Chapter 24 Elena Breaks When Matteo Lies #2
“No.” She swallowed dust, tasted metal. “If you knew the truth about Dante, you would’ve told me. You didn’t. And now the network has been alerted because you were too afraid to be honest with me. Tell me what you know.”
Matteo’s lips parted, then closed. He looked like he was fighting himself. Like he was wrestling with a decision that wasn’t only about strategy.
Elena saw it and hated him for it.
The network alerted. The ledger page was here. Dante’s name sat like a live wire between them. Matteo had the information, and Elena felt the ground under her confidence crumble. If she couldn’t trust him, then the investigation was just a cage with pretty bars.
She turned toward the stairs, toward the church interior, toward anything loud enough to drown out her fear. “Fine,” she said, voice too steady. “You don’t want to tell me? I’ll force it.”
Matteo’s hand shot out - this time he caught her forearm. Not gentle. Not a warning. A stop.
Elena twisted, trying to pull free. His grip tightened. Pain flared in her muscles, a sharp protest that jolted her senses back into her body. The scaffolding rocked under them as she fought, the plank groaning like it might break.
“Let go,” she hissed.
Matteo leaned closer, his voice barely above the wind. “If you go down there with that page, you’ll broadcast the coordinates without knowing what the network is waiting to trigger.”
Elena’s breath hitched. “So that’s it. You’re scared of what it will trigger.”
“I’m scared of what it will cost,” he corrected, and the word cost carried a weight that sounded personal.
Elena stared at him. “You’re scared for you.”
Matteo’s grip held steady, but his eyes flashed. “I’m scared for you.”
The confession didn’t soften her. It made her furious. “Don’t say you’re scared for me when you’re still keeping secrets. You think fear is the reason I’ll ruin things? No. Fear is the reason I’ll survive them.”
Matteo’s jaw tightened. “You won’t survive this if you do it alone.”
Elena’s panic turned into something colder. She looked at the ledger page through the bag, at the paper that had survived vaults and vault locks and men who wanted it dead. She remembered her work, her proof, her insistence that truth was a weapon that couldn’t be taken away.
If Matteo wouldn’t give her the truth, she would make the truth public. Let the network react to something it couldn’t contain.
She yanked again, harder. Matteo shifted his stance, bracing. His body moved like he’d fought wars with his bones. The grip didn’t slip.
“You can’t restrain me,” Elena spat.
“I can restrain you,” Matteo said, and his tone made it clear he’d already decided he would. “Right now.”
Elena’s eyes burned. “You’re doing exactly what you accused me of. Controlling. Managing.”
His gaze cut to her face. “I’m stopping you from dying.”
“I’m not dying,” she said, and her voice cracked on the last word. It wasn’t bravado. It was desperation. It was the need to believe that if she could force the truth out into daylight, it would protect her from the darkness Matteo kept dragging around like a cloak.
Matteo’s phone buzzed again. This time the vibration sounded frantic, like a countdown.
He looked down at the screen, and for the first time his expression changed in a way Elena could read. His eyes widened slightly, then narrowed like he was trying to interpret something too fast.
“What?” Elena demanded.
Matteo didn’t answer. He moved his thumb, quickly, then shoved the phone back into his jacket.
Elena felt the shift in him like a draft. His body went still, as if he’d heard something she hadn’t. The air around them felt colder.
“Matteo,” she said, softer now. The panic didn’t leave; it just became sharper. “What’s happening?”
He released her forearm.
The sudden absence of his hand was worse than the grip. Elena stumbled half a step, catching herself on the beam. She stared at him, breathing hard.
Matteo turned toward the opening that led down into the church. His shoulders set like he was preparing to fight someone who wasn’t there yet.
“They want your voice,” he said.
Elena blinked. “What?”
Matteo’s gaze came back to her, and the look in it wasn’t just warning. It was apology held back by discipline.
“Your phone,” he said. “They can triangulate. They can ride your broadcast. They can make the public custody directive real.”
Elena’s stomach dropped. “Public custody?” The phrase tasted familiar from the coded directives that had been floating around them like smoke. “You told me it was containment.”
“It was,” Matteo said. “Until it became a signal.”
Elena’s hands tightened on the bag again. “You’re saying they can track me if I go public with the ledger.”
Matteo didn’t let her twist the meaning into comfort. “I’m saying they can force you into a version of public that isn’t yours.”
Elena’s breath came shallow. Images flashed - cameras, microphones, crowds, the way men like the network used attention like a knife. She imagined her evidence turned into a trap, her voice used as coordinates to pull assets into place.
