Chapter 35
Matteo
The Russo estate looms ahead of us, all old-world Italian grandeur and death-trap security systems. I feel Raven shift beside me in the passenger seat, her fingers tapping a nervous rhythm against her thigh.
This hint of uncertainty in a woman who held a knife to my throat two days ago is almost cute. I reach across the console, capturing her hand in mine, thumb brushing over the pink splint on her wrist.
After our bath and a long nap yesterday, I had the doctor come back and check on my Little Thief while she was awake. He replaced the compression bandage with a splint. Of course, Raven wouldn’t accept anything less than a pink one so it didn’t clash with her hair.
The doc took the color request in style. In fact, he was pretty fucking cool about everything until Raven hugged him and kissed his cheek. He looked at me with so much fear I worried he was going to piss himself.
But how could I be mad? He looked after the single most precious thing in my life; my Raven. Besides, I can’t very well punish people for touching her if she’s the one throwing herself at said people.
“Nervous, Little Thief?” I ask, pulling through the wrought iron gates that part for us like reluctant guardians.
She snorts, tossing that pink hair that still makes my cock twitch every time I look at it. “About what exactly? Meeting your family? Or dining with Mafia royalty?”
“We prefer ‘crime aristocracy,’” I deadpan, and when she laughs, I can’t help joining in.
I park between Remus’s Bentley and Enzo’s Aston Martin, killing the engine but making no move to exit. Instead, I turn to really look at her. The dress she’s chosen is the exact shade of her hair—a defiant, dusky pink that hugs every curve of her body as if it were painted on.
The neckline dips low enough to make my mouth water, and when she crosses her legs, the hem rises to reveal a stretch of thigh I want to bite.
“You look fucking edible,” I tell her, my voice rough.
Her eyes darken. “Save it for dessert, Firestarter.”
I laugh, leaning over to kiss her—a quick, possessive press of lips that leaves me wanting more. “They’re going to love you,” I promise.
“No, they won’t,” she counters, utterly practical. “But they’ll respect me, or I’ll cut off something they value.” She pats the left pocket in her dress.
How do I know this dress has pockets? For two hours after finding out, she wouldn’t shut up about it. She even tested how many knives the pocket can hold. Four and my lighter, just for the record.
Christ, I love this woman.
Enzo and Piper are waiting at the entrance when we reach the massive doors. My cousin is immaculate as always in a tailored suit. Piper stands beside him like a perfect political wife, though I catch the genuine smile she offers Raven.
“The lovebirds arrive,” Enzo drawls, his gaze cool as it sweeps over us.
Raven’s spine straightens beside me, her chin lifting in that way I’m learning means she’s about to start some shit. “Lorenzo,” she greets, her tone just this side of insolent. “I would say it’s nice to see you…” Trailing off, she lets the sentence die there.
Piper makes a choked sound, somewhere between horror and amusement. Enzo’s expression doesn’t change, but I catch the dangerous flicker in his eyes—the same look he gets before destroying someone’s career.
“Lee.” Piper steps forward, kissing her friend’s cheek. “You look amazing. Pink is definitely your color.”
“Thanks, Pipes.” Raven squeezes Piper’s hand, some silent communication passing between them. “You look amazing as always.” She slaps her friend’s ass for good measure.
We move inside, the grand hall opening before us with its cathedral ceilings and dark-paneled walls. Family portraits and artifacts line the space—generations of Russos watching us from gilded frames, judging, assessing.
Remus rises from where he’s been lounging in a leather chair, drink in hand. He approaches with the measured stride of a predator, stopping at a precise distance that somehow manages to be both polite and intimidating.
Even though my cousins saw Raven yesterday in my apartment, Remus is acting like this is the first time he’s seeing her.
“You must be the famous Raven,” he says, voice smooth as aged whiskey. His eyes move over her as if he’s cataloging weaknesses, assessing threat levels. “I’ve heard quite a bit about the woman who’s tamed our Matteo.”
“Nobody’s tamed him,” Raven volleys, meeting his gaze without flinching. “I like him wild.”
I slide my arm around her waist, pulling her closer. The move is instinctive—protective and possessive in equal measure. Remus notices, his mouth curving into a knowing smirk.
“Remus Russo,” he introduces himself, extending his hand. “Don of the family. Welcome to our home.”
Raven takes his hand without hesitation. “Lena Raven Carter. But everyone calls me Raven.”
“And what should I call you?” Remus asks, still holding her hand a beat too long.
“Whatever you want,” she shrugs. “As long as it’s with respect.”
A laugh explodes from the doorway, and Rafe saunters in. “Oh, she’s perfect,” he declares, clapping me on the shoulder hard enough to jostle me. “No wonder you’re so whipped, cousin.”
“I’ll whip you if you keep talking,” I reply mildly, but there’s an edge to it that makes his grin widen.
“Rafe Russo.” He turns to Raven with an exaggerated bow. “The handsome cousin. The charming one. The—”
“The modest one, clearly,” Raven interrupts, and I feel a surge of pride at how easily she handles him.
