Chapter Nineteen
Matteo
Ipark behind the rusted carcass of an old semi, its cab gutted, metal torn open like something died screaming inside it. It’s cloaked in shadow, tucked far enough back to keep me hidden, but close enough to watch everything.
I kill the engine. The silence that follows is thick, pressing in like it knows something I don’t.
Glancing at my phone, I see the message still glowing on the screen, still pulsing—a fucking warning set to detonate:
Time’s up, Matteo.
Those words are carved into me now, branded into my skin, a promise I’ll bleed for if I have to.
I scan the lot. No cars, no movement, no guards. No sign of him. Just open space and the eerie stillness of a place built for violence.
But that’s how my father works. He doesn’t show his hand, he lets you sweat, lets you start to question whether the bullet’s coming from in front of you or behind. He’s already set the stage, and I’m already playing my part.
I push the truck door open and step out into the glare—daylight crashing down like a goddamn spotlight. There’s nowhere to hide. No shadows, no cover. Just the wide, empty sprawl of the slaughterhouse lot… rusted bones, crumbling wreckage, and a silence so heavy it’s thick enough to choke on.
I yank open the back door and haul Emery’s father out by the collar, dragging his sorry ass the way you’d rip out garbage on collection day. He stumbles hard, feet skidding on gravel, hands twitching with a pathetic attempt to mask the fear, he’s failing, and we both know it.
Good.
He should be afraid of what’s waiting for him.
Of my father. Of the fucking consequences finally sinking their teeth in after all this time.
Because I’m not the same man who shoved him into that truck.
I’m colder now. Crueler. There’s nothing left to lose, not with her still out there, waiting for me to come back.
Emery fought me. Christ, she screamed. That fury in her voice…
it told me everything. The second I walked away, something inside her shattered.
Going into this alone wasn’t just dangerous or reckless—it cut deeper.
It was a fucking betrayal. And beneath all that rage, the hurt was carved into her face, plain as day.
She yelled. Shoved me. Spat every filthy name she could think of, as if the venom might keep her from splintering.
Hurt laced with heat, heartbreak dressed in battle gear.
And yeah, she looked at me with murder in her eyes, but it wasn’t hate.
It was love, bleeding out through the cracks.
Desperate. Messy. The kind that claws at your chest and screams don’t you fucking die, because if you do, I won’t survive it.
But in the end… she let me go. She trusted me.
I watched her fall silent. Watched her eyes fill with all the things she wouldn’t say.
I left her in that crumbling house, surrounded by ghosts and silence, with nothing but my promise to come back. It was the only way I could protect her.
It felt like tearing my heart out of my chest and handing it to her still beating. But I have to do this for us.
My grip tightens as I drag her father forward. He whimpers something. Some pitiful excuse, maybe a plea, but I don’t hear it. I don’t want to. I’ve heard enough lies to last a lifetime.
The slaughterhouse doors groan open, long and low—a warning dragging through the air. Every step we take inside echoes, loud and hollow. The cracked concrete beneath our boots is stained with old blood and bad memories, soaked in so deep the walls still scream with it.
And then, he steps out from the far end of the room, sliding from the shadows like the devil himself.
My father.
Alone.
Hands empty.
But I know better.
His men are here, watching, waiting. Hidden in the walls with fingers wrapped around triggers and orders whispered in their ears like gospel.
He stops a few feet away, posture easy, almost relaxed, as if he’s not standing in the middle of a graveyard built from the deaths of those who wronged him.
Then he speaks. His voice colder than the steel he once taught me to kill with.
“I did warn you what betrayal would cost, Matteo,” he says, eyes locked on mine. “And you still chose a fucking woman over your own blood?”
He says the word woman with the weight of filth in his tone. To him, Emery isn’t a person—she’s a passing whim, a distraction. He sees her as weakness, a soft spot carved for the blade.
But he’s got it fucking wrong. Loving her didn’t make me weak. It made me dangerous.
My muscles strain beneath the skin, like everything inside me is coiled too tight to breathe.
“I chose my own path,” I say, voice sharp, carved from everything he made me into. “You taught me to take what’s mine, to protect what matters. And that’s exactly what I’m fucking doing.”
He laughs. It’s bitter, hollow, a sound that scrapes against the inside of my skull like nails on steel. There’s no humor in it. Just venom.
