12. Mateo
12
MATEO
G iorgio pulls the car to a stop outside Lev's school following my business meetings. He wanted me to walk him in this morning, but I was otherwise detained and Lila had to handle that, with Rafe and Alessio at her side, of course. But this afternoon, it brings me pleasure to know this boy looks up to me and when he walks out those doors, he will see me waiting. It's a fond feeling I don’t remember experiencing when I was a child, having someone wait for me outside my school.
"Thank you, Gio," I tell the driver as I slide out of the back seat and tug the lapels of my suit jacket into place.
The sun is warm but the breeze has a chill. I see Rafe's car at one end of the block and Alessio a few spots behind where my car is idling, waiting for me. They're posted here today instead of my normal guards to ensure Lev's first day back goes smoothly. I know how sneaky and vile Bianchi and his men can be. They've put a large target on Lila's back and that means Lev too. Anyone they can leverage to get back at Anton and get their money back will be in their crosshairs.
I move toward the gate, keeping my eyes wide and focused. The entire street is lined with cars occupied by parents here to collect their children. Lev's class is released earlier than the others to allow the youngest students time to find their parents before the older kids flood the sidewalks, or so Lila says. She's probably chewing her nails to the quick in anxiety right now. I ordered her to stay at the house while I take care of this, and she was livid at my order. But she obeyed.
I reach the iron gate and scan the sidewalk across the street without drawing attention to myself. A black Fiat sits at the curb with windows darkened, though not tinted enough to conceal the outlines of the men inside. Two figures occupy the front seats. Neither of them looks like a father. Both fix their attention on the school with a stillness that signals intent.
The driver glances toward me, then shifts to speak to the man beside him. The passenger lifts a phone and holds it against the door at an angle that mimics indifference. He snaps a photo in one smooth motion and returns the device to his pocket with a fluidity that suggests experience.
I step closer to the gate, maintaining a posture that reads as casual. I appear to be just another parent waiting for a child.
Rafe’s car remains parked at the corner, positioned at an angle that offers a clear view of the Fiat. He will have seen it already. He is likely running the plates and watching for movement. Alessio has not made contact, which suggests the men have not made any attempt to act. They are not here to take. They are here to observe and remind.
The school doors open, and Lev steps out with his backpack low on one shoulder and his collar slightly turned. He scans the adults gathered at the gate with a focused look, one that hints at uncertainty. I raise a hand. The moment he sees me, his expression brightens and his pace quickens.
“Mateo!” he calls out. “You came!”
I place a hand on his shoulder as soon as he reaches me. His warmth spreads beneath my palm, unfamiliar but steady. He looks up at me with a grin stretched wide across his face. “I told Michael you were picking me up. He didn’t believe me.”
“I always keep my word,” I say. “You do well today?”
He nods quickly. “I got a sticker. And I didn’t cry when the bell rang.”
“Good,” I tell him. “I wouldn’t have blamed you if you had.”
Across the street, the men in the Fiat continue watching.
I turn my body slightly and guide Lev down the sidewalk toward the car. He begins talking right away, telling me about his worksheet and the dragon-shaped slide on the playground. I nod as needed, my eyes scanning windows and mirrors. The Fiat does not move, but the passenger raises his phone again. This time, the lens is pointed at Lev. He lifts the phone slowly and captures a clear shot of the boy’s face before lowering it again.
Lev continues without noticing a thing.
I do not open the car door. Instead, I keep Lev close and angle myself between him and the street. He does not question my sudden change in pace or the way I grip his shoulder more firmly.
As we near the parking lot, I see Rafe step away from the corner of the building. He’s intercepted the man from the Fiat—the same one who took Lev’s picture. I knew he wouldn’t stay in the car long. He’s too agitated, too deliberate in his movements. He pretended to be still, but he came here with intent.
Rafe’s posture is defensive, not passive. His coat is unbuttoned, hand free, weight balanced on the balls of his feet. He saw this coming. I keep Lev close and shift us toward the far edge of the lot, angling my body to shield the boy while my eyes stay locked on the two of them.
The man lunges.
Steel flashes as he draws the knife, low and fast, blade tucked close to his hip. He aims for Rafe’s ribs, going for a quick tear instead of a kill shot. He wants to send a message, not leave a body on school grounds.
Rafe pivots and catches the inside of the man’s wrist, but not cleanly. The blade scrapes his forearm, cutting through fabric and into skin. He reacts on instinct—drives a fist into the man’s jaw and throws him back, hard enough that his shoulder hits the post beside the sidewalk.
I shove Lev behind me with one hand and lift my jacket with the other. The Glock sits snug in the waistband of my trousers. I don’t draw it. I just let it show. The man sees it instantly.
He freezes.
His chest rises and falls with the effort of the failed strike. He looks past Rafe and locks eyes with me. I hold his gaze, unmoving, hand resting on the grip of the weapon. My body blocks Lev from view, but he knows exactly who I’m protecting.
