Chapter 16
Blood
The drive back to their hideout was tense, the SUV rattling over uneven roads as Aldo kept his gun trained on Russo. Matteo lay slumped against the seat, his breathing shallow, his face pale from blood loss. The only sound inside the vehicle was the low hum of the engine and Matteo’s labored breaths.
Aldo’s grip on his gun tightened until his knuckles turned white. Every bump in the road sent a fresh wave of anxiety coursing through him. He risked a glance at Matteo, his chest tightening at the sight of him; his normally sharp features dulled by pain, his body unnaturally still. The blood soaking through his shirt made Aldo’s stomach twist.
He swallowed hard, forcing his focus back on the road ahead, but his mind was a storm of chaos. Matteo had jumped in front of him, had taken a bullet meant for him without a second thought. The realization was a sucker punch to the gut. Matteo was reckless, crazy, but this was different. This wasn’t just impulse. This was…Aldo clenched his jaw, unwilling to name what it was.
"You still breathing over there?" he asked, his voice gruffer than he intended.
Matteo let out a weak chuckle, his head rolling slightly toward Aldo. "Not dead yet."
Aldo exhaled sharply through his nose, his fingers flexing on the steering wheel. "Yeah, well, you keep bleeding like that and it won’t be long."
Matteo hummed; his voice barely audible over the rumbling engine. "You worried about me, De Luca?"
Aldo ignored him, instead pressing down on the accelerator, eager to put the winding roads behind them. His mind raced through every possible outcome, every worst-case scenario. If Matteo lost too much blood before they got back, if he passed out before Aldo could patch him up…
No. Aldo gritted his teeth. He wasn’t going to let that happen.
He risked another glance at Matteo, resentment burning beneath the fear. "That was a stupid move, you know. Jumping in front of a bullet like that."
Matteo’s lips curved into the barest hint of a smirk. "Worked, didn’t it?"
"Yeah, and now you’re bleeding all over the damn place," Aldo snapped. "Next time, don’t play the hero."
Matteo didn’t respond, his eyelids fluttering as exhaustion tugged at him. Aldo cursed under his breath, fingers tightening around the wheel. He didn’t know what unsettled him more; the fact that Matteo had put himself in danger for him, or the fact that Aldo wasn’t sure how he felt about it.
As the safehouse finally came into view, relief and dread twisted together in his chest. They weren’t out of the woods yet. He still had to deal with Russo. Still had to stop the bleeding. And still had to figure out why the thought of losing Matteo made his stomach drop like a stone.
Aldo shook his head, pushing those thoughts aside as he pulled into the driveway. First things first; get Matteo inside. Everything else could wait.
???
When they finally arrived, Aldo didn’t waste any time. He yanked the door open and dragged Russo out, shoving him forward roughly.
"Move," he growled, his grip tight on Russo’s arm, before turning back and pulling Matteo out. He wrapped his arm around Aldo’s shoulder and they slowly got in.
Inside the hideout, a rundown safehouse on the outskirts of town that Matteo's bomb supplier lent them, Aldo situated him on the couch and then turned back to Russo, who was skulking in the corner, his eyes shifty. Matteo made a weak noise of protest, trying to push himself up, but Aldo shot him a glare. "Stay put."
He dragged Russo into the bathroom, kicking open the door before forcing him down onto the cold tile floor. With quick, efficient movements, he pulled out a length of zip ties from his pocket and bound Russo’s wrists behind his back, then fastened his ankles together.
"Comfortable?" Aldo sneered as he double-checked the knots. Russo let out a sharp laugh, his expression defiant despite his predicament.
"You are going to regret this." Russo said, voice hoarse. "You’ve got the whole thing wrong."
Aldo wasn’t in the mood for games. "Shut up." He gave Russo one last hard look before slamming the bathroom door shut and locking it from the outside.
The second he turned away, his focus shifted to Matteo.
He rushed back into the living room where he was slumped against the couch, his shirt soaked with blood. His head lolled slightly to the side; eyelids heavy. Aldo's chest clenched at the sight.
