Chapter 30 Matteo
MATTEO
I’m fucking livid.
Viktor was supposed to come after me. That was the whole goddamn point. I’m the one marrying Sierra. I’m the threat. If he got bold enough to go for her directly, fine. I had men stationed outside the bridal shop today, watching. I was ready for that.
What I wasn’t ready for was this.
Her family. He went after her fucking family.
I stare at the wall of the hospital waiting room, jaw so tight my teeth ache. Sierra’s hand is wrapped around mine, her fingers cold despite the warmth of the room. I haven’t let go of her since I got here. Can’t seem to make myself.
I didn’t see this coming. I should have. The man’s a fucking psycho. But I figured his goal of working with the family shipping company would keep him from pulling something this stupid. I figured wrong.
Now I’m sitting in a waiting room while Julian fights for his life, and Sierra’s heart is breaking in real time.
And it’s my fault.
I poked the bear. I wanted him unstable, reckless. I got what I wanted.
Her brother paid the price.
Harold and James push through the waiting room doors, both of them looking like they ran here. Sierra’s dad spots us first, his face gray and drawn in a way that makes him look a decade older than he did at dinner.
“Any news?” he asks.
Sierra’s mom stands to meet them. “He’s out of surgery. They’re moving him to recovery.”
James pulls his brother into a hug. Harold’s shoulders shake once before he gets himself under control.
This family loves hard. It’s written in everything they do. No wonder Sierra opened her heart so easily. No wonder she walks home late at night believing most people are good.
I don’t want her to lose that.
My free hand curls into a fist on my thigh. Viktor needs to be gone. Not just for the mafia. Not just for my own vendetta. For her. For them.
I meant what I told her. I’m going to make it happen.
A nurse appears in the doorway. Young, tired, clipboard clutched tightly. “Family of Julian Dixon?”
Everyone turns.
“He’s been moved to the ICU. He’s stable but still unconscious. You can visit two at a time.”
Harper is already moving, Sierra’s mom right behind her. They disappear through the double doors, and the rest of us settle back into the hard plastic chairs to wait.
Sierra’s leg bounces. Her hand finds mine again, squeezing tight.
It feels like hours before Harper and Alicia come back, though it’s probably only fifteen minutes. Harper’s face is blotchy, mascara smeared. She doesn’t say anything, just sinks into a chair and stares at the floor.
Sierra stands. Looks at her dad, then her uncle. “Do you mind if I...?”
“Go ahead, sweetheart,” Harold says. His voice is rough. “We’ll go after.”
Sierra turns to me. “Come with me?”
I can’t say no to her.
Julian’s room is dim. Quiet except for the beep of machines and the hiss of the ventilator. Tubes snake everywhere. His face is swollen, bruised. He doesn’t look like the guy who joked with me over dinner last week.
Sierra’s grip on my hand tightens until it hurts.
I don’t pull away.
“We’ve always been close,” she says softly. “Even though he’s five years older. You’d think he wouldn’t want his little sister around when he was a teenager, but it was never like that with us.”
We move closer to the bed. Her voice steadies as she talks, like the words are anchoring her.
“I looked up to him. I wanted to be just like him. That’s part of why I started studying business, you know? My parents encouraged it, and Julian did it, so it must be right.”
A small, sad laugh escapes her. “It wasn’t right. But you know who supported me completely when I dropped out?”
“Julian.”
“Yeah.” She swipes at a tear before it can fall. “He told me to follow my own path. Said not to worry about Mom and Dad being disappointed because he’d always be proud of me.”
I swallow hard. “He’s going to wake up, Sunshine.”
I don’t know if that’s true. But I’d say anything right now to stop her tears.
“I know.” Her voice cracks. “I just hate that Viktor did this. Mom says I’m not to blame, but I can’t help it. I feel like I brought trouble to our doorstep, and Julian paid the price.”
“Stop.” My voice is a growl, and I force myself to soften it. “That’s not true. Viktor is the bad guy here. What if you’d rejected him at the beginning? Maybe he would’ve come after your family then. That wouldn’t be your fault, and this isn’t your fault.”
She stares at Julian for another long moment, then squeezes his hand once.
“We should go. My dad will want to see him.”
