Isabella
Hours later, the lock disengaging from the door pulls me out of a restless sleep.
I jolt awake before I fully understand why, my hand already reaching toward empty space next to me like Matteo might somehow be sleeping beside me.
For one disoriented second, the old panic blooms fresh and black in my chest when I feel the space next to me is completely cold.
Then memory returns.
I blink blearily and force myself upright, my body stiff from the thin mattress pad beneath me, if it can even be called that.
It is little more than a strip of foam pretending to offer a soft landing pad for me to pass out on for a few hours in between pacing.
I can feel every hard line of the metal frame underneath it, every bar and seam pressed into my hip and shoulder.
When I finally sit up, my shoulders pop in protest, and pain rolls down my spine in a dull wave.
The door swings open and I blink at the sight of one of Elio’s guards standing in the doorway, his expression impassive in that blank, trained way that is typical of their soldiers.
Even without asking him, I already know it is too early for breakfast. The hallway behind him is dimly lit, still caught somewhere between night and dawn.
As soon as I notice there is no tray in his hands, I immediately know something is wrong. Or something is finally happening.
I swing my legs over the edge of the cot and push myself to my feet, every muscle bracing for whatever it is I’m about to be put through.
“What is it?” I start to ask.
Before I even get the full sentence out, the guard shifts slightly to grab something from behind him.
My breath catches when Matteo suddenly comes into view, and for a second I cannot move. My mind refuses to accept the reality of him standing in the doorway just out of reach.
My son.
My baby.
He looks pale beneath the lighting coming down the hallway. His dark hair is sticking up on one side of his head, mussed from sleep. His face is faintly streaked with tears.
He looks so much younger than the brave boy I’ve raised him to be. Nowhere do I see the strong, confident young man running across the soccer field and grinning after scoring a goal, or the harsh negotiator debating with me about having sweets for dinner instead of vegetables.
He is pushed into the room with a rough hand between his shoulder blades, causing him to stumble and nearly fall to the floor.
I dart toward him with my arms out without another thought passing through my mind, my heart shattering and stitching back together all in the same breath as I finally get within reach of him.
“Matteo.”
His head snaps up from where he’d been staring at the floor and finally finds me.
The second he sees me, his face crumples and tears begin to fall again. His arms reach for me, his entire body pitching forward, and I am the only place left for him to fall toward.
I catch him and sink down to my knees so fast, pain sparks through my legs when I hit the hard concrete floor, but I barely feel it. My arms close around him with a force that would scare me if he were not clinging just as tightly.
His small body sags into mine, shaking, his hot tears wetting my sweater as he buries his face into my chest and sobs so loudly, it breaks whatever is left in me that has remained steadfast until now.
I wrap myself around him, curling to shield as much of him as I can from the guard, the camera sitting above us, the entire rotted world that dared put its hands on him and take him from me.
“I’m here, baby. I’ve got you. I’ve got you,” I whisper, though it comes out ragged.
He sobs harder. “I kept asking… I kept asking t-to see you… and they wouldn’t let me.”
My eyes burn so violently, the room blurs. I press my mouth to his hair and breathe him in, peppering his head with kisses. “I know, baby. I’m so sorry.”
“I was so scared.” The words are muffled against me.
I squeeze my eyes shut as tears spill down my cheeks silently. “It’s okay. I’m here now. I’m not letting them take you from me again.”
I barely register the door closing behind him, the lock reengaging with a heavy click.
For the first time since they brought me here, that sound does not make me want to scream. If anything, I’m happy he’s now safely tucked inside this room with me away from the rest of the wolves prowling outside it.
I rock him slowly, instinct taking over when language fails.
Back and forth, back and forth, the way I used to when he was small enough to fit entirely against my chest and the world outside our apartment didn’t feel too enormous to survive.
I hold him tight and murmur nonsense into his hair. Soft, useless things that only a mother can offer when the truth is too ugly.
His sobs begin to break apart into smaller, hiccupping breaths, though he does not loosen his grip. If anything, he clings harder. I pull back only enough to cup his face in both hands.
His eyes are swollen and red, that honey-brown gaze that makes my soul ache every time I look at them. I wipe his tears away with my thumbs, even as new ones slide free from the corners of his eyes.
“Why did they take us?” he whispers.
“Because some bad people found us,” I say carefully.
His lower lip trembles. “Are they going to hurt us?”
I think of Elio standing in the doorway with his bruised jaw and dark eyes full of wreckage while promising to keep our child safe, and then of Alessio somewhere in this safehouse, determined to label Matteo and me as a liability to be taken care of once we are no longer useful.
My throat tightens.
Both brothers are two sides of the same dangerous coin, tossed up into the air by fate as we all wait with bated breath to see which one it finally lands on.
“Some of them are dangerous,” I tell him, because that is the closest truth I can bear to give him at this point. “But I am going to keep you safe.”
His eyes search mine with complete trust. “Do you promise?”
I nearly break again.
“I promise.” Those words are a vow, a death sentence for anyone who tries to make a liar of me.
He throws his arms around my neck again, and I pull him close, tucking his head beneath my chin.
I run my palm over his back, counting each breath as it slowly steadies. Only then do my eyes lift and move to the camera in the corner of the ceiling watching us.
The familiar red light blinks slowly at me.
I stare at it.
He brought Matteo to me.
A dangerous thing, gratitude. It slips in quietly where hatred leaves the smallest crack in my armor, convincing me that things aren’t as bad as they seem to be. I hate him still.
That will never change. But I look into that red light and for one fragile moment, I do not think of the man who took Matteo from me but the one who gave him back.
My mouth moves before I can stop it, and I mouth, thank you. Then I bury my face in Matteo’s hair and breathe him in until I’m lightheaded.
I hold him until my arms ache.