95. Chapter Ninety-Five
Chapter Ninety-Five
Mateo
“ T he cover story is that you and Mari are taking off over Christmas to spend some alone time on your yacht to make babies. Hence, no crew,” Rom grins at us as we go through the plan one last time. Besides Isa, he’s the only other person who knows.
We’re standing in the middle of the driveway, far from prying ears, admiring Rom’s latest toy, a brand-new red Ferrari. He’s about to leave for Rome. Like every year, he’s flying his mother in so they can spend Christmas together.
The timing couldn’t be better, really. If all goes as planned, when the news of our deaths breaks, no one will question it or suspect anything other than our enemies making use of Rom’s absence.
“The explosives are set for midnight,” he continues quietly. “Make sure you’re a good distance away before it goes up in flames.”
I shoot him a look that says seriously? but he ignores it and presses on.
“Anchor in sight of the island, so you have witnesses, but far enough away that no one can see movement on deck. And don’t forget to make it seem like you’ve gone to bed.”
His lips twitch with a smirk, but there’s no amusement behind it. Just a heaviness neither of us wants to acknowledge.
“A real shame, really, to destroy the boat. We’ve had some good times on it.”
“It’s just a boat, Rom.” I roll my eyes.
“Yeah, I know. And you’ve got another one waiting for you that can’t be traced back to you.” Rom tilts his head. “Have you confirmed it’s still there? Tiero arranged that some time ago.”
“Who would steal a yacht that’s anchored in a marina? It’s there for safekeeping, after all.”
“True.” He exhales, dragging a hand through his hair. “Moving on. I checked the underwater scooters. Batteries are charged, locator chips disabled. The scooters and the scuba gear are hidden in the large storage boxes, as are the disguises you’re wearing under your diving suits.”
His gaze flicks to me, and for a split second, I see the incredible sadness he’s trying to hide. Rom never gets sentimental, never lingers on what-ifs or could-have-beens. But this time is different.
“You’ve got the keys for the new yacht?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“All your new identifications? Access to your funds?”
I nod again. “Yes.”
My throat tightens. We’ve been through hell together, Rom and I.
Friends since we were eighteen. We’ve bled for each other, covered for each other, saved each other’s asses more times than I can count. And now we’re about to go our separate ways.
It feels wrong.
“Tomorrow night,” he says, his voice clipped.
“Tomorrow night,” I confirm.
He glances at his car, fingers drumming against the roof. He’s stalling. That’s when I know this goodbye is as hard for him as it is for me.
“I better go,” he mutters.
I nod, but my chest aches.
This is it.
The last time I’ll see him for who knows how long. Maybe forever.
And for all the times we’ve cheated death together, for all the fights we’ve survived, this moment, this departure, is the hardest.
Rom turns to me, jaw clenched, eyes stormy with everything he won’t say.
“Do call one day, bro,” he mutters, pulling me into a one-armed hug.
I slap his back. “Until we meet again. Thanks for everything.” My voice is rough, uneven.
I ruffle his hair, and as expected, he swats my hand away with a scowl. He’s always hated that. Some things never change.
But some things do.
“Be careful,” I say, voice lower now. “After the news of our deaths breaks, the vultures will be circling. The wolves will attack.”
Rom’s expression darkens. “Yeah, I know.” He hesitates. “I’m tempted to just kidnap Bella and take her away. She’s miserable with that asshole. She deserves better.”
Bella, his one that got away. I only learned her name a few days ago when he finally opened up about her. He won’t admit he’s still in love with her, but it’s obvious. They’re talking now instead of yelling, but Rom wants more. I can see it in his eyes.
“Then do it,” I tell him. “Do what makes you both happy. You deserve it.”
Something flickers across his face, but he doesn’t respond. Instead, he turns to Mari and pulls her into a brief hug. “Take care of him.”
She smiles up at him, unwavering. “Always.”
Rom lingers. His grip on her arm tightens before he lets go. His eyes meet mine one last time. A final unspoken exchange.
Then he exhales sharply, steps back, and slides into his car. The engine roars to life, a deep, guttural throb that fills the silence between us.
He doesn’t speed off like he usually does. He drives away slowly, lingering for a second too long before finally disappearing into the distance.
I stand there, watching until the last trace of him is gone.
Turning to Mari, I pull her close and press my nose into her hair, giving myself a moment to pull it together again.
We’re one step closer to disappearing forever.
D-Day
This is the day that changes everything.
The deep hum of the engines vibrates through the deck as the yacht slices through the water, leaving the Sicilian coastline behind.
