Matteo
Ican’t get Lindsay out of my mind. Not her voice. Not her smell. And I keep thinking about her eyes.
Those damning blue eyes. The way they’d stoked the flames within me. I think about the way she moved against me. I think about bending her over and fucking her until nothing else matters.
The way she kissed me. The fierceness with which she stood up to the men who tried to kill her.
I think about the fear in her eyes after I killed those men. I think about what she said.
Sometimes you’re worse than the nightmares, Matteo.
The memory hits sharp and unwelcome and I drive my fist into Raffaele’s stomach. The impact lands clean. Solid.
He grunts, the air leaving him in a rush as he folds slightly at the waist. For a second, I think he might stay down. He doesn’t.
Raffaele straightens slowly, dragging in a breath, then another and then he grins. Maniacally.
“Again,” he says.
Of course.
I roll my shoulders once, resetting, the tension still coiled tight beneath my skin. The ring sits in the center of the basement, surrounded by concrete and low lighting that casts everything in shadow. Raffaele’s place is built for excess, every room serving a purpose I don’t bother to question.
Some of them, I don’t want to.
This one is simple. Violence.
Elio leans against the far wall, arms crossed, watching with too much interest. Salvatore stands beside him, quieter, his attention sharper. Neither of them have said a word in several minutes. They simply watch.
I don’t usually do this.
Raffaele’s never gotten me into the ring before. Not until tonight.
I step forward. He meets me halfway. My brother is faster than most people, stronger too. His fist comes toward my side, I take it, the impact sharp but manageable. The pain grounds me in a way that almost helps.
Almost.
We circle each other. Measured. Controlled. Then her voice cuts through again.
You’re worse than nightmares.
My jaw tightens. I move.
My fist comes up fast, aimed higher than it should be. Raffaele barely dodges the punch, jerking his head back as it grazes too close for comfort.
“Hey,” he snaps, stepping back immediately. “What the hell was that?”
I stop. The shift is immediate. Silence settles over the ring.
“Face is off limits,” Raffaele adds, irritation flashing. “You trying to rearrange it?”
I exhale slowly. “Sorry.”
Raffaele studies me for a second longer, something sharper creeping into his expression.
“Yeah,” he mutters. “You better be.”
“Enough.”
Salvatore’s voice cuts through the space, calm but final.
I step back, lowering my hands. Raffaele does the same.
We climb out of the ring, the air cooler outside of it.
I grab a towel, dragging it once over the back of my neck before tossing it aside.
My pulse is still elevated, but the edge hasn’t dulled.
We take off the boxing gloves and head upstairs.
The transition is immediate, concrete and shadows replaced by polished floors, clean lines and controlled luxury. Raffaele’s living room is exactly what you’d expect. Expensive and unnecessary. We take our places without discussion.
Salvatore sits first. Elio drops into the chair opposite him, still watching me like he’s trying to piece something together.
Raffaele pours himself a drink while I remain standing.
“What’s going on with the Bratva?” Salvatore asks.
Straight into it, then.
Elio’s the one to reply. “A lot. And not all of it makes sense.”
Salvatore’s gaze shifts to him. “Explain.”
“On some level, it’s going as we planned. One of their shipments disappeared last week. Our men stole it right from underneath them; they never even knew they were there,” Elio says. “Another two never made it to the port.”
“So everything’s going according to plan?”
“Not exactly. One of the Pakhan’s lieutenants, Morozov, was eliminated on Saturday.” The words settle into the room heavily. I say nothing. I barely even blink. “No witnesses. No trace. Whoever did it knew exactly how to cover their tracks.”
Raffaele exhales, taking a slow sip of his drink. “Was it internal?”
“I don’t know,” Elio replies. “It doesn’t fit, though. There’s something going on. Something else.”
His eyes flicker to me briefly. Silence follows.
“So there’s someone else working on dismantling them?” Salvatore questions. “And we don’t know who.”
I lean back slightly against the edge of the table, arms folding loosely across my chest. The movement is measured, detached.
