Chapter 26
Raven
I’m aware I’m gawking, but I can’t stop it. He’s saying it so… casually. Like it’s nothing. “I’m sorry,” I mutter, unsure what else I can say. “That’s awful.”
He shrugs, but the casualness feels forced. “I was the only survivor. Dad pushed me out a window before the flames took him. My mom was already dead.”
The information hits me like a physical blow. I think about twelve-year-old Matteo, watching his home burn with his parents inside, and something in my chest aches.
“Is that how you got the scars?” I ask softly, gesturing vaguely toward the silvery marks visible on his neck.
“Some of them.” His finger traces an unconscious pattern on the tablecloth. “My uncle took me in after and made sure I had everything I needed for—”
“To grow up and live?” I ask, interrupting him.
“That, and to get my revenge,” he states simply.
Well… okay then. “And umm… did you? Get revenge, I mean?”
His smile is sharp and cold. “Every single one of the Greco scum is dead. Their families too.” He clears his throat. “Well, almost. The only one I left alive was the youngest boy. He wasn’t home, and I saw no reason to chase him down.”
The matter-of-fact way he says it sends a chill down my spine, a stark reminder of exactly who I’m sitting across from. This isn’t just dinner—it’s a glimpse behind the curtain of who Matteo truly is.
I should be horrified. I should be plotting my escape. Instead, I find myself reaching across the table to cover his hand with mine. “Good,” I say, meaning it. “I think I’d want revenge if someone killed my parents.”
A shiver runs down my spine at the thought.
“Actually, I know I would,” I correct. “The shit that was done to Leo was enough to awaken whatever darkness lives inside me. If someone had…” I’m unable to finish the sentence.
If someone killed my family, I don’t think I’d have a shred of humanity left. I’d hunt the fuckers down. Or at least I’d fantasize about it. A lot. So no, I’m not judging or condemning Matteo for doing whatever he did.
Something flashes in his eye—surprise, maybe—before his expression softens. He turns his hand to capture mine, thumb stroking across my knuckles in a gesture so gentle it makes my breath catch.
“Show me,” he blurts.
“Show you what?”
“How to pick a lock. Show me your dad’s lesson.”
I laugh, surprised. “Here? Now?”
“Why not?”
I shake my head, amused by his request, but reach for the butter knife, anyway. “Okay, so the principle is simple. You need tension and manipulation.” I hold the knife like a tension wrench. “You apply pressure here while using something else to manipulate the pins inside.”
As I demonstrate with the knife and a coffee stirrer, Matteo watches with genuine interest, asking questions and even laughing when I tell him about teenage me using these skills to break into the school’s swimming pool at midnight.
By the time we finish dessert, I’ve moved to his side of the booth, our shoulders touching as I continue explaining different lock mechanisms. His arm drapes casually behind me, and I lean into him.
This feels dangerous in a completely different way—not the fear of violence or reprisal, but the danger of actually liking the man whose world I’ve been forced into.
Of forgetting who and what he is because his laugh makes my stomach flip and his hand feels right against the small of my back. Of… not giving two shits who he is apart from mine. That’s who Matteo’s becoming. Mine.
“You’re full of surprises, Little Thief,” he murmurs, close enough that I can feel his breath on my neck.
I turn to respond and find his face inches from mine, his gaze dropping to my lips with unmistakable intent. My heartbeat quickens, anticipation curling low in my belly.
But before he can close the distance, the restaurant door opens, admitting a group of men in suits and women in scraps of fabric. Matteo tenses immediately, his body shifting from relaxed to guarded in an instant.
His arm tightens around me, drawing me closer to his side as his attention fixes on the newcomers. “This means Tony’s here,” he murmurs against my ear, the intimacy of the gesture now a cover for something else.
“Tony?” I whisper, not understanding.
Matteo nods. “My contact. It’s someone I’ve been waiting for.”
Realization dawns, cold and sobering. This isn’t a date. This was never a date; it’s work. The intimacy, the personal conversations, the shared dessert were all just a setup for this moment.
I pull away from him slightly, something hard and hurt forming in my chest. “So that’s what this is,” I say, unable to keep the edge from my voice. “A… meet and fucking greet.”
Matteo’s brow furrows. “What did you think it was?”
I want to say a date, but the word sticks in my throat, humiliation burning hot across my cheeks. Of course, he wouldn’t take me on a real date. I’m a tool, an asset, a means to an end.
But he said he loves me. That he’s in love with me. What the actual fuck?
“Nothing,” I snap, shifting further away. “I didn’t think it was anything.”
“Raven—”
“No, it’s fine.” I force a smile that feels like broken glass. “I’m your spy, right? So what do you need me to do?”
His jaw tightens at my tone. “This isn’t what you think.”
“Isn’t it?” I raise an eyebrow, channeling hurt into anger because it’s safer. “Let me guess, you just happened to bring me to this restaurant on the night your contact would be here? What an amazing coincidence.”
“It’s not—”
“Save it,” I cut him off, my voice low but sharp. “I’m not stupid, Matteo. Just tell me what you need me to do. That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?”
Something flickers across his face—frustration, maybe regret—but it’s gone before I can identify it. His expression hardens, shifting back to the Matteo who threatens and controls rather than the one who shared dessert and listened to stories about my family.