We say goodbye to her family, and I take her home. She’s quiet on the drive, staring out the window at the passing lights. When we get to my place, I pull her into bed and wrap my arms around her.
She doesn’t cry. Just presses her face against my chest and breathes.
I hold her all night.
On Friday, I spend the entire day hunting Viktor.
I’ve been searching for a while now, but today is different. Today, every time I close my eyes, I see Sierra’s face in that hospital room. The fear. The guilt that had no business being there.
Viktor did that to her.
I cross into Bratva territory, which is reckless as hell, but I don’t care. Viktor is laying low, hiding from me and the cops. He won’t leave his home turf.
No one talks.
Either they don’t know where he is, or they’re too scared to say. One guy spits at my feet when I mention Viktor’s name. Another just laughs and walks away.
My next step would be to grab some lower-level Bratva members and have a more persuasive conversation, but that’ll take planning.
I’m heading to the casino to check in when my phone rings.
“Santino?”
“Shaw came through. Got an address tied to that license plate.”
I used my contact at the police department to get the license plate number from the car that hit Julian. Shaw’s been running it down.
“Send it to me.”
“It’s deep in Bratva territory. You shouldn’t go alone.” A pause. “I’ll come with you. Pick me up at the casino.”
He hangs up before I can argue.
Fine. Backup isn’t the worst idea.
Santino’s waiting outside when I pull up. He’s old school. Gray hair, sharp eyes, suit and tie every day. He rolls his own cigarettes and doesn’t take shit from anyone.
I respect the hell out of him.
He slides into the passenger seat and pulls out a cigarette. “Mind if I smoke?”
“It’s your lungs.”
He lights one, cracks the window. The familiar smell fills the truck as he navigates us toward the address.
“How’s your mother doing?” he asks.
“Next treatment is Tuesday.”
He nods slowly. “She’s a strong woman. Stronger than most men I know.” He takes a long drag. “Your father used to say she was the best thing that ever happened to him.”
I swallow once, keep my eyes on the road. I don’t know what to say to that. Santino doesn’t seem to expect anything. He just smokes and watches the streets roll by until we reach the address.
The house has moldy siding and a yard full of rusted kids’ toys. The car in the driveway is missing its front plate. No way this is Viktor’s place.
“Stolen,” Santino says. “Swapped it onto his own car.”
We confirm it with the guy who answers the door. Beer gut, crooked teeth, pissed off when we point out his missing plate. Viktor’s not here.
Another dead end.
“Don’t worry,” Santino says as we head back to the truck. “We’ll get him. These things take time.”
“I’m getting married next weekend.”
“Isn’t that the point? Make him come to you?”
I pull open the driver’s side door harder than necessary.
Santino chuckles as he climbs in. “You like her. The girl.”
It’s not a question.
“It’s not a bad thing,” he continues. “Caring about her.”
I don’t answer.
“I’ve known you a long time, Matteo. You’ve always done what needed to be done. That’s not going to change because you like the girl.” He takes a drag of a new cigarette. “If anything, it makes the whole thing more convincing. Just don’t let it make you sloppy.”
“I won’t. I’m just tired of waiting. I want this bastard now.”
“Then I’ll help.” He settles back in his seat. “What else is on your schedule tonight?”
“Got to deal with some gang that vandalized the strip club. Cash says they’re young guys, just starting out. Probably trying to make a name by fucking with us.”
“The same Cash whose thumbs you broke?”
“He’s still useful. Knows everyone on these streets.”
Santino makes a noncommittal sound. “I’ll come with you. Been too long since I’ve scared some punk kids.”
The dive bar sits at the end of a dead-end street. Windows covered with peeling beer ads. The door is metal, dented, hanging slightly crooked on its hinges.
Santino stubs out his cigarette on the doorframe. “Ready?”
“Yeah.”
He pulls the door open and steps inside.
I’m right behind him.
The gun appears from the shadows like it was always there. Pressed to Santino’s temple before either of us can react.
The shot is thunder.
Blood sprays hot across my face. Santino drops.
No.
I grab the shooter’s wrist before he can turn the gun on me. Twist until I feel bone snap. His scream cuts off when I put my own bullet through his skull.
Shouting. Footsteps. I press into the alcove by the door, back against the wall, my gun raised.
Don’t look at him. Don’t look.
