4. Mateo
4
MATEO
T he footage plays in silence, just like the men on the rooftop terrace. I lean forward in my chair, one elbow on the desk, thumb pressed to my mouth as the frame stutters, then loops. A black SUV. No plates. Same spot two days in a row, idling across the street from the school like it’s got all the time in the fucking world.
“Pause it,” I mutter. Rafe obeys, freezing the image. The grainy timestamp reads 08:13 A.M. Parents walking, kids laughing. Lev’s tiny form steps into frame, backpack swinging, completely unaware. My stomach tightens like a fist.
The SUV doesn’t move. No one gets out. It just sits there like a loaded gun waiting to go off.
I inhale slowly, hold it, let the rage curl down my spine like a snake uncoiling.
“They think we’re asleep,” I say finally, standing and buttoning my jacket. “They think Anton’s death left the boy exposed.”
Rafe’s jaw tics. “Bianchi move?”
“Maybe. Maybe just some low-level shithead testing the water.” I nod toward the screen. “Doesn’t matter. No more games.”
He waits. He knows what’s coming.
“I want two armed men at the school. Starting tomorrow. Inside. Outside. I don’t give a fuck. If anyone so much as steps out of line…” I turn to him, slow and cold. “They shoot to disable. Then shoot again to finish the job.”
Rafe doesn’t flinch. “Understood.”
“No calls to the police. No warning shots. We are not negotiating with people who watch children from tinted windows.”
He nods and pulls out his phone to start making arrangements. I already know the names he’ll call. Quiet men. Deadly ones.
There’s a knock at the door.
“Enter.”
Alessio steps in, always polite, always timely. In his hand is a thin leather folder. “She’ll be here by noon tomorrow,” he says. “The officiant has been secured. He’ll keep it quiet.”
“And the paperwork?”
He opens the folder, lays it in front of me like a contract with the devil. My name and Lila’s are printed in heavy type. It’s not legal yet, but it will be. Once the judge signs off tomorrow, there’s no going back.
I pick up the pen. My signature is nothing more than a formality now. We were never going to be free after this.
She’s smart. She’ll know this isn’t about her. She’ll hate me for it, but she’ll stay—for him.
I scribble my name across the bottom and close the folder.
“She doesn’t need to sign it in advance?”
“No. The judge will witness hers tomorrow.”
“Good.” I walk around the desk, roll my shoulders, glance back once more at the still frame of that SUV. “If I find out who was behind that car…”
I don’t finish the sentence. I don’t need to. Everyone in this room already knows. I’ll bury them so deep their bones won’t even whisper.
The terrace is slick with rain, the stone glistening under the low amber light. I lean against the edge, phone in hand, watching the street beyond the gates. It’s quiet now, but that SUV’s burned into my mind like a bad omen. I scroll back through the footage. Same model, same spot. No plates. Tinted windows.
Cowards love windows they can hide behind.
I exhale through my nose, jaw tight, and slide the phone into my pocket. The air smells like soil and wet pine. I can’t see the school from here, but I can feel the tension from it stretching all the way across the city, knotted up in my shoulders.
The boy is a target.
I turn from the edge, the gravel under my soles whispering as I walk back toward the double doors. I wipe my hand once on my slacks before gripping the brass handle and pushing inside.
Warmth hits immediately—low lighting, polished wood, quiet. The house tenses as I enter, trained as well as a soldier, and I see Lev.
He’s standing just inside, tucked beside the column near the stairs like he’s been waiting. I stop mid-step, wiping the rain from my shoulders, and he doesn’t move. Doesn’t say a word. Just stares at me, head slightly tilted, like I’m something he can’t quite make sense of yet.
He’s barefoot, wearing one of those too-small sweatshirts with the sleeves chewed at the cuffs. His hair’s sticking up on one side, like he’s been rolling around on the couch. He must’ve been standing there for a while—watching the doors, waiting for someone. For me.
I say nothing.
He shadows me as I move through the hall, like a dog waiting for scraps. Not close enough to touch, but always there. I let him. He follows me through the corridor, past the portrait gallery, into the kitchen. I grab the bourbon, pour just enough to burn, and set the bottle down without looking at him.
He climbs onto the barstool and rests his chin on his folded arms like this is routine. Like this is his house. He looks exactly like my brother—large, round eyes, dark hair—hauntingly so.
“You’re not as loud as Daddy,” he says.
“No,” I say, “I’m not.”
His eyes sweep down to my wrist. “You wear the same watch.”
I glance at it. A gift from my father. Real gold. Heavy. Anton bought a knockoff, wore it like it meant something. Never had any sense in his head. It’s the reason I'm the wearer of my great-grandfather's watch, not Anton.
Lev stares at it like he’s trying to unlock something from the shape. “Are we staying here forever?” he asks.
“You are.” My voice is even. “Your mother has her own decisions to make.”
He nods like he understands, which he doesn’t, but it’s not a lie. If she runs, she runs without him. As I told her—the boy stays.
“She always stays,” he adds, voice soft.
I toss the rest of the bourbon back and feel it settle like lead in my chest.
Behind me, footsteps approach. Lila. She steps into the doorway like a storm cloud—arms folded, robe tight, jaw set. But she doesn’t speak.
She sees him sitting there, close enough to touch me if he wanted to, and she says nothing. “You're letting him trail you now?” she asks after a beat.
“I’m not letting him do anything.” She's a strange one. Something in her tugs at something in me, but I can't put my finger on what it is yet. Desire? Attraction? Mild amusement? More?
She huffs, but it’s tired. “He does this when he doesn’t know what he’s feeling.”
“Then he fits in just fine.”
She doesn’t rise to it, just watches. Lev slides off the stool and goes to her. She rests a hand on his mop of dark hair, but he keeps looking at me like he wants me to say something else. Like he’s waiting for another piece of the puzzle.
I don't have one to give a boy. But if he were a man…
They turn to go, and just before they leave the kitchen, Lev twists back toward me. “You smell like rain,” he says.
Then he disappears around the corner with her.
I stay where I am. The room feels colder without them in it. I take out my phone again. One more check on the school feed. One more message from Alessio confirming the judge’s arrival at noon.
Then I close it.
The silence stretches, heavy and full of ghosts.
Anton’s boy. In my house. Watching me like he’s waiting to see if I’m going to become something worse—or something better.
Before bed, I walk the halls. Not because I expect anything but because this is what I do. This house has long hallways and corners that hold secrets. I don’t leave them unchecked. The guards nod as I pass, one stationed at the main landing, another near the staff entrance. Their hands are clasped in front of them, suits crisp, eyes alert. Men who know not to speak unless they’re told. Men who understand what failure costs.
Upstairs, the lights are low. The hush of night settles over the house like a warm blanket. Different now with company beneath the roof.
I pause outside his door.
Lev’s room is quiet except for the sound of her voice drifting through the half-open frame. She’s singing. Something old, something gentle. The language is soft, Italian, and full of memory. The kind of song mothers once sang before the world got loud.
I don’t move.
I let it wash over me. Not because it matters but because it reminds me of something I can’t afford to remember. Something Anton never had. Something I never trusted.
The boy murmurs. She quiets him. The mattress creaks, then silence.
I walk away.
My brother’s son sleeps down the hall, and whether I want him or not, he’s mine to protect now.