Chapter 7
Safe House
The Moretti safe house came into view as Matteo and Aldo crested the final hill, their bodies aching and their spirits worn thin from the long journey. Nestled in a secluded valley, the house was a stark contrast to the rugged landscape that surrounded it. Built from weathered stone, it stood two stories tall, its architecture a blend of old-world charm and practicality.
The roof, once covered in terracotta tiles, now bore patches of moss and missing shingles, evidence of years of neglect. The windows were shuttered, their wooden frames warped and peeling, and the front door, heavy and iron-bound, hung slightly ajar.
A low stone wall encircled the property, its gate rusted and hanging off its hinges. The courtyard was overgrown with weeds, the cobblestones barely visible beneath the tangled vegetation. A lone olive tree stood in the center, its gnarled branches reaching skyward like skeletal fingers. The air was thick with the scent of earth and decay, and the silence was unnerving, broken only by the distant call of a crow.
Matteo paused at the edge of the property, his chest tightening as he took in the sight. This place had once been a sanctuary for his family, a hidden retreat where they could regroup and strategize. Now, it felt like a ghost of its former self.
“This it?” Aldo asked, his voice low as he scanned the area.
Matteo nodded; his jaw clenched. “Yeah. This is it.”
They approached cautiously, their footsteps crunching against the overgrown path. The front door groaned as Matteo pushed it open, revealing a dim interior. Dust motes floated in the thin beams of light that filtered through the cracks in the shutters, and the air was heavy with the scent of mildew and neglect.
The main room was spacious but sparsely furnished. A large wooden table dominated the center, its surface scarred and stained. Chairs were scattered around it, some overturned, as if the occupants had left in a hurry. A rusted chandelier hung from the ceiling, its crystals dull and clouded with dust. The fireplace, once the heart of the room, was cold and filled with ashes.
Matteo moved further inside, his eyes scanning the room. Shelves lined the walls, their contents long since removed or destroyed. A faded map of Sicily was pinned to one wall, its edges curling with age. Beneath it, a cabinet stood open, its drawers pulled out and emptied.
“Looks like someone beat us here,” Aldo said, his tone grim. “But when?”
Matteo’s stomach churned as he took in the scene. The safe house had been compromised, its secrets laid bare. Whoever had been here had torn through the place, leaving behind a trail of destruction.
“We need to check the rest of the house,” Matteo said, his voice tight.
Aldo nodded; his gun drawn as they moved through the ground floor. The kitchen was in disarray, its cabinets ransacked and its floor littered with broken dishes. A pantry door hung off its hinges, revealing empty shelves.
Upstairs, the bedrooms were no better. Mattresses had been slashed, their stuffing spilling onto the floor. Dressers were overturned; their drawers emptied. In one room, a mirror had been shattered, its shards glittering like shrapnel across the floor.
Matteo stopped in the doorway of what had once been his father’s study. The room was a wreck. Books had been torn from the shelves, their pages scattered like leaves. The desk had been overturned, its drawers rifled through. A safe in the corner stood open, its contents gone.
“Whoever was here, they were looking for something,” Aldo said, his voice echoing in the empty room.
“Yeah,” Matteo replied, his voice hollow.
The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. The safe house was no longer safe. Whatever secrets it had held were now in the hands of their enemies.
As they stood in the ruins of the once-secure retreat, the weight of their situation settled over them. They were stranded, with no allies, no resources, and no way to call for help. And somewhere out there, their enemies were closing in.
Matteo turned to Aldo; his expression grim. “We can’t stay here long.”
Aldo nodded; his eyes hard.
???
The air inside the Moretti safe house was thick with unease, a palpable weight pressing down on both men. The discovery that someone had been here recently, that they weren’t alone, had set both Matteo and Aldo on edge in ways they couldn’t fully articulate.
Every creak of the old wood underfoot seemed louder, more ominous. Every faint rustle of wind outside made their muscles tense and their hands itch for something, anything, to do. Every shadow stretching across the walls seemed like it might contain a threat, a movement in the corner of their vision, an imagined footstep echoing where there was none. The silence between the two men was only broken by the occasional shuffle of their feet, as if they both feared breaking the stillness.
Despite the instinct screaming at them to leave, get away, hide, run, find some way to avoid whatever disaster loomed on the horizon, they had no other choice. No better options. They needed to rest, regroup, and plan their next move. But it was hard to shake the feeling that they were already too late. That whatever had found them once would find them again. Or worse, that they were the ones being hunted.
Matteo stood by the window, his hand gripping the frame as though he could steady himself against the pressure in his chest. His eyes, scanning the view outside, barely blinked. The sun was dipping below the horizon, casting long shadows that stretched across the barren fields, bleeding into the hills beyond. The countryside, usually tranquil and familiar, now felt suffocating. The stillness was unnerving. It pressed on him from all sides, like the calm before a storm. The world beyond the glass seemed to hold its breath. Matteo had always hated the quiet when danger loomed, but there was no avoiding it now.
