Chapter 15 Matteo
MATTEO
The construction site looks like a skeleton in the dark. Steel bones reaching toward nothing, concrete half-poured, building materials stacked in neat rows that won’t exist by sunrise.
Balaclavas down, we cut the chain-link fence at the back of the lot where the streetlights don’t reach. Kozlov’s crew has been working this job for three months, and they’ve made decent progress. Foundation laid. Framing up. Supplies for insulation and exterior walls waiting in organized piles.
All of it about to become a very expensive problem.
This neighborhood is mostly undeveloped, which is why the city handed the contract to Kozlov’s construction company in the first place. They’re banking on this shopping center being the first domino. More businesses. More contracts. More legitimate money flowing into Bratva pockets.
Not anymore.
Luca moves beside me, a sledgehammer balanced on his shoulder like he’s heading to a pickup baseball game instead of a felony. Five soldiers fan out behind us, each carrying their own hammer.
“Spread out,” I keep my voice quiet even though the nearest occupied building is half a mile away. “Maximum damage. Minimum time.”
Luca grins at me in the darkness, teeth white against the shadows. “Race you to see who can cause more destruction?”
“This isn’t a game.”
“Everything’s a game, Matteo. Some just have higher stakes.”
He takes off before I can respond, sledgehammer already swinging at a stack of drywall. The crash echoes through the empty lot, and some of the tension bleeds out of my shoulders. There’s comfort in destruction when it’s all you know.
I find my own target. A row of windows waiting to be installed, still wrapped in protective plastic.
The first swing shatters glass with a sound like breaking ice.
The second. The third. Each impact travels up my arms, rattles my teeth, reminds me that I’m good at this.
Breaking things. Destroying what other people build.
The thought sours in my stomach, but I push it down and keep swinging.
Around me, chaos erupts in controlled bursts.
One of the soldiers found a jackhammer and goes to work on the foundation, concrete cracking and splitting under the assault.
The noise is tremendous, which is why I posted Marco as lookout near the road.
If the cops show up, this gets messy. But luck’s on our side tonight.
Luca lets out a whoop that sounds almost feral, and I turn to see him climbing into a bulldozer. The keys are still in the ignition because some idiot got lazy, and that laziness is about to cost Kozlov millions.
The engine roars to life. Luca guns it toward the steel framing, and the screech of metal on metal drowns out everything else.
I watch him work, efficient despite his apparent recklessness. The framing comes down in sections, crashing to the ground in clouds of dust and debris. He’s enjoying this too much, but I can’t blame him. It feels good to finally stick it to those Russian bastards.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I ignore it, but my mind goes to Sierra anyway. She’s at work right now, behind the bar at the Happy High Roller. Safe. Public. Surrounded by people.
I made her drive tonight because my place is too far for walking, and the thought of her alone on dark streets makes my jaw clench. She argued about it, of course. Called me overprotective. Smiled that smile that makes me want things I’ve got no business wanting.
Things I almost took last night. Her back arched against my handlebars, her thighs shaking, begging me for more. I can still taste her on my tongue.
I kept my distance today. Didn’t touch her. Didn’t let myself get close. Not because I don’t want to finish what we started. I want that more than my next breath. But I need space to get my head right.
What happened in that garage can’t happen again. She’s in danger because of me, depending on me to keep her safe. I won’t be the kind of man who takes advantage of that.
I swing my sledgehammer into a generator, and the crash brings me back to the task at hand. Focus. Finish the job. Get home.
When we’re done, the site looks like a bomb went off. Kozlov’s going to lose the contract for this. The city won’t give him another chance.
Good.
We slip out the way we came, leaving the destruction behind us like a message written in broken glass and shattered concrete.
In my truck, Luca is quieter. The manic energy from earlier has drained out of him, leaving something heavier in its place. I pull onto the main road and head toward his penthouse downtown.
“You seemed to have a good time back there,” I say.
Luca doesn’t look at me. His eyes stay fixed on the passing streetlights, face shadowed. “I’m just glad I could do something useful. Contribute to the war effort, you know?”
There’s an edge to his voice that doesn’t match his easy words.
“This about Joey?”
His jaw tightens. That’s answer enough.
The name sits heavy between us. I was there when Joey died.
Watched him convulse on the floor of Alessio’s strip club.
Someone forced enough Lightning into his system to stop his heart.
He’d been undercover for weeks, getting close to the Bratva’s operation.
Learned who created the drug. They silenced him before he could talk.
Except he lived long enough to give us a name. That led us to the lab where they cooked the shit. We burned it to the ground.
Doesn’t bring him back, though.
And now the Bratva’s just set up somewhere else, and Lightning is back on the streets like Joey’s sacrifice meant nothing.