Rafe laughs again, delighted. “I like her already. Much more fun than Piper. No offense,” he adds with a nod toward my cousin’s wife.
“Some taken,” Piper replies dryly.
Raven shakes her head and laughs. “You only say that because you don’t know her.” Pausing, she winks at her friend. “Pipes’ tons of fun.”
Remus gestures toward the dining room. “Shall we? Dinner’s waiting.”
The Russo dining room could double as a war room. Dark wood panels line the walls, adorned with paintings of Italian landscapes and family ancestors who look like they’d murder you for using the wrong fork.
Remus sits at the head, with Enzo and Piper to his right. Raven and I sit across from them, and Rafe takes his seat at the other end. The silence that falls is heavy with unspoken words and the weight of recent events.
“Before we begin,” Remus says, raising his glass, “to Vito and Kayla. May their killers suffer long before they die.”
I shouldn’t be surprised by the toast, but I am. Sure, my cousins knew of Vito and Kayla, even met them multiple times. But it’s not as if they knew each other.
Everyone raises their glasses, but I notice Raven’s hesitation, the way her knuckles whiten around her stem. I cover her hand with mine beneath the table.
“Matteo,” Enzo begins, his tone shifting to something almost resembling concern, “let us know if you need our help with—”
“It’s handled,” I cut him off. “Everything’s arranged. Their families want private services without our involvement, which I’ve paid for.”
I took care of most of this while Raven slept after I accidentally caused her concussion. Thanks to the Russo reputation, a lot of favors and money, I’ve had everything sped up so the families can get closure.
“Let’s not discuss it further,” I add. “What’s done is done. Neither of them would like knowing we were discussing their deaths instead of what caused it.”
Raven’s thumb strokes the inside of my wrist, a silent offering of support that means more than any words could. I squeeze her thigh in response, feeling her lean subtly into my touch.
The first course arrives. A delicate arrangement of seafood and vegetables that looks too pretty to eat. The conversation shifts to lighter topics as we work our way through it, then a pasta course that has Raven moaning in a way that makes me want to clear the table and fuck her right there.
“So, Raven,” Rafe says, refilling her wineglass as the main course is served. “Has my cousin groveled properly for the Tony incident yet? Because if not, I’d be happy to offer some suggestions. I’m thinking public humiliation, maybe some expensive jewelry…”
I shoot him a glare, but Raven’s laugh cuts through the tension.
“He’s made it up to me,” she says with a wicked smile that makes my blood heat. “And I plan on forgiving him fully on our twenty-seventh anniversary.”
This causes everyone to roar with laughter. The wine flows freely as we move through the courses. Raven, to my surprise and pride, holds her own in every conversation.
She parries Remus’s subtle interrogations, matches Rafe’s quick wit, and somehow draws Piper into the conversation. Usually, she speaks only when spoken to. But not with Raven present.
We’ve just finished the last course before dessert when Raven looks at Enzo and smirks wickedly. Fuck, this can’t be good.
“You know, Lorenzo,” she says, swirling wine in her glass with a casualness that doesn’t match her tone. “I’ve been thinking about something. You’re the reason Rafe and Matteo have seen Piper blow you and have an orgasm, and I’m not happy about that.”
The table goes silent. Piper freezes, her face draining of color as her gaze drops to her plate. Enzo’s expression doesn’t change, but I feel the temperature in the room drop ten degrees.
“Excuse me?” His voice is soft, lethal.
“No, that’s my entire point,” Raven volleys. “When you did that fucked-up interview with my best friend, you had Matteo watch. Now I have to live knowing that my Firestarter has seen my BFF like that. That’s not fair.”
Piper makes a strangled sound. “Lee—”
“What?” Raven shrugs, but there’s nothing casual about the set of her jaw. “I’m just making conversation.”
Rafe chokes on his wine, coughing to hide what sounds suspiciously like laughter. Remus’s eyebrow arches so high it nearly disappears into his hairline, his gaze flicking between Enzo and me with new interest.
I can’t help the proud smirk that tugs at my lips. My cousin’s stillness is more threatening than any movement could be, his eyes gone flat and cold as he stares at Raven.
“You should be careful about the conversations you start,” he says quietly. “Some have consequences you might not anticipate.”
“I’m not afraid of consequences,” Raven replies, meeting his gaze. “But I am protective of what’s mine. Just like you.”
The understanding that passes between them is almost tangible—a mutual recognition of the possessive instinct that drives us all. Enzo’s mouth quirks, just slightly, and I realize with some surprise that he might actually approve of her.
Before he can respond, my phone buzzes. I check it, scanning the message with growing tension.
“Gia’s out of surgery and awake,” I announce, sliding the phone back into my pocket. “She’s asking for me.”
The mood shifts instantly, playful banter replaced by the reality of our situation. Remus straightens, all business now. “Go,” he says simply.