His stance falters. For a second, he looks ready to try again, but then he hesitates. Rafe takes a half-step forward, blood trailing down his sleeve, but doesn’t strike. The man backs off, slowly at first, then turns and disappears into the line of parked cars without a word.
I don’t watch him go. I already have his face memorized.
I open the rear door and help Lev inside. His hands are cold, and his fingers wrap around the strap of his backpack tightly. He doesn’t speak as I buckle him in. His eyes stay wide, fixed on the spot where the man disappeared between the cars.
Once he’s secure, I shut the door and move around to the other side. The Glock stays visible until I’m seated. Giorgio pulls away without needing a signal.
The car is silent. Lev watches the sidewalk through the glass, quiet but alert. His knees bounce slightly, not with energy but with nerves he doesn’t know how to hide.
“I saw that man before,” he says, voice low but steady.
I turn my head. “Where?”
He shrugs, but it’s not careless. He’s thinking. “Yesterday. When I was with Mommy.”
“Where were you?” I ask.
“The place with the paper window,” he says. “With the stamps.”
“The filing center.”
He nods. “He was standing by the bikes. Just staring.”
The words settle like a weight in my chest. Lila didn’t say a thing. She looked me in the eye after that outing and let me believe it was uneventful. Either she didn’t notice the man, or she noticed and chose silence. I don’t know which is worse.
“He was watching you?” I ask.
Lev nods again, slower this time. “And Mommy. But he looked at me first.”
My jaw tightens, but I keep my voice calm. “Did you tell her?”
“No. She just told me to stay close and hold her hand.” He stares out the window, voice smaller now. “We left really fast.”
She knew.
I look forward again and rest my hand on my thigh to keep it from drifting toward my weapon. The road opens ahead, but the pressure in my chest doesn’t ease. She let it go. She walked him back to the car with a man watching and never told me. She had every chance to say something.
Lev shifts in his seat and leans closer to the edge of the cushion. “You didn’t even talk and he went away.” I glance at him, and he smiles proudly in a quiet, tired way. “That’s what heroes do.”
“I’m not a hero,” I say.
He frowns but doesn’t argue. “You scared him. Like a real one.”
I don’t answer. The compliment feels too clean for what just happened.
The car falls into silence again. The road bends toward the estate, and Giorgio keeps the speed steady. Lev rests his head against the window, his eyes still open but unfocused.
I watch the trees pass outside and think of the man’s face. I think of the way his eyes moved from Rafe to Lev without hesitation. I think about how close that blade came.
And I think about Lila—how she looked at me yesterday like I was the problem while danger stood ten feet from her son.
Back at the house, Lev kicks off his shoes and bolts for the stairs without waiting for instruction. He disappears around the corner before I can say a word, racing off for his markers and sketchpad. His voice fades down the hall, trailing into the rhythm of feet thumping against the floorboards.
I close the door behind us and lock it. Lila stands near the base of the staircase with her arms folded, watching me. Her mouth is set, and her posture looks too casual to be natural.
“How’d it go?” she asks.
I remove my jacket and lay it across the arm of the nearest chair. “Fine.”
She doesn’t move. “Did he behave?”
“He did what he was supposed to,” I say. “Unlike some people.”
The words hit their mark. Her eyes narrow, just slightly, but enough for me to see it. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I face her fully and level my voice. “Why didn’t you tell me you were followed yesterday outside the courthouse?”
Her expression shifts. Not with surprise, but with guilt. She hesitates before answering, just long enough to confirm that she was never going to bring it up on her own. “I didn’t want to make it worse,” she says. “You overreact. You turn everything into a war.”
I step closer. “Not telling me is how people get killed.”
“No. Sending guards with machine guns is how people get killed.” Her chin lifts, defiant. “I’m not one of your soldiers.”
“No,” I say. “You’re worse.”
Her brows draw in. “Excuse me?”
“I'm left cleaning up after you like a dog who's not house trained."
The words land exactly how I want them to. She breathes in through her nose, jaw clenching, but doesn’t look away. She holds her ground, and I’m tired of the space between us pretending it’s not tension. The way this woman pisses me off is infuriating, and if anything had happened to her or Lev…
I reach for her without warning, slide my hand along the line of her jaw, and pull her in. I kiss her once, hard and uninvited, but not brutal. Her lips part in surprise, but she doesn’t stop me. She stands still under the pressure, breath caught between defiance and hesitation.
She pulls away first—not quickly or with violence—just enough to end it.
She doesn’t speak. She turns on her heel and walks out of the room, shoulders tight and head held high, but she never looks back.
I watch after her as I shake my head. She's getting to me. I knew she would. The first time was just animalistic lust. The second time crossed a line. And now she's weaseling her way into my fucking heart and if Bianchi comes at her, I don't know how I'll take it. The boy is hard enough to fathom losing, but her?