Chapter 11 #2
When I finally pull out of her, I don’t roll away or get up as I normally would. Instead, I gather her to my chest and hold her close, my hand stroking her spine. She tucks her face into my neck and sighs.
This is what I have been missing my entire life. This feeling of wholeness instead of brokenness. And I will do whatever it takes to keep it.
A couple of hours later, I’m sitting in my office, staring at the board that has taken up every spare moment.
The door behind me is wide open, something I have never done before. Isabella has changed everything, and keeping her locked out of this part of my life feels wrong. Besides, she would have just broken in anyway. This woman has no concept of boundaries when it comes to what she wants to know.
I trust her. Against every instinct I have honed over the years and against all logic and reason, I trust her completely.
In the center of the board is a photograph of Matteo, my cousin, the man I plan to kill.
I stare at his face, at the dark hair and sharp features that, in some ways, mirror my own, at eyes that once held patience and understanding. Eyes that looked at me with something other than cruelty when I was just a boy trying to survive in a world that wanted to break me.
Next to his photo is one of Emery Morretti, the woman he chose over everything. Over family. Over legacy. Over the empire that was supposed to be his birthright.
The De Luca empire went up in flames because Matteo decided that love was worth more than power. Now it falls to me to clean up this mess, take control of what is left, and rebuild what he tore down.
But I can’t do that while he remains alive.
As long as he breathes, questions will always remain.
Questions about succession and legitimacy.
Questions about whether the empire belongs to him by blood or to me by right of conquest. The families will never fully accept my authority as long as the true heir is still out there somewhere, living his life, a constant reminder that I am not the rightful Don.
I know what needs to be done.
Matteo has to die. He is the only thing standing in my way. I should have already sent men and had him eliminated the moment my contact confirmed the location. A bullet to the head. Quick and clean. No suffering. Just business.
But for some reason, I can’t seem to give the order.
I stare at his photograph, at the face I’ve known my entire life, and I feel something close to doubt.
Can I actually do this when the time comes? Can I kill the man who saved me?
I am ten years old again, standing at the shooting range of the De Luca compound. The gun in my hands is too heavy, too foreign, too much like the weapon that killed my family just months prior.
My hands shake. My vision blurs, and I want nothing more than to drop the gun and run, but I know I cannot. This is my life now. It is what I must become if I want to survive.
“You’re holding it wrong.” One of the men barks the words at me, disgust dripping from every syllable. “Jesus Christ, did your father teach you nothing?”
The gun wavers in my grip. I try to steady my hands and aim at the target, trying to prove that I am not weak, that I belong here even though every part of me wants to be anywhere else.
I pull the trigger.
The recoil jerks my arms back and the shot goes wide, missing the target by at least two feet. Then comes the laughter.
Shame burns hot in my chest. Tears prick at my eyes, but I blink them back furiously because crying will only prove that I am weak. That I don’t belong.
I raise the gun with trembling hands. I aim, fire, and miss again.
More laughter and cruel comments. More confirmation that I am nothing but a burden they are stuck with by blood and obligation.
“That’s fucking enough.”
Everyone turns. Matteo De Luca stands there, and even at nineteen, he commands the kind of respect that grown men twice his age struggle to achieve. His expression is cold, the kind that makes dangerous men step back.
“We’re just training the kid,” says one of the men.
“Go. Get the fuck out of here.” Matteo’s voice does not rise. It doesn’t need to. The ice in his tone is enough. “Now.”
The men exchange glances. For a moment, I think they might argue or push back, but then they see whatever it is in Matteo’s eyes that makes even the cruelest men in the world think twice, and they walk away.
“Fucking waste of time anyway,” one of them mutters under his breath.
Matteo’s hand shoots out and grabs the man by the throat. The others freeze.
“What was that?” Matteo asks, his fingers tightening around the man’s throat until the man’s face turns red. “I didn’t quite hear you.”
“Nothing,” the man chokes out. “I said nothing.”
“That’s what I thought.” Matteo releases him, and the man stumbles, gasping for air. “Get out of here. All of you. And if I hear that any of you have been running your mouths about the kid again, I will cut out your tongues and feed them to you. Are we clear?”
They nod before fleeing. They practically trip over themselves to get out of the room.
I’m still holding the gun. Still waiting for Matteo to say what everyone else has already made clear.
But the words never come.
Instead, he walks over to me, and when he reaches me, his entire demeanor changes. The coldness melts away.
“Don’t worry about those assholes,” he says, with his hands on my shoulders, positioning me correctly. Making sure my weight is distributed properly.
“There,” he says. “Now try.”
I fire again. Still wide.
“Again,” Matteo says.
I miss every single shot, but Matteo doesn’t lose patience.
He doesn’t sigh, roll his eyes, or glance at his watch as if he has somewhere better to be.
He just keeps reloading the gun and handing it back to me.
Keeps making small adjustments to my form.
Keeps offering quiet encouragement that I cling to desperately in a world that has given me nothing but pain.
Something in my chest loosens slightly. It’s not much, but it’s enough for me to take a full breath for the first time in weeks.
“I will teach you,” Matteo says, taking the gun and reloading it once more. “Every day if I have to. I will teach you to shoot, to fight, and to survive in this world. And I will make sure those men never speak to you that way again. You have my word.”
Matteo becomes the only constant in my life. He teaches me to fight until I can hold my own against men twice my size. He teaches me to think strategically, read people, and survive in a world that wants to chew me up and spit me out.
He covers for me when I fuck up and takes the blame when I make mistakes that could’ve gotten me killed. He shields me from the worst of the cruelty that saturates every corner of this life.
I am still staring at the photograph when I hear footsteps in the hallway. Isabella.
I turn as she walks into my office. She’s wearing one of my shirts, the fabric hanging loosely on her, sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Her hair is pulled back in a messy knot at the base of her neck, and she holds a cup of coffee.
She doesn’t ask if she can come in; she just walks straight to my desk and sets the cup down. “You’ve been in here for hours. I thought you might need this.”
“Thank you,” I say, grateful for the distraction, for the excuse to look at something other than Matteo’s photograph.
Isabella walks around the desk until she stands directly in front of me, then she sits on my lap.
My arm automatically wraps around her waist, holding her close.
Her eyes drift to the board, taking in the photographs, maps, and notes I’ve been obsessing over. “Can you do it, Lorenzo?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. Saying it out loud feels like admitting a weakness I should not possess. “He saved me, Bella. When I was ten and everyone else treated me like I was worthless, he was the one who took the time to teach me and protect me. He was the only one who was kind to me.”
I stare at Matteo’s photograph. “And now I have to put a bullet in his head because he is standing between me and what has to be done.”
Isabella is quiet for a long moment.
“But what do you want, Lorenzo?” she asks softly. “Not what you think you should want or what this world expects of you. What do you actually want?”
It’s a good question. One I’ve avoided asking myself. I just don’t know if I can be the one to pull the trigger when the time comes.