Marco stepped in, his face grim, movements silent and efficient so he wouldn’t disturb the one thing that kept me tethered to my humanity.
He knew better than anyone. He’d seen me at my worst, after Angelo. He understood what she meant.
“Intruder confirmed Edoardo’s,” Marco said without preamble, voice low and gravelly. “Communication records don’t lie. The man was reporting directly to him, feeding him locations, routines, weaknesses. More soldiers are moving around the city. Subtle, but we’ve spotted three new crews in the last forty-eight hours. Your father is escalating. This wasn’t random.”
I nodded once, my jaw tight enough to ache, teeth grinding together.
Of course it was him. The man outside Nonna Rosa’s house. The watcher on the winding road leading to the estate. The pieces had been falling into place for weeks, but tonight they locked together with brutal clarity.
Edoardo testing me. Trying to take the one thing that had finally made me feel alive again after years of emptiness and rage.
Marco hesitated at the door, his broad shoulders tense under his dark jacket. “We need to move on him soon, boss. Waiting gives him time to regroup. Time to strike again.”
“I know,” I replied, the words rough.
But my eyes never left Aurora. On the faint bruises still fading on the delicate skin of her throat and wrists. Marks left by my hands in the heat of passion. On the way she trusted me enough to sleep so deeply in my arms after everything. After I had stolenher from her old life. Broken down her defenses. Claimed her completely.
Love had made me weak.
And now she was my biggest weakness.
Thenextmorningfoundme in the one room we never used. Angelo’s sanctuary, left untouched like a shrine to the brother I couldn’t save.
The box sat on the heavy oak table like a coffin waiting to be opened, dust motes dancing in the slanted sunlight streaming through the tall windows. I hadn’t touched it in years.
Photos spilled out as I lifted the lid. Candid shots of us as stupid kids, grinning wildly on motorcycles, sneaking out at night to chase adrenaline and trouble in the underbelly of the city.
Race tickets from underground circuits, edges worn soft from being carried in pockets.
An old watch case, empty now, the leather strap worn smooth from years of constant use. I ran my thumb over it, remembering the weight of Angelo’s watch on Matteo’s wrist in the garden.
It had hurt more than I expected. Not just because I had lost another piece of my brother to time and memory. But because Matteo had looked proud wearing it. Like he understood the legacy it carried. Like Angelo would have been proud of the kid too, seeing how fiercely he’d protected Aurora.
I was starting to see him as family. Not just a soldier. Not just useful muscle. Family.
The thought should have terrified me. Loyalty like that invited betrayal, invited pain. Instead, it settled like something warm and dangerous in my chest. A new kind of bond. A new kind of weakness I was beginning to accept.
Matteo was in the gym when I found him later that morning.
The room smelled of sweat and polished wood, heavy bags swaying from chains, the rhythmic thud of fists echoing off the walls. He moved through the combinations I’d taught him with sharp focus and growing precision, each punch cleaner, each kick more powerful.
Angelo’s watch glinted on his wrist with every motion, catching the light like a silent promise.
He didn’t notice me at first, lost in the zone.
“You don’t have to wear it,” I said quietly from the doorway, arms crossed over my chest.
Matteo stopped mid-punch, breathing hard, sweat glistening on his skin and dripping from his dark hair. He looked down at the silver band for a long moment, chest heaving. Then he met my eyes steadily, no hesitation, no dramatics.
“I want to,” he said simply. “It reminds me what we’re fighting for. Who we’re protecting.”
No tears. No grand speeches. Just a quiet, mafia truth, loyalty forged in blood and shared loss.
I nodded once. That was enough. Words weren’t needed between us anymore.
“You’vegotitbad,”Marco said later that afternoon, leaning against the doorframe of the security room, watching me stare at the feeds for the tenth time like a man possessed.
Multiple screens showed every angle of the estate. Gardens, hallways, perimeter fences. I’d reviewed the footage of yesterday’s attack at least a dozen times, searching for anything I might have missed.