But I can see Santino in my peripheral vision. The blood pooling black under what’s left of his head. His tobacco scattered across the floor where it fell from his pocket.
Thirty years. I’ve known him thirty years.
The rage inside me is like a lightning strike in a dry forest.
I peek out. Fire twice. Two men drop. Return fire splinters the doorframe and I pull back, wood chips biting into my cheek.
Not punk kids. Bratva. MC.
A trap.
Four left. Maybe five. I can hear them spreading out, boots on the sticky floor, trying to flank me.
I don’t wait for them.
I come out of the alcove fast, straight at the nearest man. He’s too close to bring his gun up. My fist connects with his jaw and he crumples. I spin, fire, drop another one flanking left. The shot takes him in the throat.
Something burns across my ribs. A knife. The fucker with the blade swings again and I catch his wrist, twist until I feel tendons pop. The knife clatters. I shoot him in the face.
Another from the right. Two shots. First goes wide. Second catches him in the stomach. He folds, gun skittering away.
The guy I punched is struggling up. I kick him in the temple. Hard.
Last one runs for the door.
I catch him before he makes it. We go down together, my weight driving him into concrete. He claws at my face. I grab his head.
Twist.
Silence.
I push myself up. Stand there breathing hard. The bar is quiet now except for the ringing in my ears.
Santino.
I make myself look.
He’s still there. Still dead. Blood pooling beneath him. Eyes open, staring at nothing.
I’ve seen plenty of dead bodies. Made plenty of them myself. It’s never bothered me much.
This is different.
Santino has been part of my life as long as I can remember. He taught me how to clean a gun. Stood next to Lorenzo at my father’s funeral.
Now he’s gone because I trusted the wrong person.
I cross to him. Kneel down. Close his eyes. My hand rests on his shoulder for a moment.
“I’m sorry.”
The words don’t mean anything. Can’t fix this. I say them anyway.
My hand is still on his shoulder. I can’t seem to make myself pull it away. Ten seconds. I give myself ten seconds to stay here. To feel this. Then I lock it down and push to my feet.
The guy I punched is groaning, starting to come around. I find some electrical cord behind the bar and tie him up. He’ll have answers later.
I need to check the perimeter. Make sure no backup is coming. Then get out of here.
I shove the door open and step outside.
Cash is standing next to my truck, craning his neck toward the bar entrance. Probably waiting to confirm I’m dead so he can collect whatever the Bratva promised him.
Idiot.
He doesn’t run. Just cowers against my truck as I walk toward him, hands up, already begging.
“Wait, wait, please—”
“Why?” I grab his shirt and slam him into the side of the truck. The movement pulls at my ribs. I feel the wet slide of blood under my shirt. Don’t care.
“Look what you did to me!” He holds up his casts.
“You stole from us. You’re lucky I didn’t kill you then.”
“Fuck you.”
My hand closes around his throat. “You didn’t set this up alone.”
His eyes bulge. “Bratva,” he chokes out. “They offered me more money and a chance to get revenge. All I had to do was set up the vandalism and lead you here tonight.”
Lead me here.
He didn’t know Santino would come. Didn’t plan for that.
Doesn’t matter.
“Was it worth it?”
“No, please, I can help you, I know things—”
I snap his neck before he can finish.
The body drops. I stare at it for a moment, waiting to feel something. Victory. Justice.
Nothing.
I drag him inside with the others. Lock the door. My side is throbbing now. I press my hand against it, and my palm comes away red. Not deep enough to be a problem. Deep enough to need stitches.
Later.
I drop onto a barstool and pull out my phone.
Dario’s number stares up at me.
I hit call.
“Matteo?”
“Dario.” My voice doesn’t sound like mine. “I need you to come to a bar on 19th.”
Silence. Then: “What happened?”
I look at Santino’s body.
“Santino’s dead. Cash was working with the Bratva. Set a trap. Santino went through the door first.”
The silence stretches. I can hear Dario breathing.
“I killed them,” I add. “All of them. Cash too. There’s one still alive. Tied up.”
Nothing.
“Dario?”
“I’m on my way.”
The line goes dead.
I lower the phone. The screen goes dark.
The bar is quiet. Neon buzzes. Somewhere, a pipe drips.
Santino’s blood is still spreading across the floor.
I sit there in the silence and wait.