Chapter 5
Matteo
The Leone Room feels different as I stalk through the club floor, past the ongoing debauchery that never ends.
This place used to be just another family asset, another bullet point on the Russo portfolio. Now it’s mine. My playground. My den of fire where I watch people burn through money, dignity, and each other.
“Hi Matteo,” Gia purrs, stepping into my line of sight before I’m across the room.
I nod at her but don’t slow down or stop to small talk.
The private office waits at the end of the hallway and up a flight of stairs, sealed off from the main floor. I push it open without knocking. Why would I knock when every inch of this building answers to me.
Inside, my cousins are already waiting. Remus sits at the head of the table, back straight as a ruler, shoulders squared beneath his impeccable suit. Rafe lounges opposite him, fingers steepled beneath his chin.
Between them, a tablet props against a crystal decanter, Enzo’s face pixelated but unmistakable. Even through the digital distance, his gaze cuts sharp and measured.
“Nice of you to join us,” Remus greets, his voice carrying that dangerous softness that most mistake for calm.
“I’m a nice person.” I shrug, dropping into a chair and sprawling my legs out. “Ask anyone.”
“We’re not here to discuss your personality,” Enzo states through the screen.
“No.” I crack my neck, feeling the tension before letting it settle back into my muscles. “We’re here to discuss how someone tried to gut me outside my own fucking building.”
Remus leans forward, clasping his hands on the polished table surface. “Tell us exactly what happened.”
I run through the details, leaving out Raven as much as possible. No need for them to know about her yet. Just that I had company, that we were ambushed when she left, that I took care of the problem with extreme fucking prejudice.
“They were waiting,” I explain, jaw tightening as I recall the sight of hands on her throat. “They grabbed the woman as soon as she exited the building.”
“Go on,” Remus says.
“They knew I had company,” I add. “Instead of waiting for me, they went for her specifically.”
Although I know I should, I don’t mention the tattoos. It’s not that I don’t trust the family. I do, implicitly. But this is personal. Mine. The others can chase leaks and logistics—I’m hunting the hand that drew that circle.
Remus’s knuckles whiten as he presses them against the table. “This is the second attack in just as many weeks. Almost two weeks ago, it was the shipment. And now this. And let’s not forget the attack from last year.”
“I remember that one clearer than I see with just one eye,” I remark dryly, the scar tissue on my face tingling with phantom heat.
No one laughs. Not that I expected them to. The memory of the bomb that took my eye and left half my face a cartography of burn scars—it’s not something any of us find particularly fucking hilarious.
“Someone’s feeding information,” Rafe states the obvious, leaning forward. “About your movements, your business, your… guests.”
“Three attacks, three different approaches,” Enzo adds from the screen. “The bomb was distant. The hit on the shipment was crude but effective. This ambush was personal, close-range.”
“Testing methods,” I conclude, fury settling cold and hard in my gut. “Finding what works.”
“The common thread is you,” Remus points out, the words heavy with accusation. “And access to information that should be private.”
I go still, the way I do when rage starts building behind my ribs like backdraft waiting for oxygen. “They knew my schedule,” I agree, voice dropping lower. “That means it has to be someone with access to the club.”
My hand drifts to my pocket automatically, seeking the comforting weight of my lighter—but it’s not there. The absence hits fresh again, a small betrayal layered on top of bigger ones.
“The leak is likely someone close,” Enzo says, his voice carrying through the tablet speakers. “Someone who feels untouchable.”
The word lands heavy. The circle burned into my memory, the same one inked on those dead bastards’ wrists. Whoever drew it thinks they’re untouchable. We’ll see.
I stare at the space where my lighter should be, the emptiness in my pocket echoing the hollowness behind my missing eye. Both taken from me. Both leaving wounds that don’t close right.
“We need to flush them out,” Remus commands. “Find out who’s talking.”
I roll my shoulders. “I’ll gut every last person in my organization if I have to,” I promise, the words soft but carrying the weight of absolute certainty.
“Brute force isn’t always the answer,” Rafe interjects, his tone smoother than mine could ever be. “What you need is subtlety.”
“I can be subtle,” I growl, making Rafe’s eyebrow lift in silent challenge.
“What you need is someone unassuming,” he continues with a dry laugh. “Someone pretty enough to distract your men into talking. Someone who can listen where you can’t.”
The idea hangs in the air, taking shape like smoke curling toward a ceiling.
“Someone nobody would suspect,” Enzo adds thoughtfully.
Remus nods slowly, his eyes never leaving my face. “A spy,” he summarizes. “Someone who can get close without raising alarms.”
I feel my lips curl into something between a smile and a snarl. “You want me to hire a spy to watch my own people?”
“I want you to survive,” Remus corrects, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Find someone.”
My jaw flexes beneath the tattoos that crawl up my neck. “Fine,” I agree, already turning possibilities over in my mind. Someone pretty. Someone smart. Someone who owes me.
Instead of sitting around and debating candidates, Remus announces that he’ll leave it to me. Then he leaves, his footsteps heavy with authority as he slips through the door. Enzo’s digital face blinks out a moment later, the screen going black like an eye closing.
It leaves just me and Rafe in the room, the silence between us thick with unspoken questions. I watch my cousin’s reflection on the tablet screen, his expression calculating as he leans back in his chair.
