33. Lila
33
LILA
E verything changes fast after the rescue. It’s like the world realigns itself overnight. News spreads through the city. Nobody says it out loud, but everybody hears it. If you go after Lila Varo or her son, you don’t get a second chance. Five men connected to the Bianchis turn up dead within seventy-two hours. No official claims. No threats. Just silence where there used to be noise. The message is clear.
The Varo family folds. I don’t even have to ask. Two days after the rescue, Marcella shows up at the Rossi estate wearing a navy wool coat and an expression I can’t read. She brings documents—the official withdrawal of any and all custody claims over Lev. She doesn’t ask to come in. We speak in the foyer, under the watchful eyes of men who wouldn’t have even acknowledged her a month ago.
“Serafina sends her regrets,” she says, handing me the folder.
I stare at it, then at her. "That's it?" I ask.
Marcella gives a tight nod. "The papers are clean."
"She could’ve sent them herself."
"You know she wouldn’t."
I look down at the folder again, then back at her. "I’ll sign nothing until my lawyer reviews it."
"Understood," she says, her voice flat.
I don’t thank her. She doesn’t apologize.
She nods once and leaves without another word. Her heels click across the marble and echo behind her like punctuation.
Anton’s creditors vanish next, the weight of his legacy, his choices, gone like someone burned the records and buried the debt collectors in the same grave. Whether the debts were paid or just… erased, no one tells me. I don’t ask. The estate is quiet now. It feels like the calm after a forest fire—still standing, but nothing untouched.
Lev doesn’t leave Mateo’s side. He trails him from room to room, his tiny hand sometimes catching the edge of Mateo’s jacket, like he’s afraid the man might disappear if he stops touching him. He wants to eat beside him, sit beside him, sleep beside him. Mateo lets him.
They don’t talk about it. They just… exist together, no ceremony, no explanation. And strangely, it works.
I watch them sometimes, from the second floor landing, when they’re in the den. Mateo reads reports. Lev draws in a notebook with the same four crayons he won’t let anyone replace. Every so often, Mateo glances down at whatever the boy’s scribbling. He doesn’t speak, just gives a small nod, and Lev beams like it’s the highest praise.
There’s a new stillness in Mateo now. Not softness—he’s never soft. But something has shifted, a new kind of gravity in the way he moves. Like he’s carrying something he’ll never set down.
That night, I find him in the office. The lamps are low like normal—I think Mateo is a vampire with as little light as he lets in. Mateo sits behind his desk, reading through security updates with the kind of focus most people fake. Lev is curled on the leather couch, fast asleep, one of Mateo’s jackets tucked around him like a blanket. His fingers are wrapped around the fabric like he can still feel Mateo through it.
I sit down across from him without speaking. He doesn’t look up at me. It's like he can sense my thoughts and emotions without saying a word.
“He needs you,” I say. “Not just now. Long-term.”
Mateo’s pen stills over the paper, but he doesn’t lift his head. “I know.” His voice is quiet, neither dismissive nor guarded, only honest in a way that settles into the space between us without needing explanation.
I lean back in the chair and let my hands rest on the arms. The silence stretches between us—not uncomfortable, just wide. It’s the first time in a while that I feel like the world isn’t ending in real time. Just… winding down. Letting me breathe.
“I do too,” I say finally.
Mateo sets the pen down, closes the folder, and lifts his eyes to mine. The look is steady and grounded. There’s a question I’ve been holding onto since the moment I knew Lev was safe again. Something small, selfish, a sliver of normal buried under all the blood and fallout.
“I want a honeymoon,” I say. Mateo arches a brow but doesn’t speak. “A real one,” I add. “Just us. Just once. Somewhere nobody knows our names.”
The request lingers between us. There’s danger in it, I know. There’s always danger. But for once, I want something that’s ours. Something untouched by every secret, every deal, every weapon tucked beneath a mattress. Something that makes a statement that says I am Mateo's and he is mine, that this isn't an arrangement. That this is a relationship.
“Yes,” he says. No hesitation. No qualifying terms. Just yes.
I nod. And for the first time in what feels like years, I let myself believe I might have a happily ever after in my future.