Chapter 37
MATTEO
The bass from the club speakers thrums through my chest as I settle into a booth at Alessio’s strip club. I didn’t want a bachelor party. Didn’t ask for one. But Dario practically dragged me here. He pulled rank when I tried to refuse.
“You need to take a night off from hunting Viktor,” he’d said. “That’s an order.”
He’s not wrong. I’ve been pushing hard, barely sleeping, chasing every lead I can find before tomorrow. Before the wedding.
Tomorrow. Fuck.
I wanted to find Viktor first. Wanted him handled before Sierra walked down the aisle. Not because of the original plan. Now I just don’t want him anywhere near her on what should be a perfect day.
Every lead has been a dead end. I’ve roughed up half a dozen Bratva foot soldiers, hoping someone would crack and give me a location. All I got was confirmation that Viktor runs Lightning production and brings in serious money for Kozlov. That’s why he’s been so well protected.
Alessio settles beside me and sets a Coke down with exaggerated ceremony. “Don’t say I never spoil you.”
Two dancers work the poles on the main stage. Topless. Years ago, when I first started pulling security shifts here, I would’ve watched. Would’ve let myself get distracted. Now, my eyes slide right past them.
Now, all I see is Sierra.
Sierra in red lace. Sierra’s lush hips rolling. Sierra’s fingers gripping a pole while she looks at me with that soft challenge in her eyes, daring me to stay in my seat.
My cock stirs, and I shift, irritated at myself. The image isn’t for anyone else. It’s mine. I’d put a bullet in every fucker in this room before I’d let another man see her like that.
“Where’s Sierra tonight?” Dario asks, settling across from us.
Just the three of us. If Luca were here, he’d already be in the back room with one of the dancers. He’s still on his mysterious mission, so he’ll miss the wedding.
“Spa earlier. She’s staying with her family tonight.” I hate her being somewhere I can’t watch over her. I’ve got two guys stationed outside her parents’ house, but I don’t have to like it. Her family insisted on the tradition. The night before the wedding, bride and groom sleep apart.
Sierra wanted to make them happy. I wasn’t going to tell her no.
Alessio gestures toward a redhead working the floor in a see-through bodysuit. “Crystal’s new and very popular with the regulars. Want a dance?”
The suggestion barely registers. My mind is already back on Sierra. The way she’d feel in my lap instead, warm and soft, eyes locked on mine as she moved. Her heavy tits in my face while she grinds down slow. Her breath hot against my ear.
“No.”
“Come on.” Alessio’s grin is easy. “You don’t have to feel guilty about it. It’s a fake marriage, right? I doubt your bride will care if you—”
I set the can down hard.
“It’s real.”
Alessio blinks. Dario just takes a long sip of his drink, eying me over the rim.
Fuck.
I stare at the can in my hands. My knuckles have gone white around the aluminum. The club noise feels distant suddenly, muffled by the blood pounding in my ears.
I’ve admitted this to myself. Late at night, with Sierra asleep against me, I’ve let myself think it. Feel it. But saying it out loud, to them, makes it real in a different way.
Terrifying in a different way.
“For me,” I force out. Each word feels like pulling teeth. “It’s real for me.”
Silence.
Then Alessio leans forward. “What the fuck? You’ve got actual feelings for her?”
I want to deflect. Change the subject. That’s what I would’ve done a month ago. What I’ve always done.
But Sierra has cracked something open in me. Something I don’t know how to close again.
“Yes.”
Alessio stares at me like I’m an alien lifeform.
“Lorenzo told me to marry her. That was the job.” I set the soda down, unable to hold it. My hands feel restless. Wrong. “But when she’s my wife tomorrow, it’s real. And I’m not letting her go.”
“Have you told her yet?” Dario asks.
“No.”
“Why not?”
Because I don’t deserve her. Because I’ve killed men with these hands, and I’ll kill more. Because she’s sunshine and warmth and everything good, and I’m the darkness she should run from.
Because if I tell her and she doesn’t feel the same, it’ll fucking destroy me.
“I need to prove myself first.” The excuse sounds weak even to my own ears. “Show her I can keep her safe. When Viktor’s gone—”
“Matteo.” Dario cuts me off, and there’s something almost gentle in his voice that I fucking hate. “You don’t have to earn the right to tell a woman you love her.”
Love.
The word hits like a fist to the solar plexus.
Is that what this is? This ache when she’s not beside me. The need to protect her. Make her smile.
I think of her in that white dress tomorrow. Saying vows. Becoming mine.
I crack my knuckles.
“I don’t—” I stop. Start again. “I’m not good at this.”
“No shit.” But Alessio’s smirking now, the tension breaking. He slaps my shoulder. “The scariest enforcer in Vegas, taken out by a bartender. Nina’s gonna love this.”
I grunt. It’s the closest thing to an acknowledgment I can manage.
Dario raises his glass. “To the women who put up with us.”
“To the women,” Alessio echoes.
I lift my glass. We drink.
A beat passes. Then Dario raises his glass again, his expression shifting.
“And to Santino.”
The mood changes. We both repeat it, quieter this time.
“To Santino.”
We drink.
The old man would’ve had something to say about tonight. Probably would’ve laughed at me, told me to stop being a stubborn bastard and just tell Sierra how I feel.
He’d be right.
Tomorrow, I’m marrying the woman I love. And she has no idea.
The thought sits with me, heavy, as the music pulses around us.
Soon. I’ll tell her soon.
When Viktor is handled. When I’ve proven I can keep her safe. When I’m worthy of her.
The excuses feel hollow now, exposed for what they really are.
Fear.
I’m fucking terrified.
But tomorrow, Sierra Dixon becomes Sierra Rossi.
And I’m going to spend every day after that earning the right to keep her.