Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Matteo
Eight Years Ago
I’m seventeen.
One more week till eighteen.
One more week till I’m supposed to be a man when I don’t even know how to fucking breathe yet.
It already feels as if life’s got its boot jammed against my throat, pressing down harder every time I try to lift my head. I’m bleeding out slowly… one dream at a time.
The weight of it sinks into my bones, tattoos itself into every fucked-up inch of me. Heavy in my chest. Heavy in my blood. Like every scar I’ve seen, every bruise I’ve earned, is being sewn into my skin with wire instead of thread.
When I’m lying next to Emery, the world stops.
The weight doesn’t vanish, it’s still pressing on me, but it freezes.
The universe hands me one goddamn second to feel.
To breathe. To exist. To remember I’m not just the machine my father made me into.
I’m more than the weapon. I’m still human. At least with her.
For this second, I’m not his heir, his weapon, or his fucking puppet. I’m just a seventeen-year-old kid. A kid who still wants things he’s not supposed to want.
She smells of wildflowers and midnight… the kind of scent that makes you believe in something again.
The only thing worth living for. Peace in the middle of a war zone.
She’s a lullaby in a world that never stops screaming, pulling me into something softer.
Something real. Something I never thought I’d ever get.
And for just this moment, I let myself pretend. I pretend I’m not drowning in the mess my father made of me. I pretend I’m not bound to a life I can never escape.
I pretend that maybe I can just be me for a second. A boy who loves a girl who makes the noise in his head a little quieter. A girl who makes every bit of the pain, the darkness, the brokenness, a little less sharp.
But I know it won’t last.
Because a love this fierce… this pure… it isn’t meant for someone like me.
Emery’s head is resting on my chest, her hair moving with the wind. The stars above us stretch on forever, like they were thrown across the sky just for us.
For once, the world isn’t fucking screaming. It’s not bleeding or burning. There’s no blood on my hands, no ghosts clawing at my conscience. Just the sound of crickets, the soft rustle of leaves, and the rhythm of her breath against my skin.
I close my eyes for a second, letting myself believe it’s real, that I’m not trapped in the chaos I’ve always known.
It’s so peaceful.
Peaceful in a way that makes me wish I could stay here forever.
I draw her closer, wrapping my arm around her, the last thread holding me together. I need her more than air. More than I’ll ever admit, even to myself. Her warmth sinks into my skin, quiet and steady, and for a moment, I wonder if she’s the only reason I’m still standing.
Emery’s so goddamn beautiful it’s suffocating—just looking at her feels like drowning.
Reaching for something you already know you’ll lose, but you reach anyway.
Desperate. Hoping she won’t slip through your fingers.
It’s in the way her body fits against mine, seamless, like she was built for this. For me.
The steady rise and fall of her breath calms something wild in me, like maybe the storm in my chest can finally go quiet. And when her eyes flutter shut, it’s not the big moments that break me. It’s the quiet ones. The little things. They wreck me completely.
The way her lashes kiss her cheeks. The tiny mole tucked under her jawline that only I ever see.
The faint curve of her lips when she smiles makes everything else disappear.
The blood on my hands. The ghosts in my chest. When she looks at me, she doesn’t see the monster, I swear she sees something worth saving.
And fuck, I’d set the whole goddamn world on fire just to keep her looking at me like that. Just to keep that tiny, reckless piece of her believing there’s still something good left inside me.
I want to shield her from everything. From the shadows that follow me. Because she has no idea. No clue about the blood I'm gonna spill. No fucking clue about the choices that already have my name carved into them.
And still, she lays here, unfazed, as though I’m not the hurricane ripping through everything good and pure in her world.
It’s in moments this quiet, when no one’s watching, when it’s just her, me, and the stretch of endless sky, that I let myself believe in the lie.
That maybe… I am the boy she sees when she smiles.
And fuck, I want to be.
More than I fucking want anything
“Matteo,” she whispers, her voice soft. “Do you think we’ll ever get out of here?”
I don’t answer. I can't. What the hell am I supposed to say to that?
Instead, I drag my fingers through her hair, as if I can smooth the weight out of her voice. Maybe I can fucking fix something for once. Her hair slips through my fingers, all silk and softness. Too good. Too pure. Too fucking untouched and innocent for hands that only know how to destroy.
