"Miss Torres," Matteo says, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "I am Matteo Costa. I apologize for the destruction of your property tonight. You have my word, the family will compensate you fully."
Gemma looks at his hand, then looks up at his eyes. She doesn't shrink away from the Underboss. She takes his hand and shakes it firmly.
"Thank you," she says. "But I don't want compensation. I want my truck back."
Matteo's lips twitch. A ghost of a smile. He glances at me.
I give him a single, hard nod.
"It will be handled," Matteo says. He turns his attention to me. The brotherly bond stretches between us, solid and unbreakable. The conversation we had on the phone hangs in the air, a silent pact of healing.
"Turi has the west wing prepped," Matteo tells me. "Secure. Quiet. Nobody goes past the second-floor landing."
"Good."
"The war room is running hot. Bellanti is mobilizing. When you're ready, we need to plan the counter-strike."
"Give me until morning," I say.
Matteo nods. "Take the night, Dante."
I guide Gemma past him, walking into the grand foyer of the mansion. The scent of Matteo's industrial kitchen lingers in the air—garlic, roasting meat, old wood. It smells like family.
We move up the sweeping mahogany staircase.
My hand rests on the small of her back. The possessive hum in my veins is a constant roar now. The cold, unfeeling enforcer is a dead thing of the past.
We reach the west wing. Double oak doors.
I push them open.
The suite is vast. A king-sized bed. A marble bathroom. Blackout curtains drawn tight. It is a bunker masquerading as a luxury bedroom.
I shut the doors behind us and turn the deadbolt. Click.
The world is locked out. The war is locked out. The Bellantis, the past, the alley, the rain. All of it is gone.
There is only this room.
There is only this woman.
Gemma turns to face me. The adrenaline crash saps the tension from her frame, leaving her posture soft and completely vulnerable.
She steps toward me. She reaches up, her hands sliding over my broad chest, feeling the thud of my heart.
"We're safe," she whispers.
"We're safe," I confirm.
I wrap my arms around her, burying my face in her neck, breathing her in. The scent of my future.
The broken parts of me finally settle, claiming her.
Tomorrow, I will go to war. Tomorrow, I will tear the Bellanti family apart piece by piece for daring to shoot at my woman.
But tonight. Tonight, I am going to show her exactly what it means to be worshipped by a monster who has finally learned how to love.
She belongs to me. Completely and utterly.
