingers trembling slightly as I undo the zipper. The soft fabric parts under my touch, revealing the smooth expanse of her skin inch by inch. I press a kiss to her sternum, then another just below her collarbone, tasting the faint hint of salt and the warmth of her.
“Matteo…” she breathes, her voice barely audible, filled with need.
“Patience, piccola ,” I murmur against her skin, letting my lips linger there before continuing my journey downward.
I slip the dress off her body, letting it fall in a silken heap beside us. My hands trail over the soft curve of her arms as I reach for the clasp of her bra. It takes only a moment to undo it, and the straps slide down her arms with a whisper. Her bare skin is radiant in the golden light, and for a moment, I can only stare, awestruck by her beauty.
“Perfect,” I murmur, brushing a kiss over the swell of her breast.
She shivers beneath me, her hands finding their way to my underwear. With a determined tug, she pushes them down, her touch leaving a trail of heat in its wake. I rid myself of the last barrier quickly, then turn my attention back to her. My hands slide to the waistband of her panties, fingers curling around the fabric. I draw them down her hips, my knuckles grazing her thighs as I strip them away.
When she’s finally bare before me, her breath quickens, her chest rising and falling as I let my gaze roam. The sunlight streaming through the window catches on her curves, painting her in gold, and I feel my pulse stutter.
“You’re so beautiful,” I whisper, my voice rough with need and adoration.
I lower myself back to her, letting our bare skin brush for the first time. The heat of her against me sends a shiver down my spine, but I don’t rush. Instead, I press my lips to her throat, just beneath her jaw, where her pulse flutters wildly.
My kisses are slow and deliberate, a path of reverence down the column of her neck. I pause at the hollow of her throat, sucking lightly, leaving a faint mark of possession. Her head tilts back, granting me more access, and I take it greedily, trailing lower to her collarbone. I alternate between soft kisses and the light graze of my teeth, enough to make her shiver.
Her hands tangle in my hair, her nails scraping against my scalp as I continue my descent. I brush my lips over her sternum, then trace the curve of her breast with the tip of my tongue, savoring the way her breath catches. Her body arches into me, her back leaving the mattress as she silently begs for more.
“You’re mine,” I murmur against her skin, my voice barely above a whisper.
Her response is a soft moan, her fingers tightening in my hair as I worship every inch of her. My hands slide over her sides, memorizing the dip of her waist, the swell of her hips, the strength hidden beneath her softness. She’s all fire and vulnerability, and I’m utterly consumed by her.
“Matteo,” she gasps, her voice a mix of plea and demand.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to the swell of her stomach before moving back up to capture her lips.
When I finally rise to kiss her again, her lips are already parted, waiting for me. The kiss is deeper this time, hungrier, our bodies pressing together as if we can’t get close enough. Every touch, every brush of skin, every whispered word is a declaration: she is mine, and I am hers. Forever.
When I finally join us, it’s with a slowness that feels reverent, every movement deliberate and filled with meaning. I pause, savoring the exquisite sensation of us coming together, her warmth enveloping me completely. The world around us fades away until there’s nothing but her—her soft gasps, her trembling body, the way her eyes lock onto mine, full of trust and desire.
We move together in a rhythm that feels like it was written just for us, a language only we understand. Her body rises to meet mine, her hips arching in perfect harmony with my thrusts. Each connection is deliberate, a silent promise exchanged with every shift and press of our bodies. I’m acutely aware of every sensation—her nails tracing the ridges of muscle along my back, the way her thighs tighten around me, the soft, breathless sounds that escape her lips.
Her hands roam my body, as though she’s memorizing every inch of me. Her fingertips press into my shoulders, trailing fire as they slide down to grip my sides, pulling me even closer. The way she moves beneath me, the way her body yields to mine, drives me to the edge of control.
“Matteo,” she whispers, her voice breathless and raw, and the sound of my name on her lips sends a shiver through me.
Her release builds slowly, her body trembling as she climbs higher and higher. I watch her face, captivated by the way her brows draw together, her lips parting as soft cries spill from them. I feel her nails dig into my skin, the bite of them grounding me even as I’m lost in her.
When she finally lets go, it’s breathtaking. Her head falls back, her throat arching beautifully as a broken moan escapes her. The sheer trust and vulnerability in her gaze, the way her body quivers against mine, is more than I can bear.
I follow her over the edge, my own release crashing through me like a wave. My body tenses, my movements faltering as pleasure consumes me. I press my forehead to hers, our breaths mingling as I let out a deep groan, her name slipping from my lips like a prayer.
For a moment, we remain locked together, our bodies trembling, our hearts pounding in unison. The world feels distant, unreal, as we bask in the aftershocks of the connection we’ve just shared. I lower myself carefully, wrapping her in my arms, and press a kiss to her damp temple.
“You’re everything,” I murmur against her skin, my voice hoarse.
She responds with a soft hum, her fingers lazily tracing patterns along my back as we come down from the high together. The intimacy lingers in the air, wrapping around us like a protective cocoon. In this moment, nothing else matters but her.
“I love you,” she whispers. Her head rests on my chest, her fingers drawing idle patterns over my skin. “All of you. Our whole complicated, dangerous, beautiful family.”
I hold her closer, one hand still protectively covering our child. Outside, security teams patrol the grounds, ready for Mario’s next move. But here, in this moment, I let myself feel only gratitude. For my fierce daughter who survived his games once. For my brave wife who fights beside me. For this new life we’ve created together.
Whatever comes next, we face it as one.
As a family.