Chapter 36
Matteo
We’re barely out the door before Raven’s fingers slip into mine, her pace matching mine as we head for the car. I can feel her watching me, reading me.
“You’re tense,” she says once we’re buckled in, her voice softer than the razor-edged banter from earlier. “More than usual.”
I pull through the gates, jaw locked so tightly it aches. “Gia being awake means answers,” I say, staring straight ahead. “But it also means questions I don’t like.”
Raven studies me, her thumb brushing the back of my hand. “Like what?”
That’s the million-dollar fucking question, isn’t it? None of this feels right. It’s… it doesn’t make any fucking sense. I’ve seen both Kayla and Vito fight. Getting the jump on one of them would be impressive. Both of them together… an impossibility.
Yet… it’s Gia that survives. The one without training.
“It just doesn’t add up,” I reply. “Do you remember what Gia whispered to you?”
Raven shakes her head. “No. I’m sorry, Matteo. I don’t remember her saying anything at all.”
I place my hand on her thigh and squeeze gently. “It’s okay,” I say, hating how frustrated that makes me feel.
Forty minutes later we’re almost at the hospital, and I let out a sigh of relief when the building comes into view. “Raven,” I say, changing gear as I take a left turn.
“Mhmm?”
“Gia will probably insist on talking with me alone,” I admit.
“Oh?”
Nodding, I continue. “I need you to get upset about that.”
“Wait… what’s going on?” she demands.
I explain about the crush I know Gia’s had for a while now. “We fucked once or twice before the explosion last year. She wanted more, but I didn’t. Then after the explosion, she became… needy. Wait, that’s not the right word. She wanted to take care of me.”
Raven scoffs. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she seethes.
As I finish parking, I turn to Raven. “I haven’t touched her or anything since back then. And I’ve never given her reason to think anything more would come of—”
“Stop,” Raven says. “I’m not annoyed about your past, Firestarter. On the night of Freaky Friday, Gia said something… she, umm… oh yeah. She kind of hinted that we weren’t as serious as I thought or something since we didn’t live together.”
“What?”
“Yeah, I didn’t think much of it at the time, but now I think…” she pauses momentarily, her brows furrowed in concentration. “I think she was testing me. Either that, or maybe relieved.”
Reaching for Raven, I pull her onto my lap, turning her so she’s straddling me. I place two fingers under her chin and lift until she’s meeting my gaze.
“There’s no one else for me than you, Little Thief. Do you understand?” My tone’s low and husky.
She nods.
“Use your words,” I demand.
Raven licks her lips and winds her arms around me, finding the small hairs at the back of my neck. “I understand,” she rasps. “And I promise to act upset when you kick me out of her room.”
“If,” I correct.
She shakes her head. “No. You need to kick me out even if she doesn’t demand it,” she clarifies. “If you suspect her of something, answers are more important than my pride.”
Leaning forward, she kisses the tip of my nose.
“And thank you for telling me,” she grins. “You just earned yourself a sexual favor of my choosing.”
Together, we get out of the car and walk into the hospital. The hallways always remind me of death. Sterile white surfaces, the antiseptic smell that never quite masks the underlying scent of decay.
Fluorescent lights that drain the color from everything—including Raven’s pink hair, which looks almost ghostly under the harsh illumination. Her hand grips mine as we follow the doctor through the maze of corridors, her fingers tense against my palm.
Despite the pink splint on her wrist, her grip is strong. She hasn’t let go since we left the car, as if she’s afraid I might disappear if she releases me. I don’t mind. After nearly losing her at the Leone Room, I’m not eager for distance either.
“Mr. Russo,” the doctor says, stopping outside a consultation room. He’s older, with silver at his temples and the practiced neutrality of someone who’s seen too much trauma to be affected by it anymore. “Before you see Ms. Gia, there are some… irregularities I think you should be aware of.”
I feel Raven stiffen beside me. “What kind of irregularities?” I ask, keeping my voice flat.
The doctor gestures us into the room, closing the door behind us with a soft click that feels too final. “The stab wounds on Ms. Gia’s torso are consistent with a frontal attack.”
He pulls up images on a tablet, showing me wounds that look like angry red mouths across Gia’s stomach.
“But there are marks on her forearms that don’t fit defensive positioning. They resemble scratch wounds, which are typically sustained by the person doing the attacking, not the one being attacked.”
“I see,” I say carefully. “Are you sure, Doctor?”
“Yes,” he replies.
A sense of dread settles in my gut. “Are you suggesting she was fighting someone before being stabbed?”