Aldo, on the other hand, was a blur of restless energy. He paced the room like a caged predator, his sharp movements too quick, too jittery, his every step echoing with pent-up frustration. The familiar discomfort of being trapped gnawed at him, and no matter how many times he circled the room, it didn’t help. He couldn't shake the gnawing feeling that they were sitting ducks.
“This is a mistake,” Aldo muttered, running an exasperated hand through his dark hair. He was almost talking to himself, his words tinged with a sort of quiet desperation. “Whoever was here could come back. We should keep moving.”
Matteo’s voice was tight when he spoke, the strain in his tone unmistakable. “We don’t have anywhere to go,” he shot back, his gaze never leaving the window. “You want to wander around the countryside all night? Exhaust ourselves before we even have a plan? That's suicide, Aldo.”
Aldo scoffed, throwing his hands up in frustration. “Better than staying in a compromised safe house, don’t you think? If someone knows we are here, we’re sitting ducks.”
Matteo’s jaw clenched. He finally turned to face Aldo, the calm in his posture a stark contrast to the growing tension in his chest. His patience was thinning, unraveling under the weight of the situation. “We’ll keep watch. We’ll take turns. One night, Aldo. We just need one goddamn night.”
Aldo’s jaw worked, his teeth grinding as he processed the words. It was clear he didn’t like it. Didn’t trust it. But even he had to admit there was no better option right now. They were running on fumes; dangerously low on supplies, energy, and hope. Pushing ahead without rest, without even a plan, would be as reckless as staying here. But the idea of waiting, of being stuck in a place that was no longer safe, twisted something deep inside of him.
Matteo leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed, his eyes unreadable in the dim light. He was still, deceptively so, but there was a sharpness in the way his fingers curled against his biceps, in the way his jaw tensed. The air between them felt thick, charged with something neither of them wanted to acknowledge; something old, something dangerous, something that had been building for far too long.
Then, suddenly...
“You’re too damn reckless,” Aldo snapped, his voice cutting through the quiet like the crack of a whip. The frustration, the exhaustion, the fear, everything he’d been holding back, finally spilled over.
Matteo pushed off the wall, his stance shifting in an instant. Not aggressive, not quite. But dangerous. “And you’re too fucking stubborn, De Luca,” he shot back, his voice low and edged with something sharp. “Acting like you have all the answers when we’re both drowning in this mess.”
Aldo took a step closer, his shoulders squared, his pulse hammering. “At least I don’t let my pride make me stupid.”
Matteo laughed, a short, humorless sound. “Oh, that’s rich, coming from you.”
Something snapped. Before Aldo could think, before either of them could stop it, his hands were on Matteo’s shirt, shoving him back with a force that sent him stumbling a step. But Matteo was fast; he caught himself, and in the next breath, he surged forward, slamming Aldo against the wall with enough force to rattle the old wooden boards. The candle flickered wildly, the light casting jagged, shifting shadows as their bodies crashed together.
Breaths came fast, heavy. Close. Too close.
Aldo could feel the heat radiating off Matteo, the tension thrumming through his frame like a live wire. Matteo’s fingers twisted in the fabric of Aldo’s shirt, his grip tight, grounding, as if letting go wasn’t an option. Aldo’s own hand curled around Matteo’s wrist, his pulse pounding beneath his skin. Their faces were inches apart, their breaths mingling, hot and unsteady.
Matteo’s dark eyes flicked over Aldo’s face; his parted lips, the tension in his jaw, the flicker of something in his gaze. Anger. Defiance. Something else.
Neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke.
A beat passed. Another.
Then, as if drawn by a force neither could fight, Matteo’s grip on Aldo’s shirt tightened. Aldo’s fingers flexed against Matteo’s wrist. The space between them disappeared in an instant, and then...
The kiss was sudden, fierce, a collision more than a meeting. It was heat and frustration, teeth and fire, a clash of dominance and desperation that neither wanted to surrender to but neither could resist. Aldo’s back hit the wall again as Matteo pressed in, his hands gripping, pulling, demanding. Aldo bit back a gasp, his own fingers threading into Matteo’s hair, dragging him closer still, the sensation of thick, dark strands tangling between his fingers grounding him in the chaos.
Their lips moved in a relentless rhythm, each kiss more forceful than the last, as if they were trying to consume each other whole. Matteo’s teeth scraped against Aldo’s lower lip; a sharp sting followed by the soothing press of his tongue.
Aldo responded with equal fervor, biting back, his hands fisting into the fabric of Matteo’s shirt as if anchoring himself to reality. The taste of salt and something deeper, something intoxicating, lingered between them, mingling with the heat of their breath.
Neither of them wanted to give in.
Neither of them wanted to stop.
And yet, neither of them could pull away.
The candlelight flickered, the shadows on the walls twisting together, just like them. The faint scent of melted wax and smoke mixed with something headier, the sharp tang of adrenaline, the salt of skin, the warmth of breathless exertion. Their chests heaved against each other, hearts hammering in tandem, the heat between them almost suffocating in the dimly lit space.