“What matters in this life is loyalty,” he snaps. “Family. And you spat in my face the second you killed Rocco for that bitch.”
I grab Dante and shove him forward, watching him stumble, a coward through and through. He drops to his knees, hands scraping against the concrete, breath hitching, aware that one wrong move means his end.
“This piece of shit is yours,” I growl. “He betrayed you. Gave her up to save his own skin. So go ahead. Take your revenge. Paint the fucking floor with him if that’s what it takes to remind yourself you’re still a man.”
I step back, heart pounding, rage bubbling beneath the surface, a fuse seconds from detonation.
“But after this?” I lock eyes with him, unflinching, standing my ground. “I’m done.”
My father’s eyes narrow, his posture stiffening, that quiet fury starting to bleed through his polished control.
“You think handing over one traitor absolves you of your sins?” he snarls, stepping forward. “You’re my blood, Matteo. You don’t get to walk away. You answer to me.”
I don’t move.
Don’t blink.
I let his fury hit me like a wave and I fucking stand in it.
“No,” I say. “I don’t answer to anyone anymore. Not you, and not your fucking empire.” I take a step closer, and for the first time in my life, he shifts back.
“This is my last gift to you,” I say, nodding to Emery’s father, still choking on fear at our feet.
“A traitor on a silver fucking platter. Do whatever the hell you want with him. Shoot him, string him up, carve your pride back out of his skin. I don’t give a shit.
” I take another step, closing the distance between us until we’re toe to toe.
“After this, I’m gone. You let me go. You let her go.
And you keep your dogs on their fucking leashes. ”
His nostrils flare, face tight with rage. “You think you can threaten me? You think you walk out of this and there’s not a bullet waiting for you somewhere down the line? You’re still mine, Matteo. You always will fucking be mine. You walk, I drag you back in chains.”
“You come after us again, and I’ll burn down every piece of your precious kingdom.” I shove him back, my hand still trembling. “I’ll bury your legacy so deep not even your ghosts will remember you.”
“I always knew you were ruthless, Matteo,” he sneers. “But choosing her? That makes you weak.”
“No,” I say. “Choosing her makes me stronger than you ever fucking were.”
The muscle in his jaw jerks, barely tethered to restraint. That same old power-hungry darkness slides across his face, a shadow sweeping over a grave. His mouth curls, bitter and cruel, chewing on the taste of lost control.
And for a second…just one…the world holds still.
Then I hear it.
The soft, unmistakable shuffle of boots across concrete.
The dry click of safeties coming off.
The sound of war winding up.
I don’t even fucking flinch. Because I know that sound. I was raised on it. It’s the music that played behind every lesson he carved into me. Pain, loyalty, obedience. I know the rhythm of it better than my own goddamn heartbeat.
From the shadows, they step out. Four… no, five.
Guns raised, barrels gleaming beneath the cracked skylight, shining with promises meant to end in blood.
My father’s soldiers. His dogs. The same ones who used to train me.
Now aiming down their sights, eyes cold with loyalty sharpened into a weapon, treating me as just another target on their kill list.
They spread out, tactical, perfect, cutting off every path, every exit. Except the one that goes straight through them.
And fuck it… if that’s what it takes… then that’s the path I’ll take.
I don’t move or reach for my weapon. I don’t give them the satisfaction.
I just smile, the kind that cuts without ever needing a blade.
My father watches me, his face carved from stone, eyes dead behind the ice. That same cold detached look he’s worn his whole life. Emotion was a disease he cured himself of a long time ago.
“You thought I’d let you walk out of here?
” he says, voice almost amused, mocking, like this is a game and I’ve already lost. “You’re not my son anymore.
You’re a fucking liability." His mouth curls into a cruel, wicked smile, razor-thin and soaked in satisfaction. “And liabilities… they get erased.”
He pulls a weapon from inside his jacket… smooth, practiced, like he’s been waiting for this moment since the second I dropped Rocco.
The gun comes up fast, barrel leveled at my chest.
I don’t move. Not a fucking inch. Because I know how this works. One wrong twitch, one breath too deep, and his dogs will paint the walls with me. Turn me into a fucking bonfire, then sleep soundly afterward, not a flicker of guilt in sight.
My eyes stay locked on his. Ice meeting ice.
“Then pull the fucking trigger yourself,” I shout. “Or are you too much of a coward to finish what you started?”