The doctor’s expression remains neutral, but his eyes tell me everything I need to know. “I’m simply stating the medical facts, Mr. Russo. The wounds tell a story of two different encounters, possibly with two different assailants. Or…” He doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t need to.
“Thank you, Doctor. We’ll speak with her now.”
“One more thing,” he says, stopping me as I was just about to leave. “We matched the DNA to that under the fingernails of…”
I barely register anything as he explains they found Gia’s DNA under Kayla’s fingernails. And when he gets to the part about Gia’s stab wounds seeming almost purposeful, I’m pretty sure I’m not hearing him correctly.
“What do you mean?” I snarl.
He clears his throat. “Every stab wound looks strategic. Sure, she lost a lot of blood and had to be stitched back up. But that’s it, Matteo. No other damage. That in itself seems—”
“Wrong,” Raven breathes. As the doctor leaves, Raven turns to me, her eyes wide with realization. “Matteo, if Gia was fighting with Kayla—”
“Then she might be the one who killed her,” I finish, the pieces clicking into place with sickening precision. “And Vito might have walked in on it.”
“That would explain why someone like Vito got taken by surprise,” Raven says, her mind clearly racing along the same tracks as mine. “He wouldn’t have seen Gia as a threat.”
I brush my thumb across her cheek, admiring how quickly she’s connecting the dots. “This changes our approach,” I murmur. “If she’s involved—”
“She’ll try to play the victim,” Raven nods. “She’ll want your protection, your sympathy.”
“And I’ll give it to her,” I say, letting a cold smile touch my lips. “Until I know exactly what happened.”
While we make our way to Gia’s room, we talk about how to handle this—Raven suggesting I play along with whatever story Gia offers while she watches for inconsistencies from the hallway. By the time we reach the hospital room, we’re in perfect agreement about our strategy.
Gia looks small and broken in the hospital bed, her normally vibrant presence diminished by the white sheets and the bandages visible beneath her gown. Her skin is pale, making the bruising around her eyes stand out in violent purple blooms.
Her dark hair spills across the pillow like an oil slick. Her eyes flicker open as we enter, focusing first on me with a look of desperate relief that quickly shifts to wariness when she spots Raven.
“Matteo,” she whispers, her voice cracking. “You came.”
“Of course I came.” I move to her bedside, feeling Raven’s presence like a heat at my back. “How are you feeling?”
Gia’s gaze darts to Raven again, then back to me. “Could we… could we talk alone? Please?”
I feel rather than see Raven’s tension, the subtle shift in her posture that telegraphs her reluctance.
Knowing I have to play this the right way, I say, “Go away.” Without looking back at my Little Thief. “I need time alone with Gia.”
Gia’s beam tells me that Raven’s probably looking pissed right now, but I don’t turn to watch either. Ignoring her is harder than I thought it would be. A part of me longs to grab Gia’s throat and squeeze until she tells me the truth. Just so I can get Raven back at my side.
Once the door closes behind her, Gia visibly relaxes, her shoulders sagging against the pillows. “Thank you,” she breathes. “I couldn’t… not with her here. It’s too much.”
“Tell me what happened, Gia,” I say, taking her hand in mine, noting how her fingers tremble. “Who did this to you?”
Her eyes well with tears that spill over her cheeks in perfect tracks.
“I didn’t see,” she whispers. “It was so fast, Matteo. One minute I was with Kayla backstage, and the next…” She shudders.
“There was so much blood. I tried to help her. I was so scared. And… then… I felt this pain in my stomach.”
I nod, keeping my expression concerned while my mind catalogs each inconsistency. If she didn’t see her attacker, how did she get defensive wounds on her arms? If she was trying to help Kayla, why was her DNA found under Kayla’s fingernails?
“What about Vito?” I prompt gently. “Did you see what happened to him?”
A flicker—there, just for an instant—something like calculation crosses her face before it’s swallowed by more tears. “No, I was already hurt by then. I just heard… a shot. And then nothing until I woke up here.”
Another lie. Vito was killed execution-style, the back of his head blown off. He would have been facing his killer, which means Gia would have seen everything if she was conscious.
“I’ve got you,” I assure her, squeezing her hand.
“Promise me,” she pleads, fingers clutching at mine with desperate strength. “Promise you’ll protect me, Matteo. I don’t have anyone else. I’ve always… you know I’ve always loved you. Even after everything.”
The confession hangs between us, and I let my face soften, as if her words have reached some part of me I keep hidden. “I know,” I say, voice dropping to a gentle murmur. “And I’ll take care of you, Gia. I promise.”