Chapter 14 #2
“I want to know why he sold me out,” she says.
I catch her hand and pull it away from my face, needing the distance the way a drowning man needs air. Because if she keeps touching me, I’ll fucking break. And breaking? That’s a luxury I can’t afford anymore.
“No,” I snarl.
It’s final.
A slammed door she’s not getting through.
"Why not?" she snaps, her eyes burning into mine like she’s trying to tear the truth out of me with nothing but fury and hurt. "I have a right to know, Matteo."
She does. Fuck, I know she does.
But some truths don’t bring peace.
Some answers don’t heal. They just hollow you out even deeper, leave you bleeding in places no one can see.
I’ve already watched this world take enough out of her. Already seen it try to gut her and leave her with nothing but scars. I won’t be the one to finish the job.
I throw back the rest of the whiskey, welcoming the burn, needing the distraction. Anything to keep me from drowning in the way she’s looking at me.
Emery sees it for what it is. A dodge. A fucking diversion. It pisses her off, burns through her eyes like a slap I deserve.
I see it in the hard set of her jaw, in the way her shoulders square, ready for war.
And fuck, I know it’s aimed at me. But I don’t give her an answer.
Not yet. Not when the truth will shatter more than just her.
She’s not going anywhere near that fucker.
Not while I’m still breathing. Not with my father’s silence crawling down my spine, heavy and cold, a loaded gun pressed to the back of my skull.
Not until I know what the hell’s about to crawl out of the dark and come for us.
Her eyes flash, and before I can even move, she explodes.
"Fuck you, Matteo!" she snaps, her voice splintering, fury and heartbreak bleeding out in every word. "You don’t get to make that choice. You don’t get to sit there, drowning in whiskey and lies, pretending it’s about protecting me while all you’re really doing is keeping me locked in the fucking dark. "
She steps back, breathing hard, her fists clenched so tight at her sides it looks like she’s holding herself together by force.
"I’m going to find him," she says, louder now. "With or without you. I deserve to know why he threw me to the fucking wolves."
She turns away, as if being near me might tear her apart. Her footsteps hammer across the hardwood, each one louder, angrier, an attempt to outrun the silence I wrapped around us.
She stops at the far window, arms clamped tight across her chest, the only barrier between her and a full-body collapse.
Her back’s to me, but I see it all. The rise and fall of her shoulders with every ragged breath. She’s barely holding it in, fists clenched, jaw tight, bracing against the scream clawing its way up her throat.
She stares out the window, searching the sky for answers I won’t give. Praying it’ll say something I won’t.
“You know what hurts the most?” she says, still facing the window, her voice frayed and low. “It’s not that my father sold me out. It’s that you turned out no better than him.”
And fuck… my stomach twists so viciously it feels like something just tore loose inside me.
Then she turns. Slow. Shaking.
And fuck… there they are. Tears, slipping down her cheeks in silence, dragging pieces of her with every drop.
And it wrecks me, because I’ve never seen her cry.
Not Emery.
Not the girl who stared down the world and laughed. The one who once looked me dead in the eye and said tears were weakness. A waste of strength.
Those tears are because of me and for the first time in years, something real slams through the numbness I’ve spent my whole life building.
She stands there for a second longer, eyes searching mine, like she’s trying to find the version of me she used to believe in.
When she doesn’t, her voice cuts through the silence. It’s sharp enough to slice me wide open.
"I can’t do this, Matteo," she spits. "I can’t rot away behind these walls like some prisoner you threw a leash on. This isn’t living, Matteo. It’s a slow fucking death."
Something inside me breaks, and I know there’s no putting it back together.
"You think you can just walk out of here?" I hiss, the words ragged, torn straight from the wreckage inside me. "The second you step one foot out that door, there’s a bullet with your name on it. That’s how this world fucking works, Emery."
Her jaw locks, fire flashing in her eyes, but she doesn’t flinch. Not an inch. She leans in, closer. Right in my face. Daring me to stop her.
"So what, Matteo?" she breathes, voice low, shaking, barely holding together. "You pulling the trigger? Or are you just gonna let someone else do it? Because I’ll take my chances in the open before I rot in here, than be trapped and treated like I’m already six feet under."
She doesn’t move. Just stands there, staring at me as if waiting for the words I can’t give her.
When all she gets is silence, she turns away.