But I know what she’s really asking. It’s not about this place, or the four walls closing in around us.
It’s about everything. The chains we were born into.
The blood we didn’t get to choose. The way our fathers carved their sins into our skin before we even knew what the fuck we were even becoming.
She’s not asking if we’ll ever leave this town. She’s asking if we’ll ever outrun this life that has made us who we are. If we’ll ever tear free from the noose already tightening around our throats. If we’ll ever be more than the fucked-up futures someone else stitched into our bones.
Fuck, I want to promise her. I want to swear to her that we’ll burn it all down and build something new with what’s left of us. But the truth sits heavy on my tongue. I don’t know if there’s a way out. Not for kids like us. Not when the darkness is already part of our goddamn bloodstream.
“We’ll get out,” I lie, the words scraping my throat raw. But I say them anyway—because it’s what she fucking needs. My voice is rough, but I force it steady, willing it to sound real. “We’ll leave all this behind,” I tell her. “I’ll take you anywhere. Anywhere you want.”
By anywhere I mean that isn’t carved out in blood and betrayal.
Because if anyone deserves a life beyond this goddamn empire built on blood, it’s her.
She’s too good for this, too innocent, too beautiful to see exactly what it is, and if there’s even a sliver of a chance that life still has room for me…
then I’ll bleed for it. I’ll burn for it.
I’ll tear my own fucking soul apart for a life with her.
She tilts her face up to mine, her eyes locking onto me like she’s searching for something buried in the ruins.
And for a second, I forget how to breathe.
She’s always been able to do that to me.
Always been able to look past the sharpened edges, the broken, rusted-out parts I don’t even have the guts to name.
“Promise?” she whispers, and it’s not just a word. It’s a lifeline, frayed, trembling, clinging to something that has no place in our world. It’s hope. And goddammit, I want to reach out and grab it. Wrap both hands around it and give it to her, even if I know it’ll tear me apart in the end.
I nod. “I promise.”
It’s a lie, and I’m sure she knows it. But it’s all I have left to give her, a promise built on broken bones and burned-out dreams. I won’t let her see it.
Not tonight. Not when she’s curled against me, breathing like I’m still something worth believing in.
I’ll carry the lie for her. I’ll fucking drown in it if it means she gets to keep dreaming a little longer. Even if it guts me.
Her father’s been my father’s right-hand for as long as I can remember. Bound by something uglier than loyalty. Blood spilled in dark corners, secrets buried in shallow graves, deals carved into flesh before I even drew my first breath.
Two monsters dressed in matching suits. Suits steeped in violence, stitched together with power and blood. Built not to serve. To destroy.
And us… We were born into a world already choking on smoke and violence. Where love is a weakness and trust is a loaded gun.
My father never lied to me. He didn’t need to. He fed me the truth in fists and fire, pain a rite of passage, blood a twisted inheritance. He dragged me through it, teaching with bruises, branding lessons into my skin until there was nothing left to question.
Through alleys slick with blood, past the bodies that no one ever bothered to bury. Over floors where the screams were swallowed whole by the silence.
He didn’t shield me.
He prepared me.
But not for the future. He prepared me for a goddamn war.
While other kids were out there kicking soccer balls, scraping their knees on the pavement, I was learning how to scrub blood off my hands before it had time to dry. I was taught how to shut down the part of me that flinched, the part that still cared.
Because in his world, weakness was a death sentence. And I couldn’t afford to be weak.
He said it was the only way I’d survive this world. That softness, was suicide. Mercy… just another bullet waiting to find its way into my chest. He taught me that kindness wasn’t noble, it was fucking fatal.
Every time I hesitated, someone else wouldn’t. And in our world, hesitation is a goddamn death sentence.
I’ve pulled the trigger. Watched grown men cry, beg, even piss themselves. Stared down the barrel of a gun with eyes so empty that I couldn’t even remember what it was like to be a kid who hadn’t yet learned how to shave.
I’ve worn this life stitched from fear and obedience, forced onto me by hands that never asked. My sins hung off me. A coat that never fit right, constantly slipping, always dragging me down, as if the weight itself knew I didn’t belong in this world.
