Chapter 2 #2
A silhouette carved out by the light, standing dead in front of me.
Shoulders squared, posture locked with that rigid, quiet control I could never forget.
His face is swallowed by shadow, but it doesn’t matter.
The shape of him hits like a punch to the chest. Broad frame.
Sharp edges. His presence is a fucking weapon.
My stomach knots, tight and mean, a sick twist of panic and knowing. Because I know exactly who the fuck is standing there. And I know exactly how fucked I am.
And for a split second… just one—I panic.
Not because he’s here. But because of what I’ve got stashed away.
The files.
The ones that could bring everything crashing down if he ever found out. If this is about that… if he knows… No. He can’t. He can’t know.
This man staring me down isn’t the boy I once loved.
That boy had softness behind his eyes, heat in his hands, and a future hidden in his grin. This one… He’s colder now. Sharper. Like the world carved the softness out of him and left nothing behind but steel and silence.
I jerk against the restraints again, harder this time, metal clanging with a warning bell no one’s going to answer.
The rope bites deep into my wrists, the pain sharp, but it’s still better than doing nothing.
Better than sitting still while he watches me in a way that I’m prey that wandered back into his trap.
I grit my teeth and pull again.
That’s when his voice cuts through the silence.
“Stop fucking moving,” he snaps, the words cold and razor clean. “You’ll only make it worse.”
He steps forward, slow and lethal, like every inch of him is wound tight with purpose. The light finally catches his face. It’s sharper than I remember, harder.
His eyes don’t flicker. They don’t soften. They just look at me like I’m the problem he’s already solved.
“You think you can fight this? Fight me,” His mouth curls, but it’s not a smile. It’s a warning dressed up in cruelty. “Go ahead. Keep struggling. Maybe if you bleed enough, you’ll finally remember who the fuck you're dealing with.”
My breath stutters, catching in my chest before I can stop it. But I recover quickly, lifting my chin slowly, ignoring the burn in my wrists because the fury pulsing beneath my skin is louder, stronger, more fucking real.
Matteo has always said it, even when we were kids, whispered with the reverence of gospel into my ear, "Never let your enemy know you’re scared."
Now he’s the enemy.
Now he’s the one standing across from me, with cold eyes and an even colder heart, trying to carve fear from my flesh.
So, I do exactly what he taught me. I stare back at him, bury every tremor behind a steady gaze and razor smile, and speak low, cold, cutting—
“Still pretending you’re in control, Matteo? Is that cute little monster act working for you these days?”
His jaw tightens, just barely, but I fucking see it.
I lean in as far as the ropes and chains will let me, eyes locked on his. My voice drops to a whisper, sharp as broken glass.
“Deep down, you’re still the same fucked-up little boy playing dress-up in daddy’s suit, aren’t you?” I let it sit there. Let it burn for a moment before I speak again. “You don’t scare me. Not because you’ve changed… but because you haven’t.”
He takes a step and the light catches on that smirk, crooked, and cruel, and yet so damn familiar it hits like a punch to the ribs.
He steps even closer, still with that smirk tugging at his mouth, it’s smug, dangerous. But underneath the cruelty, for the briefest second, I see it, it’s him. The boy who once held my heart as if it wasn’t a weapon. The boy who used to whisper promises instead of threats.
“You think a few years, a new name, and some fucked-up sense of pride makes you dangerous?” He leans in. “You were better when you were begging.”
I smile, all teeth. “You were better when you had a soul.”
He laughs. It’s cold and sharp. “You think you ever touched my soul, sweetheart?” He tilts his head, voice hardening. “You were a fuck. A habit I broke. Nothing more.”
“Still pretending you're untouchable, Matteo?” I breathe. “I’ve seen you on your knees, remember… Whispering that you loved me as though it was the last fucking truth in the world."
And then his smirk comes, crueler than before. “You think I’ll turn back into that pathetic bastard who thought he could save you. Who used to love fucking you like it meant something.”
His hand yanks the chain tight, dragging me closer. The chair jerks beneath me.
“You think this is about love?” he growls. “This is fucking war, Em. And you’re on the losing side of it.”
I don’t flinch. I lean in as if I want to taste blood.
“I was never on your side, Matteo,” I spit, voice cold as the grave he left me in. “Not after you left me bleeding as if I was nothing.”
The chain clinks as he steps back, letting it fall between us like a line drawn in blood. The smirk slips from his face, replaced with something sharper, deadly cold, and certain.
“We’re done playing,” he says, voice low and flat, reminiscent of a man used to giving orders before pulling the trigger.
“Next time you open that smart little mouth of yours, I won’t just shut it up.
I’ll drag a knife across your throat so slow you’ll feel every fucking inch of it.
I’ll carve my name so deep into your fucking skin while you bleed out at my feet, so when you take your last breath, you’ll remember exactly who did this to you. ”
His stare lingers… long enough to burn, long enough to brand, and then he turns, walking away like I’m already dead. Like I was never more than a loose end waiting to be tied off.
The door shuts behind him, a vault sealing tightly and locking away everything we will never say.
I swallow the fear down, force my spine straight, and let the anger rise to meet it.
Because if this is war… He better be ready to bleed for it. Because I’ll burn everything down before I let him win.