"Matteo, stay with me," Aldo said sharply as he knelt beside him.
Matteo’s lips curled into a weak smirk. "I thought you'd be glad to get rid of me by now."
"Shut up," Aldo muttered, though the urgency in his movements betrayed him. He grabbed the first aid kit from the rickety coffee table and yanked it open, pulling out gauze and antiseptic. "This is going to hurt."
Matteo winced as Aldo pressed down hard on the wound, biting back a groan. "No shit."
Aldo worked quickly, cutting away the bloodied fabric and assessing the damage. The bullet had gone straight through; painful but survivable. Still, the amount of blood Matteo had lost worried him. His hands worked efficiently, cleaning the wound before wrapping the gauze tightly around Matteo’s torso.
"You’re lucky it didn’t hit anything vital," Aldo muttered.
Matteo let out a breathless chuckle. "Lucky isn’t exactly how I’d describe tonight."
Aldo didn’t respond. Instead, he focused on the task at hand, his movements deliberate and careful as he made sure the bandages were secure. His fingers brushed against Matteo’s skin, warm and calloused, lingering for a second longer than necessary. It was a small, almost imperceptible hesitation, but it spoke volumes.
His jaw tightened, the muscles in his face working as he fought to keep his emotions in check. "Get some rest," he said finally, his voice low and gruff, like gravel underfoot. "We’ll deal with Russo in the morning."
Matteo exhaled deeply, his body already sagging with exhaustion, the weight of the day pressing down on him like a physical force. His shoulders slumped, and he leaned back against the back of the couch, his eyelids heavy. "You staying up?" he asked, his voice tinged with a weariness that went beyond the physical.
Aldo sat back on his heels, rubbing a hand over his face. The shadows under his eyes were deep, evidence of the toll the past few days had taken on him. "Someone has to keep watch," he said simply, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Matteo’s eyes met his, and for a moment, something unspoken passed between them; a flicker of understanding, of shared burdens and unvoiced fears. "Try not to get yourself killed while I sleep," Matteo said, his voice light but laced with an undercurrent of seriousness.
Aldo scoffed, a dry, humorless sound that barely escaped his lips. "No promises," he replied, his tone wry but not unkind.
The room fell into silence, save for the steady rhythm of Matteo’s breathing as it slowed, the sound of it filling the space between them. Aldo leaned back against the wall, his gun within easy reach, his eyes flicking toward the locked bathroom door as if expecting trouble to burst through at any moment. His body was tense, coiled like a spring, ready to react at the slightest provocation.
After a long moment, Matteo stirred slightly, his hand reaching out almost instinctively. His fingers brushed against Aldo’s wrist, the touch light but deliberate. Aldo tensed at the contact, his breath catching in his throat, but he didn’t pull away. Matteo’s grip was weak, his strength fading with exhaustion, but it was insistent, anchoring Aldo to the present moment.
"Come here," Matteo mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper, slurred with sleep. "Just for a little while."
Aldo hesitated, his chest tightening with a mix of emotions he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, name. He let out a quiet sigh, the sound almost lost in the stillness of the room. "Fine," he murmured, his voice softer than before, the edges of his usual gruffness smoothed away. "But we are not cuddling."
Matteo let out a faint chuckle, the sound barely more than a breath, his eyes already slipping shut. Aldo sat still for a moment, his body rigid, before cursing under his breath. He shifted slightly, his movements awkward and hesitant, and pulled Matteo closer.
His arm wrapped around the man’s shoulders, drawing him in until Matteo’s head rested against his chest. Aldo pressed his face into Matteo’s hair, inhaling deeply, the scent of sweat and gunpowder and something uniquely Matteo filling his senses. For the first time that night, the tension in his chest eased, if only just a little.
He sat there in the dim light, Matteo’s breathing steady and even against him, and allowed himself this one moment of vulnerability. The world outside was still dangerous, still full of threats and uncertainties, but here, in this quiet room, with Matteo’s warmth seeping into him, Aldo felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time: a fragile, fleeting sense of peace.