In the middle of the night, when I lie in my bed wide awake, looking for the right choice, I suddenly hear Matteo’s muffled voice coming from his office. I rarely hear him raising his voice, and now it sounds like he’s yelling out of pure adrenaline, some kind of panic in the tension of his voice and that’s when I remember. Shit. I guess the information turned out to be valuable.
When Matteo crawls into my room sometime later and wraps his arms around me with a deep, exhausted sigh, I don’t know if I should laugh or cry.
In the morning, I receive a message from Giovanni. 8 pm, Vet’s Park. Shit. That leaves me less than a day to make up my mind-but in the end, I see that there’s no turning back at this point.
I show up at the park seven minutes to eight, with a baseball cap and a sports bag in my hands. Giovanni never sends me his precise location, so all I’m left with is walking over the dark trails and passing late-night joggers one after the other. Goddamnit. Where is he? But finally, a few minutes later, I catch a familiar figure at the edge of an empty playground
and, after a quick glance around, walk over.
“Long time no see,” Giovanni greets me with a low chuckle, and I glance at him. He’s in a surprisingly good mood-but I guess after yesterday’s bust, he does have something to celebrate. Why don’t I feel happy about it, though?
“Did you get them yesterday?” I can’t help my curiosity, but when Giovanni doesn’t react for a moment, I almost expect him to scold me for being too nosy.
“Yes,” he says finally, and digs into his inner pocket. “Which is why you have to use the moment.”
Giovanni holds something in his hand when he pulls it out, and while he’s looking around I hold up my bag to cover my movements and
reach out to take the object. As soon as my fingers find it, though, I go still for an instant before forcing myself to take it.
The weapon is cold and heavy in my hand, engraved with intricate patterns I can trace with my fingers, and when I feel the shape of it, it leaves no doubt as to what it is. I’m holding a sheath in my hand, and inside of it is a knife that I’m supposed to dig into Matteo’s flesh. Just thinking about it makes me sick for a moment, but I shake it off and straighten up. I have to do it. I have to.
“For the next few days, the Italians will be busy trying to figure out who betrayed them. It’s your best chance to catch them off guard before they catch you.”
Giovanni pauses as if to give me time to process it. From the corner of my eye, I see him turning to me, and I look up to meet his eyes. They’re dark and cold with anger, but his gaze is distant, deep in thought, making me feel like his anger isn’t directed at me.
“Remember why you’re doing this,” he says after a moment, his voice low and grim. “Remember what the Messinas did to your brother. You have to make them pay for it. They aren’t the kings they think they are.”
Is he still talking to me? Because it sounds weirdly personal-but no matter what he’s thinking about, Giovanni is right. I can’t hide from the Messinas forever. They’ll figure out that I’m a spy sooner or later, so I have to hurry up and kill Matteo before he finds out the truth.
And wouldn’t it be easy to slash his throat this very night, when he’s fast asleep next to me?
I soon find myself looking at Matteo’s profile in the moonlight coming through the curtains, and gripping the knife tightly in my hand-but I can’t move. I sit there, in my bed, completely frozen for god knows how long before I slowly put the knife back under my pillow, only now seeing that my fingers are shaking.
The idea of having my hands covered in his blood, his last breath escaping him with a wheeze, his wide eyes staring at me before he loses every last bit of strength to hold them open-I used to dream about being the last person he sees. But now, just thinking about it makes me sick.
Digging the knife into his body is not the same as poisoning him. It’s so… personal. How can I look Romeo in the eyes after that?
It would turn me into another person, and I don’t know if I’m ready to become that version of myself.
I wake up in the morning with the same questions, my mind swirling in complete chaos, and only when Matteo holds me against the bed, thrusting deep and slow and murmuring praise into my ear, do I manage to turn off my thoughts. But as soon as he leaves, I can’t help but check the knife under my pillow and my chest immediately tightens so hard that it hurts. What should I do? What should I do?
The question follows me everywhere, the idea of killing Matteo omnipresent, and every night I feel the handle of the knife under my pillow only to let it go with a rush of weakness. The image of Matteo choking on his blood and trying to hold onto my neck doesn’t bring me any satisfaction, only a deep and primal sense of dread that follows me from my nightmares.
“You look upset,” Romeo says a couple of days later, holding onto my hand while I’m tucking him into bed. He’s frowning, studying my face, and I immediately try to smile at him. But I guess it doesn’t look as happy as I want it to because it doesn’t do anything to the look of concern in his eyes.
“I’m alright, I promise.” I run a hand over his hair and give him a smile, maybe not as wide but more genuine. “Don’t think about it, okay? You have to have a lot of rest before tomorrow.”
Romeo immediately pouts, looking away from me. “I don’t want any more tests.”