“Fine,” he says coolly. “I need you to go to the ladies’ room. My contact is waiting for you there. Take whatever Tony gives you and come straight back here.”
I slide out of the booth without another word, grabbing my clutch and straightening my skirt. The warm, intimate evening lies in shards around us, so I’m extra proud of myself for not asking what the hell Tony’s doing in the ladies’ room.
Stupid, stupid Raven. This isn’t a romance novel. There’s no beauty taming the beast here. There’s just a monster and his useful pet thief, playing whatever role she needs to stay alive.
I toss my hair and square my shoulders, ready to perform once more.
In the bathroom, I touch up my lipstick, dabbing at the corner of my mouth where a smudge threatens to ruin my carefully constructed image. And wouldn’t that just be the biggest travesty of the evening.
The door swings open behind me, and my eyes meet the newcomer’s in the mirror—hers dark and assessing, mine widening slightly in surprise.
She’s tall and willowy with glossy chestnut hair falling in perfect waves to her mid-back, cheekbones that could cut glass, and lips painted the exact color of fresh blood.
“So you’re the new pussy,” she says, her voice honey-coated poison as she applies a fresh coat of lipstick. “I expected… more.”
I arch an eyebrow, feeling my hackles rise. “And you are?”
“Antonia. But you can call me Tony.” She says it like I should recognize the name, like it should mean something to me. When I don’t react, a smirk tugs at her perfect mouth. “Matteo didn’t tell you about me? Interesting.”
“Should he have?” I cap my lipstick with more force than necessary.
She steps closer, invading my space with a cloud of expensive perfume. “He’ll eat you alive and spit out the bones.”
I arch my eyebrow. “He ate me this morning, and if I ever let him do it again, I’ll make him fucking choke on my pussy.”
Her laugh is musical. “Meow.”
I meet her gaze again, refusing to step back even as she looms over me. “Sounds like someone’s projecting. Did he chew you up and spit you out, Tony?”
For one heart-stopping second, I think she might slap me. Her hand twitches at her side, fingers curling into a loose fist. I slide one hand into my clutch, palming the knife just in case.
Then she laughs—loud and genuine, the sound bouncing off marble walls. “You’ve got a spine after all.” Her posture relaxes, the predatory stance melting into something almost friendly. “Good.”
I blink, thrown completely off-balance by her sudden shift. “What the actual fuck?”
She digs into her clutch and pulls out a sealed envelope. “Give this to him.”
“What is it?” I ask, not reaching for the envelope.
“Above your pay grade, blondie.” She winks.
I finally take the envelope, not returning the wave she gives me as she leaves. When the bathroom door swings shut behind her, I turn back to the mirror and stare at my reflection, at the envelope in my hand.
The way she spoke about Matteo, the casual intimacy in her voice, the certainty in her assessment of him—they’ve been intimate. Okay, maybe they haven’t had sex. But she knows him. And he sent me to meet her. I’ll make him fucking pay for this.
When I’m almost back at the table, Matteo’s head turns in my direction as he watches me approach, his face a perfect mask that gives away nothing.
I slide into my seat and slap the envelope onto the table between us, forcing my lips into a smile that feels like broken glass slicing my face.
“Here you go.” My voice sounds normal, almost bored, which is a fucking miracle considering the volcano erupting inside me.
“Thank you,” he says. I watch his hand as he takes the envelope, making sure his fingers brush mine for a second.
I reach for my wine, draining the glass in one long swallow. The alcohol burns down my throat, fueling the fire in my chest.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his eye boring into mine.
“Never better,” I chirp.
Something flickers across his face. Surprise? Or maybe concern? Either way, it’s gone before I can be sure. And if the look resurfaces while he pays or during the drive back to my place, I don’t see it. Probably because I’m busy ignoring him.
“I’ll walk you up,” he says when the car stops in front of my building. Not a question. Not an offer. Just another command.
Reaching my door, I fumble with my key, hyperaware of his presence behind me, the heat of his body close enough to feel but not touch. When the lock clicks, I push the door open and turn to face him, placing one hand on his chest to stop him from following me inside.
“Goodnight, Matteo.” My voice comes out softer than intended, almost vulnerable. I hate it.
He leans down, his lips aiming for mine, and I turn my head at the last second so they land on my cheek instead.
I feel him stiffen, his breath warm against my skin. “Raven—”
“I said goodnight,” I snip, firmer this time as I step backwards into my apartment. The door closes between us with a finality that’s deeply satisfying, the lock engaging with a decisive click.
The moment I’m alone, my composure shatters like thin ice under a hammer. I let out a scream that would shatter the windows if I were a paranormal creature born from the need for revenge.
My reality is much sadder and a lot more pathetic. I’m not all-powerful. I’m not even as playful or happy-go-lucky as I always make people believe.
I’m… well… fuck. I’m just me. Lena Raven Carter. The woman who’s good enough for a fun time, but the one no one ever keeps around.
If I’m being honest with myself, this is why I have random sex and steal from the men I’ve fucked. It’s my shield. My buffer. My way of pretending I’m in charge. But I’m not.
Once upon a time, I was Leo’s favorite person. But then he met Ollie. I’ve had other friends apart from Piper, but they’ve all settled down. Not me though. This is why I keep moving. If you always stay ahead and leave first, you don’t get let down.
You don’t get… abandoned.