Matteo’s fingers flexed against Aldo’s waist, the grip tightening, almost bruising, as if afraid that loosening it would mean losing this entirely. Aldo’s breath hitched, his lips parting under the force of Matteo’s kiss, the raw intensity making his head spin. Every brush of their mouths was another unspoken argument, another battle waged with lips and teeth and tongues, neither willing to cede control, neither willing to let go.
Aldo groaned into the kiss as Matteo tilted his head, deepening it, their mouths fitting together with a practiced hunger that felt inevitable, like they had always been meant to reach this breaking point. Their bodies pressed together, the heat radiating between them unbearable and yet impossible to resist. Matteo’s hands roamed, exploring the curve of Aldo’s back, the tension in his shoulders, as if memorizing every inch, every sharp inhale, every tremor.
Somewhere in the back of Aldo’s mind, reason clawed for attention, whispering that this was reckless, dangerous, that it would only lead to ruin. But the rest of him, his body, his pulse, the way Matteo’s warmth consumed him, refused to care. The world beyond this moment, beyond these four walls, beyond the flickering glow of candlelight and the sharp, desperate hunger between them, didn’t matter.
All that mattered was this. This fire. This fight. This impossible, inevitable collision that neither of them could deny any longer.
But they did. After just a few moments, moments that felt like an eternity, both men jerked back out of the kiss as if burned, eyes wide, chests heaving.
Silence.
The candle flickered between them, casting long shadows on the walls. The faint crackling of the flame was the only sound, punctuating the thick, heavy air between them.
Matteo swallowed hard, his mind racing to process what had just happened. His heart was still hammering against his ribs, the phantom sensation of Aldo’s lips lingering like an ember refusing to die. Aldo stared at him, something unreadable in his gaze; shock, maybe. Or maybe something even more dangerous. His fingers twitched as if reaching for something, another touch, another taste, but he stopped himself, jaw tightening and turned away, walking to the couch.
Neither of them spoke for a long time.
Matteo kept his back to Aldo, staring out the window into the vast darkness beyond. The silence between them stretched, taut and suffocating, filled with unspoken words neither was ready to voice.
His fingers clenched, knuckles white, as if the pain could somehow ground him, could erase what had just happened.
Aldo exhaled sharply, scrubbing a hand down his face. "This…" He stopped, forcing the words through clenched teeth. "This can't happen again."
Matteo let out a humorless chuckle. "No shit."
But the conviction in either of their voices wasn’t strong enough to be convincing. The air between them still crackled, thick with something neither of them could ignore. The way Aldo’s breath had hitched. The way Matteo’s hands had instinctively pulled him closer, instead of pushing him away. Even now, Matteo could still taste the heat of Aldo’s mouth, could still feel the bruising intensity of that moment like a phantom ache under his skin.
Aldo moved, his boots scuffing against the wooden floor as he stepped closer. "We need to focus. Surviving this mess is the inly thing that matters."
Matteo turned slightly, just enough to catch the conflicted storm in Aldo’s eyes. "You think I don’t know that?" His voice was quieter now, but no less dangerous. "You think I don’t hate myself for letting that happen?"
Aldo flinched, but didn’t look away. "Then we do what we have to do. We move on. Forget about it"
Matteo scoffed, shaking his head. "Yeah? And tell me, De Luca, how exactly do you plan on ignoring this? Because if you haven’t noticed, we’re stuck in the same damn room, breathing the same air, and every second I’m not looking at you, I’m thinking about it. About you."
A muscle in Aldo’s jaw twitched. "Then stop."
Matteo took a step forward, closing the distance until there was only a whisper of space between them. "You really think that’s possible?"
Aldo didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Because Matteo was right. The tension between them wasn’t something that could just be buried or ignored. It was a slow-burning fire, smothered but never truly extinguished, waiting for the next moment to ignite.
Finally, Aldo exhaled, turning away first. "We stay focused. We survive."
Matteo didn’t argue. But as he turned back to the window, staring into the night, he knew they were both lying to themselves.
Instead, he turned sharply on his heel, muttering, “I’m taking first watch.”
His voice was hoarse, unsteady, a poor attempt at indifference. He snatched his gun from the nearby table, gripping it too tightly as he positioned himself near the window again. The moonlight barely illuminated his profile, but Aldo could still make out the rigid tension in his shoulders, the way his breath came slightly uneven.
Aldo didn’t argue. He just stood there, rooted to the spot, watching Matteo as if trying to decipher something impossible. His own hands curled into fists at his sides, his body still thrumming with the aftermath of something he wasn’t sure he wanted to name.
The tension in the room hadn’t eased. If anything, it had thickened, changed into something unspoken and raw.
The kind of tension that didn’t just fade.
The kind of tension that waited. Coiled. Ready to snap again at the slightest provocation.
And only one thing was certain. Neither of them would sleep that night.