Chapter 31
Harlow
I wake to the full force of sunlight pouring through the windows, cutting across my face with unapologetic clarity. A low, persistent throb pulses at the base of my skull, and the sour aftertaste of last night’s tequila lingers at the back of my throat, stale, acidic, and unshakable.
I exhale a quiet groan, drag a hand over my face, and squint toward the ceiling.
As the memories return, clearer with every passing second, I can scarcely believe them.
We were arrested.
Actually and unbelievably fucking arrested.
When I finally manage to sit up, my head protests with sharp, pulsing resistance, but I ignore it. On the bedside table, a chilled glass of water waits beside two precisely placed painkillers and a perfectly folded linen napkin.
Naturally.
Dante.
His fixation with controlling every detail.
I take the pills without hesitation, grateful. The water cuts through the nausea just enough to make me functional.
Only my heels have been removed. The rest of me, makeup smudged, dress twisted and wrinkled from sleep, remains wrapped in the remnants of last night. I mutter a low curse and swing my legs out of bed, ignoring the wave of dizziness that follows.
Once in the bathroom, I slip out of the dress and let it fall in a crumpled heap onto the floor. The water runs scalding as steam rises around me, and I press my palms to the marble tile, allowing the heat to strip away whatever remains of the night before.
Afterward, I take my time. Moisturizer. Concealer. I require makeup today simply to appear human. I brush my hair until it falls smooth and glossy, then step into high waisted cream trousers and a soft ivory blouse. A pair of understated pearl earrings. Neutral heels. Only then do I feel remotely presentable.
The house is silent as I descend the stairs. No sign of Sofia or Elena, undoubtedly still unconscious, suffering their own consequences.
In the kitchen, Bianca is already at work, her quiet efficiency steadying.
“Buongiorno, signora,”
she greets me with a warm smile.
“The boys are in the dining room. I’ll bring your coffee to you there.”
“Thank you, Bianca. You’re an absolute lifesaver,”
I murmur, and she lets out a quiet laugh.
Mattia and Luka sit at the long table. His legs swing beneath the chair as he sips orange juice, a smear of jam clinging to the corner of his mouth. The moment he sees me, his face lights up.
“Ciao!” he grins.
I lean down, press a kiss to the top of his head, and ruffle his hair. He beams, his eyes bright.
As I move past Luka, I place a soft kiss to his temple, gentle, brief. He startles slightly, his gaze flicking up to meet mine, and a flush of deep colour creeps across his cheeks. He looks away quickly, ears tinged pink.
I offer a faint smirk and take my seat.
Bianca places a cappuccino in front of me. I wrap my hands around the cup, welcoming its warmth.
I glance between the boys.
“You’re both coming with me today.”
Mattia pauses mid chew. “Where?”
“Shopping.”
Luka lifts a brow.
“Shopping for what, exactly?”
“The noble cause of education,”
I reply dryly.
“Uniforms. Notebooks. Backpacks. Pencils. Trousers that actually fit.”
Mattia groans, long and theatrical. “Nooooo.”
“Yes,”
I say sweetly.
“School starts soon, and neither of you is walking in looking like abandoned street urchins.”
“My backpack only smells a little,”
he mutters under his breath.
I laugh.
“We’re doing this. You’re both fortunate I don’t drag you out more often. Finish your breakfast, the sooner we leave, the sooner it’s over.”
They groan in unison but continue eating.
Within the hour, we’re seated in the back of a black car. The driver remains silent. The guard in the front seat doesn’t speak either, though his eyes remain alert, constantly sweeping the surroundings. A second vehicle follows at a calculated distance, tinted windows, added security.
Luka sits to my left, Mattia to my right. Both of them look half ready to bolt.
Once we arrive in the shopping district, the routine begins. Store to store. Every time I send one into a dressing room, I’m met with groans.
So dramatic.
“I feel like a mannequin,”
Mattia complains.
“You look like one, too,”
Luka mutters.
By brunch, we’re all dragging. I check the time.
“All right,”
I say, exhaling.
“Who wants pizza?”
“Pizza! Pizza! Pizza!”
Mattia chants, practically vibrating in place.
Luka gives a faint smile.
“Pizza sounds good.”
We cross the street. The restaurant is quiet, far too quiet for this hour. I notice it immediately. The air feels wrong.
The moment we step inside, the guards tense. Their eyes sweep the room. No music. No background chatter. Just a few scattered tables. One waiter. A woman standing still by the kitchen door.
Something is amiss.
One of the guards turns to me.