“Matteo,” Salvatore’s voice is calm.
I look at him.
“You’ve been quiet,” he says. “Anything to add?”
I shake my head. “Not really.”
A beat. It’s not like I don’t plan to tell my brothers the truth. I will. Just not now. Not when even I can’t make sense of it all. I have no clue how I could begin explaining Lindsay to them. So I keep quiet.
“And before that? You nearly took Raf’s head off.”
Raffaele huffs. “He tried.”
“I apologized.”
“That’s not the point.” Salvatore’s gaze doesn’t shift.
“Then what is it?”
“There’s something going on with you. You’re on edge. Distracted.”
The word sits there. Accurate. Unwelcome. I don’t respond. Salvatore watches me for another second, like he’s deciding how far to push. Then his phone rings.
The sound cuts through the tension, sharp and immediate. He answers without looking away from me.
“Yes?”
There’s a pause and then his expression shifts. Annoyance.
“You lost her?”
There’s silence for a second.
“No,” Salvatore says, tone colder now. “That’s not acceptable. She was under your watch. You don’t lose—”
My focus sharpens. There’s another pause and then Salvatore exhales through his nose, irritation settling in.
“Find her,” he says to the men on the other line. And then he hangs up. “My wife’s best friend is starting to be more trouble than she’s worth. She escaped the guards that were there to protect her.”
The words land. And I’m already moving.
“I’ll handle it,” I say.
All three of them look at me now.
Raffaele frowns. “Handle what?”
I don’t answer. I’m already reaching for my jacket.
“Matteo,” Salvatore says, voice sharper now.
I pause just long enough to look at him. “I’ll explain later.”
That’s all I can give them right now. Then I leave.
The city blurs past my car in muted lights and empty streets. Every second stretches longer than it should.
She gave her bodyguards the slip. After everything. After what happened. We provided her with protection and she walked away from it. My grip tightens on the wheel. It’s reckless, irresponsible. And unacceptable.
The car slows as I near the park, headlights cutting across the empty stretch of road. I pull over behind the car and kill the engine.
When I step out, the night air is cool. The park is quiet, stretching out in dark shapes and shadows. The men are waiting by the side of the car when I step out. I scan the area once before looking at them.
The two of them stand a few feet in front of me, shoulders squared, expressions carefully neutral. But I can see the guilt in their eyes. They know they’ve made a mistake.
“We’re sorry, boss.”
“What happened?” I ask, my tone even.
“She just took off. We tried to catch up, but she’s fast. We lost her at a turn and we’ve been searching the park ever since. But it’s dark and she could be anywhere.”
My hands tighten into fists. “She outran you both. On a public path with open sight lines and minimal exits. And you still lost her. That’s pathetic.”
“She was pretty damn fast, boss,” he mutters under his breath.
I open my mouth to speak, possibly something scathing that will make them regret living. But I stop. Something shifts in the air and I hear light footsteps coming closer. Unhurried.
My head turns slightly, and there she is. Walking toward us like she hasn’t got a care in the world.
Her hands are relaxed at her sides. Her expression is composed. There’s not a trace of urgency in her movement. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she’s just stepped out of thin air.
Her gaze lands on me without hesitation. She’s here and she’s unharmed. Something inside my chest loosens before something else takes its place. Sharp. Irritated. Dangerously close to anger.
The guards take note of her and immediately straighten. She stops a few feet away.
“A little dramatic,” she says, looking at them. “You didn’t have to call him.”
I step toward her. “What were you thinking?”
“I just went on a little run,” she says innocently. “It’s not my fault Crater and Boulder couldn’t keep up.”
“Crater and Boulder?” I question bewildered. My jaw grows even tighter. “Lindsay, this isn’t fucking funny.”
Her chin lifts slightly. “I didn’t laugh.”
She glances briefly at the guards.
“Do you seriously think now is a good time for you to disappear? What the hell were you thinking?”
Her eyes narrow. “Do not yell at me, Matteo. I am not a child.”
“Then start acting like it.”
