Chapter 9
Lucio
I shift the deck of poker cards, the rhythmic snap of each shuffle filling the quiet space of my apartment.
The city lights bleed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows over the room.
Matteo leans back in his chair, expression flat, fingers tapping lazily against the table.
He looks like he couldn’t care less about anything being said, but I know better. He’s listening. He always is.
Mara sits gracefully on the couch, her legs tucked neatly beneath her, hands resting in her lap.
Her long blonde hair cascades over one shoulder, framing the delicate features that hide a quiet sort of danger.
She’s not like Matteo and me—she doesn’t revel in the violence that is our lives, doesn’t get her hands dirty.
Our Pops made sure to drill the fact that Mara is the princess of his empire into our heads, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t lethal in her own way.
“I don’t like this,” she says softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “All these attacks...it’s not like them.”
I glance at her, then at Matteo. He remains silent, his face unreadable.
“They’re testing us,” I say, setting the deck down. “Looking for a weak spot. You know they want Valentina dead for her ‘betrayal.’”
Mara’s fingers tighten slightly on the fabric of her dress. “Pops wouldn’t have let them get this far. I don’t know why Emiliano isn’t retaliating.”
“Pop’s dead,” Matteo reminds her.
The harsh words hang between us, heavy. Mara looks down, her lashes lowering, but she doesn’t argue.
“They killed Alessia’s Nonna, and took two shipments,” I continue, keeping my tone even. “Tried to burn a warehouse. The Outfit’s pushing, but they’re getting reckless. And reckless means predictable.”
“Their operations are collapsing from within; they know that. The power vacuum we created was enough to end their reign. These attempts are just their way of trying to cling to the power they once had,” Matteo says, his tone detached.
Mara exhales quietly, but she doesn’t say anything. She never does when Matteo speaks like this. She just folds her hands tighter in her lap, her blue eyes flicking toward me instead.
I pick up the deck again, dealing out the cards, the three of us falling into a familiar rhythm. The stakes of the game are nothing compared to the war that has been brewing outside these walls for the past two years, but it’s a distraction. A temporary escape.
Matteo barely looks at his hand, his face as blank as ever. Mara tilts her head, fingers brushing over the edges of her cards, her expression carefully schooled. She doesn’t know much about the business, but she knows how to play.
The tension lingers as we play through the hands, the conversation shifting between business and quiet moments of normalcy—if our lives could ever be called that. The Outfit. Valentina and Bianca. The next move. All of it looms like a storm cloud ready to break.
And then, the final round.
I watch Mara, the way she purses her lips, the slight crease between her brows as she weighs her options. I know Matteo’s hand is good. It always is. He’s precise, methodical. Unshakable. But then…
“I win.” Mara lays down her cards, and a triumphant smile tugs at her lips.
I blink, glancing at Matteo, whose expression doesn’t shift. She beat us. Or at least, she thinks she did.
I watch as Matteo finally moves, collecting all the cards with an almost imperceptible smirk. He let her win. Mara glows with victory, completely unaware.
I shake my head, smirking. “Enjoy it while it lasts, brat.”
Mara tilts her head, narrowing her eyes at me. “Don’t be bitter, Lucio. It’s not a good look on you.”
I scoff, leaning back in my chair. “You just got lucky.”
“Or maybe…” she says sweetly. “You’re just not as good as you think you are.”
Matteo exhales, a hint of amusement in his otherwise bored expression. “She’s not wrong.”
I glare at him. “Shut the fuck up.”
Mara laughs, gathering the chips with an exaggerated flourish. “Face it, boys. You’ve been bested.”
I roll my eyes, but don’t argue as I push up from my seat, grabbing a glass from the bar cart and pouring vodka in a slow, deliberate stream. Something about the air in the room shifts, pressing against my spine. It’s faint, just a whisper of unease, but it lingers.
Matteo watches me over the cards as he shuffles them, his gaze sharp. “Something wrong?”
I exhale through my nose, taking a sip of my vodka. “No.”
Mara sighs dramatically. “Oh, good. I thought maybe you were sulking.”
I shoot her a look, but she just grins. Matteo shakes his head, shuffling the deck again, but I can still feel it. That strange, creeping feeling that someone is watching.
Even in my own home.
I can’t believe that as punishment for coming in last in last night’s poker game, I’m forced to escort Mara to the mall. The place is busy, high-end designer storefronts lined up like a shrine to excess. Mara, of course, is in her element, her hands full of bags, her guards carrying even more.
I walk beside her, scowling as another bag is shoved into my arms. “This is getting ridiculous.”
Mara barely spares me a glance. “Quit whining. You lost. Own it.”
I shift the bags in my grip. “I didn’t lose. I was distracted.”
“Sure,” she hums. “By the way, the color looks great on you. Very chic.”
I glance down. One of the bags is a nauseating shade of pink.
I glare at her. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
I grumble under my breath, but she just keeps walking, stopping in front of another boutique. The guards hesitate, their arms full. I sigh and take another bag from Mara, muttering a curse.
“See? You’re a natural.” Mara shoots me a smile. Smug little shit.
“Don’t push me, brat.”
She laughs, turning toward the store. I gesture toward the guards.
“Take the bags to the car. We’ll be here a while.”
They nod, walking off and leaving me standing at the boutique entrance, watching Mara sift through designer dresses. But that unease lingers, curling around my ribs like a vise.
The hairs on my neck rise. Someone is watching me. And this time, I know it’s not my imagination.