I’ve seen things that should’ve split me open.
Right down the fucking middle to my core.
Things that tore through bone and left the pieces rattling inside me.
Felt shit that still claws at my skin, feral and restless, waiting to pull me under.
Dark memories. Hungry ghosts. All scratching at the edges of sleep, sinking their teeth in deep, reminding me I’ll never outrun the monster my father made.
But with Emery, all that noise just stills. All that’s left is the steady rhythm of her breath against my chest. Soft. Calm. Real. She’s not just the calm after the storm, she’s the reason I even know what peace feels like.
And fuck, it’s beautiful. The kind of beautiful that cracks me open. That makes my heart feel too small to hold it all. I was never built for this much feeling. Never meant to love this hard.
With her, I’m just Matteo. The boy who would burn the world down just to keep her safe. To keep her right beside me. She makes me want something I’ve never fucking allowed myself to crave. Something that I would fight to have with my next breath.
I want to be worthy of the softness in her touch. I want to be worthy of the love she gives without hesitation, without asking for anything in return.
Sometimes, when it’s just us, I let myself dream. That there’s a world out there for us, somewhere beyond the blood-soaked streets. A place where we don’t have to fight, where we don’t have to bleed. Where the only scars we carry are the ones we choose to make.
In those stolen moments, I imagine it’s just us, her heartbeat matching mine, our breaths tangled in a world that doesn’t hurt.
I fucking want it. More than I’ve wanted anything in my life, but I know it’s just a dream.
And yet I can’t stop reaching for it. I can’t stop wanting it with every piece of me that’s left unbroken.
“You’re not like them,” Emery whispers, her voice so soft it slides beneath the walls I’ve spent years building around myself.
“I don’t want to be one of them,” I mutter, voice raw, torn wide open. “I fucking hate it. Hate the monster they’re making out of me.”
The words burn going down, but they’re the truth. I hate what they’ve carved into me, the blood, the brutality, the man I see when I look in the mirror.
Her eyes soften, and in that fleeting moment, I see the girl I fell for.
The one who loved me when I was still broken, when I was nothing but shadows.
The one who sees something other than the monster I’ve become.
The one who still believes there’s a future I can give her.
A future we haven’t lost to this fucking darkness.
“I know,” she says, so simple, so gentle, it cracks something wide open inside me. “But you’ll be okay. You’ll find a way out, Matteo. I know you will.”
And fuck, that’s all I need to hear. Because in her eyes, I’m still worth fighting for. Even when I can’t see it in myself. Even when I’m drowning in the lies I’ve been fed, she still believes in me.
I pull her tighter against me, clutching her like she’s the last flicker of warmth left in a world gone dark.
Right now, nothing else fucking matters but this.
The girl I’d tear myself apart for. The girl I’ll spend every breath trying, and probably failing, to shield from the nightmare we’re both trapped inside.
My lips brush against her forehead, slow, lingering—an attempt to carve this moment into my bones. If I hold her soft enough, careful enough, maybe I can preserve just one piece of myself that hasn’t been gutted by the violence. One piece that’s still mine. Still hers. Still fucking human.
“I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe,” I whisper, voice raw, cracked open, the words burning the whole way out. “I swear to you, Emery. I’ll get us out.”
But even as I say it, the lie curdles on my tongue. Because deep down, under every promise I give her, under every fucking hope I try to hold onto… I know the truth.
This life has already branded me. It’s in my blood. Carved deeply into my bones. I’m the heir. The legacy. The next in line to wear the crown built out of blood and cruelty. That no amount of love could ever wash clean.
And as for my father… He’ll never let me go. Not while I carry his name like a curse. Not while I'm the last thing he owns. Not while I still fucking breathe. The only way out for me is a bullet. Clean. Final. Merciful.
And maybe I’ll welcome it when it comes. Because when the darkness finally drags me under… when it strips me of the last piece of whatever soul I’ve got left… I’ll make sure Emery’s nowhere near it.
I’ll push her away if I have too. Break her heart just to save her soul. Rip myself out of her life with my own bare hands. Because I’ll be damned if Emery ever has to look me in the eye and see nothing staring back.