And then she imagined the alternative: Matteo keeping secrets forever, the truth bleeding out slowly while she begged for honesty in rooms where the locks were already chosen.
She swallowed. Dust coated her tongue.
“What are you hiding?” she asked, quieter than before. “About Dante. About what he is. About why you went silent.”
Matteo’s eyes held hers, and something in his face tightened like he’d been struck. “I’m not hiding.”
“You are,” Elena said, and this time her voice was steady enough to cut. “You withheld the one detail that changes everything, and you expect me to trust you while you do it.”
Matteo’s throat moved. “That detail would put you in the path they want.”
Elena’s laugh was almost a sob. “So I’m supposed to accept that? That my life and my mind are negotiable pieces in your strategy?”
Matteo stepped toward her again, slow but certain. The wind shoved again, rattling the scaffolding. Somewhere below, a restoration tool clanged - metal on stone, a sound too loud in the quiet.
Matteo reached for her, and Elena flinched, instinctively protective of the bag.
He stopped short, his hands open at his sides. “Listen to me.”
“I can’t,” Elena whispered, and the truth of it hurt. “Every time you speak, I hear the part you don’t say.”
Matteo’s eyes darkened. “I’m trying to keep you from breaking.”
Elena stared at him. “I’m already broken.”
The words left her mouth before she could stop them. Shame burned hot behind her ribs. She hated saying it. She hated the way it sounded like surrender.
Matteo didn’t look away. He didn’t soften into comfort. He just watched her like he was taking inventory of the damage.
Then his gaze dropped to her hands. To the cloth bag. To the ledger page tucked inside.
“They’re going to force a contact,” Matteo said. “If you go down there and broadcast, you’ll create the contact they’re waiting for.”
Elena’s throat tightened. “You keep saying they. Like you don’t know who.”
Matteo’s silence answered her again.
Elena felt herself tip into a place she didn’t control. Rage didn’t fuel her anymore. Fear did. Fear of being manipulated. Fear of being used as bait. Fear of being wrong about Matteo, about Dante, about everything she’d fought to prove.
If she couldn’t trust Matteo, then the only truth left was the evidence in her hands. Public exposure was the one thing the network couldn’t fully sanitize once it started moving.
She stepped toward the stairs again, bag pressed to her chest.
Matteo moved to intercept. His body slid between her and the opening like a wall. He didn’t block with force immediately. He blocked with proximity, with the threat of it.
“Elena,” he said, voice low and dangerous.
She looked up at him, eyes stinging. “Don’t.”
“I can’t let you do this,” he said.
“Then stop me,” Elena spat, and she hated the way her voice begged at the end. She wasn’t asking for mercy. She was asking for certainty. She wanted him to prove he was on her side, even if that meant breaking his own rules.
Matteo’s jaw flexed.
He reached for her again, and this time Elena didn’t pull away. She couldn’t. Her body froze like it recognized his intent before her mind agreed with it.
Matteo took the bag from her chest, fast and controlled. Elena’s arms jerked instinctively, but he held it out of reach. The cloth shifted, and the corner of paper pressed against her fingertips through the fabric. It was like being teased by the truth she’d demanded.
“Matteo,” she said, and her voice went thin. “Give it back.”
“No,” he said. The word was simple. Final. It landed like a door shutting.
Elena’s eyes flared. “You’re taking my evidence.”
“I’m keeping it from being used against you,” Matteo said.
Her throat tightened until speaking felt painful. “You already let them alert. You already know what Dante is to them. And now you’re going to decide what I can do with my own proof?”
Matteo’s gaze didn’t waver. “Yes.”
The wind shoved again, colder now, and dust settled in Elena’s eyelashes like grit. She blinked hard, but the sting didn’t go away. She could feel tears threatening. She refused to let them fall. Not here. Not under this roof where history had already been weaponized.
“Let me down there,” she demanded. “I’ll livestream it. I’ll broadcast the ledger. I’ll force the truth into daylight.”
Matteo exhaled once, sharp. “You’ll force the network to move assets to your location.”
Elena’s chest heaved. “Maybe that’s the point. Maybe if they move, they expose themselves.”
Matteo’s eyes narrowed. “You think exposure is control.”
“It’s the only control I have left,” Elena said.
His face tightened at that. For a second, something human flickered across him - pain, maybe, or recognition. Then it was gone. Discipline returned like a mask.
He stepped backward toward the stairs, lifting the cloth bag higher, keeping it out of her reach. “We’re leaving this section. Now.”
Elena’s stomach lurched. “Leaving?”
Matteo nodded once. “You’re not going public from these scaffolds.”