"I’m done talking, Matteo," she says, voice low, every word sharp. "Do whatever the fuck you have to do."
She walks toward the door, shoulders squared, steps steady, like she's already made peace with whatever hell’s waiting on the other side.
The kind of peace that tastes like gunmetal and finality. She’d take the bullet. No hesitation. Anything’s better than one more day suffocating in the same air as me.
My glass hits the table with a hard CLINK as I slam it down. In seconds, I’m on my feet. My heart pounding, breath ragged, moving before I can think.
"Emery." Her name rips out of me, wrapped in a desperation I can't bother to hide.
I don’t even know why the fuck I’m chasing after her. There’s no way she’s walking out of here; every damn door in this place is under my control. She knows it. I know it. But none of that matters when every step she takes feels like she’s dragging my heart across broken glass.
I catch her just as her fingers graze the door.
My arm wraps around her waist without thinking, fast, unrelenting, yanking her tight against my chest. Her breath stutters, but she doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. Just stands there, caught in the wreckage of what we are.
I grip her tighter, my mouth grazing her ear as I say, "If you think I’m gonna stand here and let you walk out there just to take a fucking bullet to the head, you’re out of your goddamn mind."
She stiffens in my arms, but I pull her closer, locking her against my chest. My voice softens.
"I’ve seen what’s waiting out there, Emery. I know exactly how fast this world chews up people like you and spits them out into a shallow grave."
She breathes slow, ragged, pulling herself back together one broken piece at a time.
Then she turns. Just enough to meet my gaze. And fuck… it hits hard. That look, cold, gutted, cuts through me. She’s not just seeing me. She’s seeing through me.
And I don’t think there’s anything left she wants to find.
"I need answers, Matteo," she says, her voice breaking.
"I need to find my father. I need to hear the fucking truth from his mouth.
Not yours. Not anyone else's." Her breath shudders, but she barrels on. "And if what you’ve said is true… if he really sold me out, then he’s yours.
Drag him back to your father. Use him. Break him.
Do whatever fucked-up shit you have to do to end this nightmare.
" She pauses, pulling in a shaky breath. "But until I look him in the eyes and see it for myself, I’m not stopping. Lock me up. Chain me down. I’ll tear this fucking place apart with my bare hands if I have to. "
I stand there, arms still wrapped around her, her words echoing in my skull like gunshots.
I let out a slow breath. My voice comes out rough, scraped raw over gravel. “Do you know where your father is?”
She doesn’t hesitate. “Yes,” she says, like the word’s been sitting on her tongue for days, waiting for the right moment to cut loose. “I know where he is.”
Fuck.
It hits me hard.
How fiercely she fought to protect him, even when I had her tied to that chair, breaking her down piece by brutal piece.
She didn’t bend. Didn’t crack. Wouldn’t give him up, no matter how hard I pushed.
She carried his secrets in her veins, took every hit as if it belonged to her, endured the pain without flinching.
She’s tough. I always knew that. But watching her survive that kind of hell?
It rewired something in me. Because if she’s willing to risk everything now, willing to hand me his location after everything I did to her, then I know one thing for fucking sure: nothing’s going to stop her from facing him.
Not me. Not fear. Not even the wreckage we left behind.
“Where is he?” I ask.
She doesn’t flinch. Just lifts her chin, eyes locked on mine like she’s daring me to look away.
"Promise me, Matteo," she says, and fuck, there’s that fire in her voice. It’s sharp.
Wild. Untouched by everything the world tried to rip out of her.
"Promise me that if I tell you, you won’t twist it into some sick play to crawl back to your father.
I want the truth. My truth. And I want a real promise this time.
Not another lie you use to spin, just one more of those lines you fed me back when you still knew how to pretend you gave a shit. ”
I turn her in my arms, dragging her flush against me, my breath hot against her face.
"You think after I put a bullet through Rocco’s skull, I get to waltz back into my father’s world as if nothing fucking happened?
" I growl, voice rough, cracking at the edges. "You think this is some kind of fucking game?" I lean closer, my voice dropping, lower, darker, deadly. "We’re both on his hit list, Emery. You and me. It doesn’t matter what we do, doesn’t matter how far we fucking run. He won’t stop until we’re both rotting six feet under.
" My grip tightens, breath shaking with the weight of it.
"The only way we survive this shit... is together. "