“Signora, perhaps—”
And then I see her. Behind the bar. A waitress is bound to a chair, her mouth taped shut, panic swimming in her eyes.
My breath catches.
Two clean shots crack through the air. The guards behind me drop.
I don’t even have time to react before everything descends into chaos. Men pour in from the back, fast and armed. It becomes a blur. One grabs Luka as he tries to fight, cursing at them. Another seizes Mattia. I claw and scream, trying to fight, until I’m shoved forward, dragged toward the rear exit.
We’re thrown into a van, dark, cold, reeking of engine oil and iron.
I twist around, frantic.
“Mattia?! Luka?!”
“Here!”
Mattia cries, squirming beside me.
Luka is there, too, silent, wide eyed, but unharmed. And furious.
I grip Mattia’s face between my hands.
“Are you hurt? Look at me. Are you hurt?”
He shakes his head, tears in his eyes. “No…”
I turn to Luka. “You?”
He nods once.
“I’m fine.”
My heart slams against my ribs as I look up.
A man stands at the edge of the van, eyes gleaming, a slow smile on his face.
“What the fuck do you think—?”
Before I can finish, a hand wraps around my neck. A sharp sting follows.
“Quiet.”
The syringe hits fast and unexpected and within seconds, my limbs begin to go numb.
I hear Mattia scream. Luka shouts. Their voices twist together in the air, desperate, terrified, furious.
No. No, no, don’t fucking hurt them…
But darkness takes me.
And all I can do is pray Dante finds us before it’s too fucking late.
***
The stench reaches me before my eyes open. Sweat. Rust. It clings to the air, dense, metallic, suffocating. My head throbs, dry and splitting. Every limb aches, bound tightly by coarse plastic restraints biting into my wrists and ankles.
The headache from last night’s alcohol was already unbearable. Now, it’s worse. I feel the nausea rise, sharp and immediate, but I force it down.
I blink slowly.
Concrete walls. A wide, vacant warehouse.
Directly across from me, Mattia is tied to a chair. His skin is pale, his lip trembling. But when his eyes meet mine, I see the moment he realizes I’m awake. There’s relief in his expression. And beneath it, unmistakable terror.
“Look at me, piccolo,”
I whisper, my voice hoarse.
“I’m here.”
He nods. His shoulders shake.
To my left, Luka is also bound. His jaw is clenched, his face hard. His eyes are locked on the man standing beyond us, motionless and smug.
Luan.
He smiles. There’s no warmth in it. His suit is tailored, pristine, far too expensive for a place like this.
“Well,”
he drawls.
“Dante Salvatore’s precious family. At last.”
“If you so much as lay a hand on the boys—”
I don’t get the chance to finish. He steps forward and strikes me across the face.
Fucking hell. What is it with these men and their pathological need to silence me?
Pain bursts across my cheekbone. The metallic tang of blood touches my tongue. My head snaps to the side, but I remain upright. I won’t give him the satisfaction of watching me fall.
“Harlow!”
Mattia cries out.
That’s all that matters. He saw it. And it tears through me. I never wanted him to witness me like this, vulnerable, struck. If I can get these damn restraints off, I will rip Luan apart for putting him through it.
I don’t look away.
Even with blood in my mouth, I manage a smile.
“You think striking women and threatening children makes you a man?”
He scoffs.
“Feisty. I can see why Dante keeps you. It’s almost a shame, you would’ve made a valuable bargaining bride. But word is, he keeps you on a short leash.”
“You’ll die screaming,”
I whisper.
“He’ll come for us. And you’ll beg.”
His eyes glint, cold with amusement.
“We’ll see.”
Then he turns to Luka.
“Long time no see, dear nephew.”
His voice drips with contempt.
“You chose the wrong side. I offered you a throne, and you chose to polish Salvatore’s boots. Not only that, but you’ve turned a blind eye to the man who murdered your father.”
He takes a step closer, and his voice breaks into a snarl.
“My brother!”
He ends on a roar, all restraint gone.
Luka doesn’t flinch. He’s motionless, stone faced. But his hands tremble faintly where they’re bound, and when he speaks, his voice carries the weight of fury barely held in check.
“If you touch her again, I’ll gut you myself.”
Luan laughs.
“Sentimental little traitor.”
Mattia cries quietly now. Silent tears fall, leaving clean streaks down his cheeks.
It destroys me.
I look around, desperate. There has to be something, anything. A crack. A way out. We can’t stay here. He can’t keep us.
A sharp buzz cuts through the warehouse. Luan’s phone. He reads the message and clicks his tongue.