“I know, I know,” I murmur with a soft chuckle, stroking his arm.
“But it’s just a part of learning. You’ll nail it, sweetheart, I believe in you.”
At that, Romeo gives me a shy smile and snuggles closer to the edge when I reach to kiss his forehead. My heart is so tight it hurts, and when I finally leave his room I have to pause and lay a hand on my chest. God, I have to get rid of that knife, I can’t do it anymore-I know that I’m not gonna do it. At least, not now.
While I’m in the hallway, I listen to the sounds from Matteo’s office, but it’s all quiet. It’s been a while since we had dinner. Where is he?
But I find him as soon as I get down to the first floor. Matteo is in the kitchen, sitting by the bar table with a glass of whiskey in front of him. Is he drinking? I frown, slowly walking closer. I think I’ve seen him drinking maybe three or four times since I moved here, and it’s never like this. Quietly, on his own, in the kitchen. Did something happen?
Shit. My heart drops. Is it because of the bust?
“Hey,” I call him gently, placing my hand on his shoulder as I take a seat next to him. Matteo glances at me with a small smile, and I feel the
weight of his silence in the air. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah, don’t worry.” He chuckles and takes another sip from his glass, looking down at it with a distant expression. I don’t say anything for a moment, encouraging him to tell me more, and Matteo finally shrugs and adds, “It’s the anniversary of my wife’s death.”
Oh. I blink and look away. Oh shit. That’s awkward.
What am I supposed to do in this situation? Should I leave? I’m not sure if he wants my presence right now-but it takes me one glance at Matteo to know that I can’t leave him alone now. He doesn’t look drunk, but his movements are a little slow, the look in his eyes is unfocused, and the crease between his eyebrows doesn’t seem to go away.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask quietly, squeezing his shoulder a little tighter before pulling my hand away-in case he asks me to leave.
“You know, I’m always here for you.”
“I know.” Matteo smiles a little and, after a glance my way, reaches out to hold my hand lying on the counter. “Thank you, Liss.”
I only smile, not knowing what to say and just allowing him to gather his thoughts in silence. For a long moment, Matteo stares blankly at our hands, moving his jaw around unspoken words, until they finally break through with a bitter chuckle.
“I just-I’m still so mad at them, you know? Those fucking Mexicans. They wanted to kill Cassio, I understand that, but everyone else in the restaurant was innocent. Other patrons, waiters, his bodyguards…and Sienna. She wasn’t their enemy-but they killed her too. They killed all of them just for their own fucking pleasure.”
The more he talks, the more agitated he gets, and by the end of his little speech, Matteo’s grip on my hand is so strong it hurts a little-but I barely notice it. I stare at him, listening to every word with wide eyes, and only when Matteo stops to take a big gulp from his glass do I turn away and blink out of my stupor. What is he talking about? How could the Escarras kill his wife?
I mean…they’re the good guys, right?
“You probably don’t understand a single thing that I’m saying,”
Matteo suddenly says with a joyless smile in his voice, and his fingers stroke my hand. “I’m glad you don’t. I don’t want you to be a part of it.” I swallow, not looking at him. Fortunately or not, it’s too late.
“Why…why did they kill her?” I ask, not caring that it could make him suspicious, but Matteo doesn’t seem to think about it either. He
swallows hard and clenches his jaw before shaking his head.
“Because they didn’t care.” He takes another sip of his whiskey and puts it down a little too loudly. “They probably thought it was cool to kill as many people as possible in one explosion, but…why drag innocent people into that? Why kill someone who never meant to harm them?”
Isn’t that what he did to Hank? Wasn’t he innocent too? But when I look Matteo in the eyes, I don’t know what to believe anymore.
“I failed to protect Sienna-but I promise I’ll keep you safe no matter what,” Matteo says all of a sudden, smelling of whiskey, and readjusts his grip on my hand to make it tighter. “Because you are the only woman that matters to me now. After her death, I thought I would never fall in love again, but you…Liss, you saved my heart.”
Still holding my gaze, Matteo raises my hand and presses a kiss to my fingers, making my heart flutter in my chest. I can’t help but smile, feeling the warmth on my cheeks, and move forward to press my forehead against his. Everything about this moment feels so intimate and so…right.
“I know,” I murmur, closing my eyes. “I feel it too.”
And I know that it’s the truth. My heart has never been so crazy about someone, and right now I know that my feelings are real.
I love him.
The realization dawns on me, and it fills my heart from within, making me smile and feel so warm and loved-until the image of the knife under my pillow flashes under my closed eyelids, and I instinctively grip his hand tighter. Matteo reads it as a gesture of affection and strokes my hand with his thumb, but it doesn’t help the cold spreading through my body.
God, how can I kill the only man I truly love?