Chapter Twenty-Three
The night air was thick with tension, the kind that seeped from the ancient stone walls and narrow alleyways of Rome. Matteo knew the attack was coming. He had sensed it in the cautious whispers of his men, in the way Enzo’s name was murmured too carefully beneath the vaulted archways of his villa. And yet, knowing did little to stop it.
They had moved through the city under the cover of darkness, their convoy slipping through the labyrinth of streets lined with weathered facades and centuries-old doorways. The meeting was meant to be a quiet gathering with what remained of his allies. But as the SUV screeched to a halt, bullets shattering the windshield, Matteo realized the trap had already been sprung.
"Get down!" he roared, grabbing Isla’s arm and forcing her lower as gunfire erupted around them. The driver slumped forward, blood spilling onto the cracked cobblestones as the men outside began to converge.
"It’s Enzo’s men," Isla shouted, pressing her back against the seat, her fingers locked around the gun Matteo had handed her before they left. "They set us up."
Matteo cursed under his breath, kicking open the door and firing off a round before ducking back for cover. "Stay behind me."
"Not a chance," she snapped, already moving in tandem with him. There was no hesitation in her eyes, no uncertainty in the weight of the weapon in her hands. If she had once been a pawn in this world, that time had long passed.
They moved as one, weaving between stone columns and parked motorbikes, returning fire as the ambush intensified. Matteo took down one of Enzo’s men with brutal efficiency, but there were too many. This wasn’t a warning—it was an execution.
"We need to move!" Isla shouted, her voice sharp over the chaos. "They’re closing in."
Matteo knew she was right. If they stayed pinned down, they wouldn’t make it out alive. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward a narrow passage beneath an ancient stone archway, their only chance at cover.
But just as they reached the shelter of a recessed doorway, Isla gasped—a sharp, choked sound that sent ice through Matteo’s veins.
She stumbled, her legs giving out beneath her as crimson spread across her side.
"No—" Matteo caught her before she could hit the ground, his mind going blank with rage and fear. He lowered them both against the cold stone, his hand pressing against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding.
"I’m fine," Isla breathed, though her face had gone pale, her fingers weak around the gun. "Just a scratch."
"Don’t lie to me," Matteo growled, his hands steady despite the storm inside him. He had taken bullets before, seen men bleed out on these very streets, but this—this was different. This was her.
Gunfire rattled through the piazza, but Matteo only saw her. Only heard the shallow breaths leaving her lips. He had told himself he wouldn’t let her get too close, that she was just another complication in a world already full of them. But now, with her blood on his hands, that lie burned away.
"You shouldn’t have been out there," Matteo muttered, his grip tightening on her chin. His voice was low, strained—barely controlled.
"I wasn’t going to let them kill us," she shot back.
His jaw clenched. He had seen too much death, too much loss. And yet, the sight of her bleeding on the ground had done something to him. It had made him reckless.
He needed distance. He needed to stop whatever this was before it consumed him.
"We’re getting out of here," he said, his voice hard with determination. "And then I’m going to kill every last one of them for this."
Isla’s lips curled into a weak smile. "Now that’s a plan I can get behind."
Matteo let out a sharp breath, his grip tightening around her. They weren’t done. Not yet.
But the war had just begun.
Matteo pulled Isla closer, wrapping an arm around her waist to help her stand. She winced but nodded, forcing herself to move. The alley was dark, the buildings close, the scent of damp stone and aged iron filling the air. Their only chance of survival was to disappear into the maze of streets beyond.
They darted through the wreckage, Matteo covering Isla’s weaker side as they slipped beneath shadowed archways, past shuttered trattorias and fountains worn smooth by time. The sound of heavy boots echoed behind them—Enzo’s men were closing in fast.
Matteo spotted an old stone tunnel ahead, its entrance half-hidden by creeping ivy. "There!" He pointed, adjusting his grip on Isla as they rushed forward. He shoved aside the loose bricks covering the opening, revealing a passage leading beneath the city streets.
"Go," he ordered, helping her down first before dropping in behind her. They crouched low as gunfire ricocheted above them, bullets slamming into the ancient walls where they had just stood. The tunnel smelled of damp earth and centuries-old stone, but it bought them precious seconds to breathe.
"They won’t stop hunting us," Isla whispered, leaning against the wall, her breath shallow from the wound.
Matteo touched her face, brushing away the strands of hair clinging to her damp skin. "I won’t let them touch you again."
She searched his gaze, something shifting in the air between them. Despite the chaos, despite the war raging above, she trusted him in this moment more than she ever had before.
Matteo checked his ammo, then glanced ahead. "This tunnel leads near the river. I have a safe house there."
Isla nodded. "Then let’s move."
As they made their way through the passage, the echoes of Enzo’s men searching above kept Matteo on edge. He knew they had minutes—maybe less—before they were discovered again. The tunnel was tight, forcing them to move cautiously, every step disturbing loose gravel and dust.
At the tunnel’s end, Matteo spotted a rusted iron grate leading up to a narrow alleyway. He climbed first, pushing it open just enough to scan the empty street before helping Isla up. She grimaced as he lifted her, her wound slowing her down.
Matteo’s grip on Isla tightened as they moved, the hush of the ancient streets swallowing the distant sounds of sirens and gunfire. His every step was precise, calculated—urgent. His focus narrowed to keeping her upright, ensuring she didn’t slip through his fingers.
“Hold on just a little longer. We’re almost there,” he murmured, his voice rough with something he refused to name.
Isla let out a sharp breath, her fingers gripping his shirt as if anchoring herself. “I’m not dying tonight,” she gritted out. “You still owe me answers.”
A smirk ghosted across Matteo’s lips. “Then let’s get you patched up so you can demand them properly.”
They reached the weathered wooden door of the safe house, nestled between two shuttered wine cellars. Matteo pressed a code into the panel, the lock clicking open, and guided her inside.
And for the first time in a long time, Matteo felt the weight of something bigger than power settle in his chest.
Something he wasn’t sure he could control.