“I was undercover, too,” Luca’s voice is flat. “Looking for the same information Joey found. If I’d discovered it first, maybe he’d still be alive.”
“You can’t carry that,” I tell him. “Joey made his own choices. Same as you. Same as all of us.”
“Yeah.” He doesn’t sound convinced. “I know.”
But he doesn’t, not really. Luca’s been trying to make up for old mistakes since before I can remember.
I know the feeling. The weight of past sins doesn’t get lighter with time. You just get stronger at carrying it.
I don’t know what else to say, so I don’t say anything. Words aren’t my thing.
When I pull up to his building, he gets out without another word. Just nods and disappears through the glass doors.
The drive home is quiet. I pull into my driveway and the house is dark.
Inside, it’s quiet. Too quiet. I convinced Sierra to stay here for now— safer than her apartment—but she’s still at work, and the silence feels strange.
I’ve lived alone for ten years. This should feel normal.
But I’ve gotten used to her too fast. The sound of her moving through rooms. Her sneakers by the door.
That vanilla scent that’s missing from the air tonight.
I checked my phone twice on the way home, making sure she hadn’t texted me with trouble. Nothing.
I could go to the bar. Wait for her like I’ve done before. But she told me that my face was scaring away customers, so maybe I should give it a rest.
I drop onto the couch and turn on the TV. Some action movie with car chases and explosions. My kind of mindless.
My eyelids grow heavy despite my intentions. The adrenaline from the construction site has faded, leaving exhaustion in its wake. I try to fight it, want to stay awake until I hear Sierra’s car in the driveway.
Sleep drags me under anyway.
The dream starts the way it always does.
My mother on the kitchen floor. My stepfather, Scott, standing over her, fist still clenched, that dead-eyed look he got when the whiskey took over.
I’m thirteen. Frozen in the doorway. I know I should move. Should do something. But my legs won’t work and my voice won’t come and I just stand there, watching him raise his hand again.
She looks over at me like she already knows I’m not going to help her.
Then the scene shifts, the way dreams do.
It’s not Scott standing over her anymore.
It’s me—
A hand touches my shoulder.
I explode.
My arms connect with something soft, shoving hard before my eyes are even fully open. Heart slamming. Pulse roaring. The dream still wrapped around my throat.
Then I blink.
I’m standing in my living room. The TV’s still flickering.
And there’s Sierra. On the floor. Looking up at me.
Same position. Same angle.
My hands are still raised. Still fisted.
I’m him.
For one terrible second, I can’t breathe.
What the fuck did I do?
I move before I can think. I scoop her up, cradling her against my chest, and carry her to my bedroom. My hands shake as I set her on the bed.
“I’m sorry.” My voice comes out rough. “Sunshine, I’m so fucking sorry.”
I step back, eyes raking over her body, looking for damage. Bruises. Blood. Something I can fix or can’t fix, evidence of what I’ve done.
She looks fine. Confused, maybe. A little rumpled.
“Matteo.” Sierra’s voice is soft. Careful. “I’m okay.”
“I pushed you.” My own voice sounds wrong. Too raw. Too exposed. “I could’ve hurt you.”
“You were having a bad dream. You didn’t.”
“I could have.”
She reaches for me, and I flinch.
“Hey.” She doesn’t pull her hand back. Just lets it hover in the air between us, waiting me out. “Come here.”
I can’t. Don’t know how to explain. I’m terrified of becoming him. Every time I lose control, I see Scott’s face instead of my own.
Sierra doesn’t wait for me to figure it out.
She wraps her arms around my neck and pulls me close. “It’s okay,” she murmurs against my shoulder. “I’m okay. You’re okay.”
She's trembling. No matter what she says, I scared her. But she’s holding me anyway.
That breaks something open inside me. I hold her tight, burying my face in her hair. She smells like lemons and bar smoke, and the warmth of her body against mine is the only thing grounding me right now.
I pull her down onto the bed with me, tucking her against my side. Her head rests on my chest. My arm wraps around her waist. I reach over and turn off the lamp.
I’ve never done this before. Slept next to a woman without fucking her first. Taken comfort from someone’s presence instead of their body.
It should feel wrong. Weak.
It doesn’t.
Sierra’s hand finds mine, threading our fingers together over my stomach. “Want to talk about it?”
“No.”
She doesn’t push. Just squeezes my hand and settles deeper into my arms.
“I’m glad you’re home,” I say before I can stop myself.
She doesn’t respond with words. Just lifts our joined hands to her lips and presses a soft kiss to my knuckles.
My throat tightens, and I swallow around something I can’t name.
I close my eyes and focus on the warmth of her against me, the steady rhythm of her breathing.
Sleep comes easier this time. And when it does, I don’t dream at all.