He’s thinking—always fucking thinking. That’s what makes him dangerous. “You already have someone in mind,” Rafe observes, voice casual like he’s commenting on the weather instead of reading me like an open book.
I don’t answer immediately. Instead, I push away from the table and move toward the glass overlooking the club floor below.
Bartenders stocking bottles, dancers warming up on the side stage, early patrons already settling into corner booths with drinks that cost more than most people make in a day.
My kingdom of controlled chaos and never ending sin.
“Don’t pretend you don’t hear me,” Rafe grunts, coming to stand beside me at the glass. “I know that look.”
“What look?” I ask innocently.
“The one where you’ve already set the fire and you’re just waiting for everyone else to smell the smoke.” His eyes track a blonde waitress moving across the floor below, trays balanced on her palms.
Not her. Not my blonde thief. But similar enough to twist something in my gut.
“I do,” I finally admit, the confession burning less than I expected.
Rafe waits. Patient fucker.
“Holston owes me a favor,” I say, more to myself than to him, watching the dancers below begin their routines. Bodies bending, twisting, selling the illusion of availability. “And his employee owes me for the lighter she stole.”
Rafe’s head snaps toward me, interest sharpening his features. “Someone stole from you? And got away with it?” The disbelief in his voice would be insulting if it wasn’t so justified. Nobody steals from a Russo. Nobody steals from me and walks away with all their body parts intact.
Yet she did.
Good thing I know for a fact—after studying, biting, and licking every inch of her delicious naked body—that she doesn’t have a black circle tattoo. Because if someone else told me about the theft and attack happening the way it did, I’m not sure I’d believe it was a coincidence.
“The woman from last night,” I elaborate, letting the anger simmer rather than boil over. “She ran the Holston PR event I attended to help Holston out with something. She was sexy as sin, smart enough to notice details, and bold enough to steal from me right under my nose.”
“And you let her live?” Rafe’s eyebrow arches, a rare display of genuine surprise.
I crack my neck, feeling the tension settle into my shoulders. “I didn’t say that was the plan long term.”
“I see,” he says. “So you’re going to use her. The thief becomes the spy.”
Below us, a cocktail waitress drops a tray, glass shattering across the floor. From here, it’s silent—just pretty destruction without the sound.
“She’s perfect,” I continue, gaze fixed on the scene below. “Working for a man who can’t refuse me. Has the skills for the job. And already has my attention.”
“Your attention or your vengeance?” Rafe questions, studying my profile.
I smile, feeling the scars pull tight across my cheek. “Is there a difference?”
He considers this, head tilting slightly. “With you? Probably not.” There’s a note of something like a warning in his voice. “Just remember what we need. Information. A mole hunt. Not a blood feud.”
“I can multitask,” I retort.
Rafe sighs, checking his watch. “I have a meeting uptown. Keep me updated on your… recruitment efforts.”
I nod once, still watching the floor below as he leaves. The door closes behind him with a soft click, leaving me alone with the one-way mirror and the plans taking shape in my mind.
Raven Carter; the blonde who moved through the Parkview like she owned it, who looked at my scars without flinching, who rode my cock like she was born for it, who stole my father’s lighter from under my nose while I was still washing her taste from my skin.
She’s going to belong to me now. She just doesn’t know it yet.
I pull out my phone, find Holston’s number in my contacts. He answers on the first ring.
“Matteo,” he greets, voice carefully neutral. “What can I do for you?”
“That favor you owe me,” I state, watching a dancer below wrap herself around a pole, spinning in controlled descent. “I’m calling it in.”
“Anything,” he agrees too quickly, fear thinning his voice.
“Your employee Raven Carter.”
“What about her?” he asks, confusion clear in his tone. “Did she do something—”
“I want her,” I interrupt him brusquely.
There’s a pause, just long enough to tell me he’s surprised. “She’s one of my best,” he begins, caution evident. “She works multiple accounts, Matteo. I can’t just—”
“I didn’t ask for your opinion,” I cut him off. “I’m telling you what’s happening. She’s going to help me with something. And don’t worry, I’ll pay. Your favor isn’t going to ruin your company. I just need you on board and to smooth things over with her when the time comes.”
“Of course,” he backtracks immediately. “I’ll inform her—”
“No.” My voice drops lower as I interrupt him yet again. “I’ll handle that part personally. You just set up a meeting for Monday.”
“I-I can’t do that,” he stutters. “She has a week’s vacation, and I believe she’s out of town.”
For fuck’s sake. “Holston,” I growl angrily. “Get it fucking done, or I’ll undo what I did for you Friday night. Your choice.”
“B-but…” He trails off and I hear his resigned sigh. “Fine.”
“On second thought,” I say, smiling to myself. Now that I know he’ll do what I say, I can wait. “Set it up for a week from Monday, when she’s back. And don’t tell anyone the meeting is with me.”
“S-sure.”
“Oh, and Holston, email me her employee file. I want to know everything there is to know about Raven Carter.”
I end the call without another word, pocketing the phone as I turn from the window. My reflection catches in the glass—scarred face, eyepatch, single eye burning with purpose. Behind me, the club continues its preparations, unaware of the plans being made above their heads.
The thief who ran from my bed will become my eyes and ears, whether she wants to or not. She’ll help me find whoever’s feeding information to my enemies. That is, if she wants to continue living after stealing from me.