“We’ll have to move this party elsewhere.”
He nods to his men and they move immediately.
Luka is unbound first. Then Mattia. Then me.
As one of the bastards reaches for my arm, I twist and kick hard at his shin. He grunts, face contorted with pain.
Luan doesn’t hesitate. Another backhand, hard and sharp. My head jerks again. My lip splits.
“Enough,”
he growls.
His men seize my arms. I struggle. Teeth bared. Ready to fight. But I hear a click.
A gun raised, pointed at Mattia. Another aimed at Luka.
I go still. The fight drains from me. My pulse surges, everything in me screaming.
“Put the fucking guns down!”
I roar.
“Get your dogs to lower their weapons, now!”
Luan laughs. A full, mocking sound, like this is theatre and I’m the closing scene.
He opens his mouth, poised to unleash something else, when shouting erupts outside, followed by gunfire.
It grows louder with every passing second. I don’t hesitate. I slam my forehead into the man restraining me, driving the blow square into his nose. He stumbles back, and his rifle crashes to the floor.
A gunshot tears the air and I spin.
Time slows.
Mattia stares at me, eyes wide, breath caught for a fraction of a second.
Then he looks down. His gaze drops to his stomach. His eyes widen further. His fingers brush the spreading red, come away stained with blood, then his legs begin to give out.
“Mattia!”
I scream, lunging for him.
I catch him before he collapses. My hands press to the wound, desperate, shaking, already soaked in blood.
“No, no no no no—”
Luka is screaming too. I hear it behind me, raw, uncontrolled. The man who fired reaches to grab him but Luka snaps.
He lunges forward. Grabs the discarded gun with trembling hands and fires, once, twice, three times. The man drops.
Luka’s hands tremble violently around the weapon. His breathing is shallow, unsteady. The colour has drained from his face entirely. He forces himself to refocus, eyes flicking from me to Mattia, cradled in my lap.
He drops to his knees beside us. “Is he…?”
I shake my head.
“He’s breathing. He’s breathing, he has to be.”
Blood pools beneath us. Mattia lies limp in my arms. I press harder against the wound, my hands slick and trembling.
“Call an ambulance!”
I snap.
“Luka, find a phone, now!”
He stumbles to his feet just as the door crashes open.
“Move!”
a voice roars.
Dante.
Mario.
Leonardo.
They enter like a storm, armed, unrelenting.
Their eyes land on Mattia and everything shifts.
Dante is at my side in an instant. He kneels, touches his cheek with a reverence that doesn’t match the chaos around us, then his fingers press against his neck.
“Get a fucking ambulance,”
he shouts, voice raw.
“Right the fuck now.”
The blur begins.
Sirens. Voices. Flashing lights.
Blood on my hands. On my skin. Everywhere.
I ride with Mattia in the ambulance, holding onto him the entire way, whispering again and again that he’s going to be fine, that he just needs to keep breathing.
Behind us, Dante follows with Luka in the trailing vehicle, the silence between them no doubt as heavy as the one surrounding me.
At the hospital, they rush Mattia into the emergency room, doors swinging shut behind the medical staff, leaving the rest of us in limbo.
We’re left in the corridor, cold plastic chairs lined against sterile white walls, fluorescent lighting humming overhead, dried blood still clinging to our hands and clothes.
Dante doesn’t speak.
Mario begins to pace, slow and controlled but restless nonetheless, while Leonardo leans back in his seat, fists clenched, eyes shut as though holding something in place.
After a long stretch of silence, Mario mutters.
“Luan’s been dealt with. He’s not dead yet, though. He’s waiting for you.”
Dante offers a single nod in response, his gaze unmoving, locked in the direction of the closed emergency doors, entirely consumed by the boy who lies beyond them.
Eventually, Enzo and Niccolò appear, both grim faced and quiet, their presence heavy.
Sofia arrives shortly after, followed closely by Elena, both pale, wide eyed, and visibly fighting to maintain their composure in the middle of the corridor.
We all wait, eyes fixed on that damned door, willing it to open, willing a doctor to emerge with news, good news. They will be good. They must be. No other outcome is acceptable.
I keep watching the clock, counting every second, waiting for something, anything, to fracture the silence.
And then, after what feels like an eternity, a nurse steps into the corridor. She’s pale. A clipboard rests in her hands.
“Family of Mattia Salvatore?”
We rise as one. She scans the room, then lowers her gaze to the page in front of her.
When she speaks, her voice is far too calm, far too clinical.
“He flatlined…”