Sunlight glints off the waves, bright and endless, like our future ahead. But my gaze lingers on the land fading into the horizon.
Sicily has never been my only home. But this island, this is where my bloodline runs deepest, where my ancestors walked, ruled, fought, and died. And now, I’m leaving it behind, knowing I can never return.
The finality of it settles in my chest, an insistent pressure that I can’t ignore. Guilt gnaws at me below the surface, a silent betrayal to the men who came before me, to the legacy woven into my very name, now tattooed into my chest.
But then I look at Mari and I’m certain that I’m doing the right thing.
Whatever I’m leaving behind, whatever weight history tries to place on me, this is what matters to me now.
She is what matters. My own family.
I’m not running. I’m choosing.
Mari wraps her arms around herself and watches the distance grow, a lone tear tracing down her cheek. Wordlessly, I step closer, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her against me. She melts into my embrace, her fingers gripping my shirt as she buries her face against my chest.
“I know,” I murmur, brushing my thumb over her damp skin and pressing my lips to the top of her head. “I know it’s hard.”
She takes a shuddering breath. “I thought I was prepared,” she whispers. “But it’s real now. I won’t see them again. Not for a long time. Maybe never.”
Her voice cracks on the last word, and a sharp pang twists in my chest. She’s leaving behind the only family she’s ever known. And she’s doing it for me.
It’s a gift I will never take for granted.
“We’ll make this work,” I reassure her, lifting her chin to gaze into her eyes.
She presses closer. “We already are.”
I turn back to the open sea, my grip on her secure. The Sicilian coastline is a mere sliver in the distance now, and ahead of us, nothing but the horizon. Pantelleria awaits by late afternoon, the place where life as we know it will end.
I take the throttle, pushing the yacht faster.
We’re not looking back anymore.
Pantelleria, an island southwest of Sicily near the coast of Tunisia, is now in sight, its scattered lights flickering against the vast stretch of darkness.
The quarter moon casts a dim glow over the water, enough to catch the choppier waves and the silhouettes of a few distant boats. It’s not yet obstructed by the clouds creeping across the sky, swallowing up the stars.
Flashes of lightning streak across the horizon, the thunder getting louder. The wind has picked up, whistling through the open deck, making the yacht sway with each passing swell.
Mari had never stepped foot on a yacht before, never been on the open water, but she took to it effortlessly, seeming to enjoy the salty breeze and tasting the ocean on her lips.
It reminded me of our mini-honeymoon when she saw snow for the first time. The same thrill, the same wonder was there, but this felt different. More natural. More like her. As if the sea had always been a part of her, waiting for her to return.
We moored in the marina for a very late lunch or early dinner, however you want to look at it, making sure we were seen. When the explosion happens later tonight, there needs to be no doubt we were here. We also discreetly checked out where our new vessel is docked.
Tiero always loved his boats, and he picked well with this one too. Polished timber, sleek lines, but smaller than you’d expect from him. More unassuming. Less attention-grabbing.
Now, hours later, we’re anchored back in open water. The island glows faintly in the middle distance, its lights twinkling through the haze. A few boats drift further out, their beacons bobbing like fireflies against the ink-black sea.
The wind rattles the metal railing, and the water slaps harder against the hull. The storm is still distant, but it’s coming.
“Let’s get everything ready before it gets harder to move around,” I suggest, kneeling down to open one of the storage boxes and beginning to unload blankets and cushions to access the hidden compartment.
Mari grips the railing, her fingers tight around the metal, her worried gaze locked on the dark horizon.
The confidence she had earlier, the exhilaration of the wind in her hair, is gone and there’s a slight tremor in her hands. It’s not just the approaching storm, the reality of what we’re about to do is sinking in.
“Won’t this storm make it harder to get to shore?” she asks, not taking her eyes off the dark clouds.
“Not really. We’ll be mostly underwater. You won’t notice the waves there. And the marina is sheltered, so it shouldn’t be too much trouble to get out. In fact, the storm works in our favor. There will be fewer people around who might spot us.”
She nods but still seems frazzled. “You seem so calm, though. Are you really?”
I take out some wet weather gear, finally spotting the ledge with the combination lock.
“Years of training, dolce mia . I’ve handled worse. This? This is controlled. No enemies to fight, just a simple plan to execute.”
A slow clap cuts through the wind, and a deep rumble of thunder rolls across the water.
“Are you sure about that?” a voice I’ve heard somewhere before says from the shadows beyond the cabin.
Both Mari and I spin around, staring at the shadowed figure to find a gun pointed straight at us.