34. Mateo
34
MATEO
T he villa sits high above the coastline, settled into the cliffs with white walls bright in the sunlight and a terracotta roof warm beneath a sky streaked with clouds. There are no guards posted inside, no visible cameras or hum of security systems. Just the sound of waves rushing against the rocks below and Lev’s laughter drifting through the open windows, bouncing down the narrow garden path like a skipped stone.
I walk behind him, barefoot on sun-warmed stone. He’s dragging a toy sword through the dust, cutting invisible enemies out of the air like he’s on some grand mission. His curls bounce with every step. He hasn’t stopped smiling since we got here.
I carry a plate of sliced fruit. It feels almost ridiculous in my hands, like I’m pretending to know how to do this—to exist outside of blood and tactics and the low hum of threat that usually trails me wherever I go. But here, in this pocket of salt air and silence, it feels possible.
He turns back toward me, holding the sword aloft. “I slayed the dragon!” he yells.
“Good,” I tell him. “But check for a second head.”
Lev gasps, whirls around, and swings again. The blade whistles. His laugh rings out like he belongs here in this place with me. Like he hasn't lived one traumatic thing after another. Like his father wasn't murdered and he wasn’t kidnapped. Like a normal child.
By the time we make it back to the villa’s main terrace, he’s panting, cheeks flushed. He collapses onto a lounger in the sun. I set the plate beside him and let him devour it like it might disappear. We don’t talk much as he gobbles up the fruit. But every look he gives me says what words can’t. He trusts me now. More than that. He feels safe. Happy.
Later, after the sun drops low and dinner fades to dishes cleared by unseen hands, I carry him upstairs. He’s already half-asleep by the time I lower him onto the bed. Lila set it up earlier with pillows and a small mountain of stuffed animals. Lev curls into them without protest.
“You okay, kid?” I ask, brushing a hand over his curls.
He nods against the blankets. “Don’t go far.”
“I won’t.”
Downstairs, the villa is dim again, peaceful the way a vacation should be. The sea crashes in the distance, and I pour a drink. My shirt’s somewhere on the back of a chair, and the breeze off the balcony cuts across my ribs, bringing a chill, but I suck in the fresh air and relax. Lila's been sunning, allowing me time with Lev, and somehow, I miss her presence more than I thought I would.
I sit out there alone for a long time, just watching, letting the silence do what it does as the sun fades away into dusk, then nightfall.
Lila finds me eventually. She steps out barefoot, one of my shirts hanging off her shoulders, sleeves rolled to her elbows. Her hair's a little tangled, her face clean, no makeup, kissed by the sun.
She doesn't speak at first, just leans on the railing beside me, eyes on the water. The wind plays with the hem of her shirt.
“I want to remember this,” she says eventually. “All of it. Not just the fear.”
I turn to look at her. The way the light from inside hits her cheekbone. The way even her posture tells the story of trauma she's been through, and now how she feels safe.
“Then we will,” I say.
And we stand there, in the dark, not touching, not speaking. Just breathing the same salt air and holding still for once. Lila was right. The scars carved into her never truly go away. They just fade a little with time.
I reach for her, pulling her down onto my lap. She straddles me, and I find that she’s not wearing panties under that long shirt she stole from me. It’s the first moment we’ve had alone together where we weren’t both exhausted from keeping up with Lev.
“I want to feel like your wife…” Her hands splay on my shoulders. I look up into her eyes.
“You’ve always been my wife.” I let my hands grip her thighs, already getting excited to have her again. It’s been a while.
“But I want to feel like it,” she says, and a soft smile plays at her lips.
I swipe the shirt over her head, baring her to the night air. The breeze blows across her. My hand cups her breast, thumb massaging her nipples. She gasps, but she likes it. I bring her mouth close to mine and kiss her with a fierce intensity, tasting the strawberry lip gloss she still has on from earlier.
I lean into her, kisses deepening as our tongues graze each other's. My hands slide down her back, tracing the curve of her spine as she moves against me. She unbuttons my shorts, pulls my swelling dick out. Her hand wraps around it firmly and she gives it a few tugs.
“Is this how a wife would do it?” I tease before sucking her bottom lip into my mouth. The barely restrained hunger in her eyes is a turn-on itself.
“Shut up and fuck me,” she says in between messy kisses.
We don’t make it inside. I turn her around as I slide my shorts down. She settles back onto my lap as I slide into her from behind and reach around to rub her clit. The way she rises and falls on me under the moonlight is intoxicating.
“Mateo,” Lila moans, head thrown back, eyes closed. “Oh, my God, right there…”
I love the expression on her face as she tumbles over the edge. I keep going, hips thrusting hard and fast into her. As we move together, it's like nothing else exists in the world but us. When we finally both come, I bite her neck to stifle her moans.
We stay like that for a while, our heartbeats slowing down and the breeze against our heated skin. I lay my cheek against her bare back, filled with a contentment I was certain I’d never feel in my life—doubted I ever deserved to know.
She shifts in my lap and looks toward the bedroom window, where Lev’s soft breathing still carries through the glass. “Do you think you’ll walk him in that first day?”
I glance at her. “To school?”
She nods. “Kindergarten. Full days now. No more naps and early pickups.”
I exhale slowly, the thought heavier than expected. “The house will be different without him there all day. Quiet.”
Her fingers slide across my chest, thoughtful. “Too quiet.”
I don’t argue. I already feel it—the echo of his absence before it’s even real. "The kid really got to me…" I muse, letting a smile curl my lips.
She laughs softly, but there's something different in her tone. Then, without a word, she takes my hand and gently moves it across her stomach, placing it low beneath her navel and holding it there. Her skin is warm beneath my palm, steady, and the quiet weight of the gesture hits me all at once.
Her fingers tighten slightly. “I’m late,” she says quietly. “Just by a few days… but still.”
I look at her, really look. Her expression is soft, uncertain, but there’s hope written into the corners of her mouth, the line of her shoulders.
"You think it might be…?” My voice comes out low, careful.
She nods once. “I don’t know for sure. But maybe.”
The silence between us stretches, not heavy, not filled with fear—just the quiet gravity of what this might mean. I press my hand more firmly against her stomach, anchoring myself to the possibility.
“I’d want that,” I say. My voice doesn’t shake. It’s not just something I say for her sake. It’s the truth.
“Me too,” she whispers. “I want something… clean. A piece of us untouched by all the rest. Something we made without violence chasing behind it.”
I don’t say anything right away. I just hold her, feeling the weight of everything she’s just given me.
In this life, there aren’t many things we get to protect from the dark. But maybe, just maybe, this time… we will.