Chapter 4 #2
He just stands there, waiting, the night itself a threat. His gaze drags the area, taking everything in. There’s a lethal kind of focus in his eyes, the kind that says he’s already chosen what he’ll destroy if shit goes sideways.
He stands still for a beat, every muscle coiled, like a predator testing the air for threats. He’s not just scanning the dark, he’s challenging it. Daring whatever’s out there to come closer, to try him.
When he’s convinced we’re clear, he steps into the night, dragging me with him.
The cold snaps against my skin. It’s sharp and punishing, but Matteo doesn’t twitch.
His eyes are locked on the black car buried in the shadows.
It’s the only thing that exists, the only thing that matters in this fucked-up world we’re walking back into.
I’m still in my thin work shirt, the cold digging in with claws, burying itself deep. I don’t even know where my jacket went, the one I was wearing when I left the diner.
Matteo doesn’t slow… not for the cold, not for me. His pace is relentless, eating up the distance until we’re at the black car in seconds. He wrenches the passenger door open without a word, like patience was never part of the plan.
“Get your fucking ass in,” he commands, his voice cold with cruelty.
He doesn’t even look at me… just stands there, a mess he’s been forced to clean up. His eyes are hollow, dead, every part of him that used to feel stripped away. Rigid posture. Clenched jaw. A man who gave up pretending to give a damn a long time ago.
And me… I’m just collateral damage. A problem he wants to erase, not fix.
I don’t hesitate.
I slide into the seat, and the door slams shut behind me with a heavy thud. A lock clicks into place. Whatever this is, there’s no turning back now.
The silence that follows is deafening. Before I can even catch my breath, Matteo rounds the front of the car, expecting a ghost to drag itself out of the shadows. Every part of him wired for betrayal, convinced this is a setup.
He slides into the driver’s seat with that same lethal calm, like he’s done this a hundred times… with enemies, with ghosts, with girls who made the mistake of trusting him.
The door slams shut behind him. The gun rests on his thigh, casual as fuck, an extension of him. It doesn’t need to be pointed at me to make a statement. It already is.
The engine growls to life, low and pissed off, as if it knows exactly where we’re headed…
and it’s nowhere good. Headlights carve through the dark, cutting a path straight to hell.
His hands grip the wheel tight, knuckles white, jaw clenched—holding back a scream or the urge to kill.
Rage rolls off him in thick, choking waves.
He doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t have to.
His silence screams louder than anything else ever could.
The car jerks forward, tires spitting against cracked asphalt, trying to shake the night off its back.
And just like that… we’re gone.
Matteo drives as if we’re being hunted, the past gnawing at his heels and survival riding on outrunning the devil with a fucking death wish. Every mile’s a challenge. Every turn, a dare.
The silence between us is a pressure cooker… hissing, pulsing, toxic as fuck. It dares me to speak. Dares him to snap. But neither of us flinch. Not yet.
The engine screams as Matteo’s foot slams harder on the gas, the car surging forward, fueled by rage.
Black metal devours the road, slicing through the night, a blade tearing everything in its path.
Shadows flicker past the windows, ghosts we leave behind.
But inside… it’s just him and me. Trapped in a silence that roars louder than any fight.
Finally, I snap. The silence cuts too deep, coils too tight. My voice slices through it, jagged and raw.
“Where the fuck are we going?”
It’s not a question, it’s a challenge. Because sitting in this car with him, with that goddamn gun and all this unfinished shit between us, feels like waiting for a bomb to go off.
He doesn’t even look at me, just keeps his eyes locked on the road with that lethal focus. But I see it. The twitch in his jaw, the way his fingers strangle the wheel, as if it’s the only thing keeping him from snapping. He doesn’t answer, but his silence… it fucking screams.
The heat climbs, curling in my chest, a flame I can’t put out. But I don’t back down. I lean into it.
“Answer me, Matteo.” My voice is sharper now, cutting through the roar of the engine. “Where the fuck are we going?”
“Shut the fuck up, Em,” he says, his gaze never leaving the road. “You don’t get to ask questions. You don’t get to know. You just fucking follow.” His words hit like bullets. “You’ll know when you need to know.”
“God, you’re such an asshole,” I snap. “What is this… the fucking Matteo Show?” I hurl the words, each one sharper than the last. “I’m just supposed to sit here, all quiet and obedient while you play mafia king and expect me to be grateful I’m choking on your overpriced cologne. Fuck you, Matteo.”
I wait.
For a twitch, a glance, a curse. For something.
But he gives me nothing. Not a flicker of interest. Not a goddamn blink. Like I’m just background noise he’s learned to ignore.
So, I go for the one thing I know that used to hurt him the deepest, without ever spilling blood. I turn away from him. As if I’m bored. As if he’s nothing. As if the fire between us never even scorched me.
And in the silence, I feel it.
A shift in him so slight it could be missed, but I don’t. A small crack in his armor. Barely there. But still, it’s enough. And for a second, it feels like a win.
I exhale hard, frustration burning in my chest as I rest my head against the cold glass. I won’t look at him. I can’t. Not at that stupid, gorgeous, maddening face. The one that makes me want to scream, cry, break something... or kiss him so hard I forget every reason as to why I should hate him.
The city outside blurs past. A smear of lights and shadows, slipping by too fast to hold onto, vanishing too fast to catch. My thoughts aren’t any better. Broken. Feral. Caught in a loop that won’t let go.
Your father sold you out. Sold you like a fucking pawn to the highest bidder.
The thought of my own father, the man who was supposed to protect me, trading me as if I were nothing more than currency. It makes my stomach twist, bile rising under the weight of it. The betrayal burns, sinking its teeth in.
I was never his daughter. Just a debt to settle. A pawn shoved across the board by the one person who was supposed to fight for me.
And the worst part…. Some fucked-up part of me still wants to believe he didn’t do it.