She glares, crossing her arms over her chest and doesn’t say another word. I hold her gaze for a second, tension still brimming beneath my skin, unresolved and sharp.
“Get in the car,” I command, unlocking my Audi.
She doesn’t move. I tilt my head to the side, trying to dispel my frustration.
“You heard me, Lindsay. Get in the car. Now.”
I can see her brain working through it. Thinking it over. Finally, she decides not to argue. She huffs out a breath before uncrossing her arms and walking past me. Her scent clouds every inch of me as she passes. I fight the urge to inhale.
She opens the car door and slides in without another protest. After one last look at the idiots that lost her, I circle the car and get in, starting the engine.
The drive is silent. The kind of silence I know she despises.
She shifts slightly in the passenger seat, glancing at me once, then again. I don’t look at her.
“You realize you’re overreacting,” she finally says.
I say nothing. There’s a pause.
“I was gone for, like, twenty minutes. And I only did it because I needed a break. Those two have been following me all day,” she explains.
Still silence. She exhales, sharper this time.
“You could at least say something. You’re not five years old and the silent treatment is completely immature.”
I don’t speak. My grip on the wheel tightens slightly, the only outward sign that I hear her.
“You’re such a dick,” she mutters before crossing her arms over her chest and staring out her window, effectively ignoring me.
By the time we reach the hotel, she’s just as angry as I am, which suits me perfectly. I pull up to the entrance, killing the engine. Lindsay’s out of the car before I can even move, closing the door with more force than necessary.
I step out a second later and I follow. Her jaw remains shut as I step into the elevator behind her. She stands a few feet away, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the numbers as they climb. The same way the tension between us is.
The doors open and she steps out first, walks down the narrow corridor. The penthouse door unlocks, then swings open. She enters without looking back.
I walk in after her, the doors closing behind me with a soft click. She drops her bag onto a table, finally turning toward me.
“Are you done with your tantrum?” she asks.
I don’t answer. I just look at her, at the bruise still faintly visible at her temple. I think about the fact that she almost died. And I’m not done being angry. Not even a little bit.
“You will not do that again. Not ever again.”
She reels back at my tone. There’s nothing soft about it. Then her eyes narrow.
“I don’t take orders from you, Matteo.”
“You will,” I retort. “Because this is in your best interest. I’m trying to keep you alive!”
“I wasn’t in danger!”
“You do not get to decide that. Do you have any idea what could have happened? This isn’t a joke, and I’m sure you’re well aware of that. You’d be dead by now if I hadn’t been there on Saturday, do you understand that?”
“I do understand that, actually. Why do you care if I die or not?” she questions, her voice hard.
Because I won’t lose you.
The thought comes fast and unwelcome. I don’t say it.
Silence stretches between us, tight and unforgiving. I take a step closer to her. Not aggressive, not hesitant. Just enough to close the distance.
“This is the last time I’m going to say this, princess. You don’t get to take risks like that with your life,” I say lowly. “Not now, not ever.”
Her breath catches. Just slightly, but I hear it.
“Noted,” she says quietly.
The word settles between us. I should leave. That’s the logical next step. Walk away. Put some distance between this, whatever it is, and everything else that actually matters.
I don’t.
She’s still standing there, watching me like she’s waiting for something. Or maybe daring me. My gaze drops briefly to her mouth. A mistake.
I look away immediately but it’s too late. It’s been burned in my mind. My jaw tightens and I exhale slowly.
“Promise me it won’t happen again,” I say softly.
She’s staring at my lips too, her eyes distracting, filled with want.
“I promise,” she whispers.
I close the distance before I can think better of it. My hand comes up, fingers closing around her jaw roughly. She inhales sharply, and then I kiss her.
It’s not slow. It’s not careful. It’s everything I’ve been holding back since I saw her walking at the park like nothing had happened.
Scratch that, it’s everything I’ve been holding back since she said I was worse than her nightmares.
Her lips part under mine after a second, and that’s all it takes for the control I’m holding onto to slip further.