20. Matteo
TWENTY
Matteo
As I place another neatly folded shirt into the suitcase, Alex's appears in the doorway. “You sure about this?” he asks.
I sit down on the edge of the bed, looking across at him. “Deal’s in the bag. Development can get started without me here.”
It feels odd to think I achieved my life’s goal, made a billion dollars in pure profit, and I couldn’t give a shit.
“Are you coming back?”
I ignore the question. “Keep an eye on her family for me, will you? Make sure her sister keeps seeing that therapist. And her dad, make sure he stays on the wagon.”
“Of course, I've got it covered. How about you? Who’s going to keep an eye on you?”
I glance at the packed suitcases, my life reduced to a few bags. “I've made enough money to see me through ten lifetimes, Alex. That was the goal, right?” My voice trails off, the victory feeling hollow. “I can go anywhere once this is done.”
If I survive, I think to myself. Not that it matters much whether I live or die. Either my plan means Petrovitch dies or the authorities have proof he killed my parents. Footage in the cloud, obtained by Emma’s father, the link sent directly to me. I sent him a thank you. Didn’t even get a response. Not that it matters.
“Never thought you’d want to leave New York.”
“I guess people change.”
“I guess they do. You did everything right on your end. Business is solid, and that park you’re setting up? That’s going to be something for her to remember you by.”
“Yeah, the park...” I echo, my mind drifting. I remember her talking about how much her mom loved the Hannigan’s Park before it all got ripped out by the city planners. Their last photo.
It was supposed to be for her, part of the new life I wanted to give her. The space to remember her mother. She would have had free reign to plant it how she wanted. Total control. Exactly what she wanted in life.
“She made her choice,” I say at last. My voice hardens a bit with the last words, self-defense against the pain.
“You could go get her. She’s your wife. It’d be legal to drag her back here. I think.”
“Where did you study law?” A short laugh escapes me, bitter and skeptical. “She’s better off without me. I’ve done too much, crossed too many lines. Used blackmail to get this deal through, it tasted sour doing it, same as watching her dad go after the suitcase. I could’ve gotten him killed. She’d never have forgiven me. It was a dumb thing to do.”
“Doesn’t matter. Petrovitch didn’t crack the encryption in time. Bet he’s seething right now, wondering where his deputy’s vanished to. What’s the plan for him now? Going to use the stuff?”
“Better you don’t know, trust me. It might not work. If that’s the case, the access codes to my cloud storage are in the safe. Use it to put Petrovitch away. Death is justice but incarceration will be a decent consolation prize.”
“All right, man. But remember, this city, your friends—we’re all still here. If you ever want to come back.”
“I don’t have friends,” I tell him. “Except you.”
“And I’m only in it for the money. Safe travels, man.”
I grab the suitcase and head towards the door, leaving behind a life and love that could have been, for the solitude I’m used to. She needs to be in charge of her life. I have to be in charge of mine. It could never work out between us. I was a fool to think it could.
I walk to my car, each step resolute yet heavy. I throw my bags in the trunk and slide into the driver's seat, taking a deep breath as I start the engine. The street stretches out before me as I drive, an endless ribbon of asphalt lit by the city that never sleeps.
My phone, silenced and tossed onto the passenger seat, lights up sporadically with missed calls and messages I have no intention of checking. I’m leaving it all behind—everything but the memories, which cling tighter than shadows at dusk.
A pair of headlights appears in my rearview mirror, growing brighter, closer. Too close. My grip on the steering wheel tightens, and my heart rate picks up. Instinct tells me that whoever it is, they’re following me.
Their car speeds up, swerving into my lane. A sense of dread washes over me. Old instincts kick in. I glance over, trying to make out the driver, but the windows are tinted and it’s not a vehicle I recognize.
I swerve to scare it away. The other car matches my movements, aggressive, relentless. It’s not just reckless driving; it’s a deliberate act.
I push my car faster, trying to outpace them, but they keep up, a dark shape flanking me like a persistent shadow. My mind races—could this be Petrovitch’s doing? Or another enemy I've made, come to claim retribution now that I'm alone?
Reaching into the glove compartment, I pull out my gun, a heavy and cold reassurance in my hand. I’ve lived by the sword, and if necessary, I'll die by it too.
The car swerves again, this time cutting in front, forcing me to slam on the brakes. My car skids, the tires squealing in protest as I come to a jarring stop. The other car blocks the road ahead, trapping me.
If this is an attack, I won’t go down without a fight. I keep my eyes fixed on the rearview mirror, watching for any sign of movement from the other car.
This might be the end of the road for me, but I'm not going out quietly. Not now, not ever. My only regret is not getting to kill Petrovitch myself. I don’t regret breaking up with Emma. She’s better off without me. Everyone is. I step out of my car, gun drawn, ready to fire.