Chapter 3 Chapter 3

Morning seemed to arrive a hell of a lot sooner than it should have. I had barely slept; every groan and creak of the house would jolt me. Callum slept soundly beside me, his little hand clutching my shirt as if he knew that when he let go, I might disappear. I stared at the ceiling, replaying in my head what happened at the wedding.

Silas was dead. My father was dead. And Matteo. he wasn't the same man I'd left behind three years ago. Always cold, always calculating, but now there was something. darker in his eyes.

I sat up in a jerky upward movement that did not stir Callum from the bed. "Who is it?"

"It's me," Matteo's voice filtered through, muffled yet unmistakable.

I looked to Callum, still sound asleep, then slipped out of bed. I cracked the door open to find him standing there, dressed in a dark suit, his hair combed back neat. He didn't look to have slept either.

"Mornin'," he said, neutral.

"Mornin'," I replied, stepping into the hallway and closing the door quietly behind me.

"We need to talk," he said, his dark eyes meeting mine.

I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned against the door. "About what?"

"About last night," he said, his voice low. "And what happens next."

I blew out a tired breath, rubbing a hand over my tangled hair. "Can't we at least have coffee first?"

He cocked an eyebrow but nodded. "Follow me.

I followed him downstairs; the only sound was the soft hum of the security system. The kitchen was spotless, it would turn out, a jarring contrast to what my head was feeling. Matteo moved with certainty across the room, tugging mugs from the cabinet and pouring coffee as if done a thousand times before.

" Sugar?" he asked, holding out a small bowl.

"No," I said, leaning against the counter. "Just black.

He handed me the mug and leaned against the opposite counter, his eyes never leaving mine.

"What happened last night wasn't random," he said, his voice flat. "The Russians have been making moves for months. This was their way of sending a message."

"What message is that?" I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.

"They want control," he said simply. "And they'll kill anyone who stands in their way.

I stared into my coffee, the words sinking in. My father's empire, my brother's legacy-it was all crumbling.

"So what do we do?" I asked, looking up at him.

"We fight back," Matteo replied in his firm, no-nonsense voice. "But it's not some kind of revenge, Lilianna. We have to be smart about this. Otherwise, we all wind up dead.

My stomach felt kicked in by his words. I hated how right he was.

"And what about Callum?" My voice shook. "I just can't put him in danger, Matteo."

"You won't," he said, the staccato cadence softening. "I'll keep him safe. I'll keep both of you safe."

I wanted so badly to believe him. Believe him so bad. But trust was a thing I could no longer afford.

"I'll stay," I said finally, my voice no louder than a whisper. "But only until this is over."

Matteo's jaw tightened, but he nodded. "Fair enough."

Footfalls stopped us, and I turned to see Callum standing in the doorway, rubbing his eyes.

"Momma?" he mumbled so thick with sleep.

"Hey, baby," I said, setting my coffee down and pulling him up into the circle of my arms. "Did you sleep okay?"

He buried his face in my shoulder, nodding. "I'm hungry."

Matteo's lips twitched, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corners. "I'll make breakfast," he said, heading for the refrigerator.

"You cook now?" I asked, one eyebrow rising.

"Don't sound so surprised," he replied, pulling out eggs and bacon.

Surreal-how Matteo cooked, the precision with which he chopped the eggs, the perfect flipping of the bacon.

Callum's eyes were huge with wonder, staring at him. "You're a chef?" he asked, still in awe.

Matteo chuckled, then shook his head. "Nah, buddy, I'm just a guy who likes breakfast."

Callum giggled, and for a moment, the tension was pulled from the room.

When breakfast was ready, the three of us sat down at the kitchen table. Callum chattered happily around mouthfuls, completely oblivious to the axe hanging over our heads. Matteo listened intently, nodding and asking questions.

I couldn't ignore that pang that hit my chest as I watched them. Yes, Matteo didn't know Callum was his son, but from the way he looked at him, from the way he interacted with him-it felt like he did.

The softness in the man since breakfast had receded, the eyes now flashing with steely determination.

"We've got work to do," he said, standing and clearing his plate.

I followed him into the office, leaving Callum to amuse himself with one of Matteo's goons.

The office was exactly as I remembered it: dark wood, leather chairs, and bookshelves holding volumes and files. Matteo sat himself behind the large desk, gesturing for me to take a seat across from him.

"We need to find out who is behind the attack," he said to me, pulling out a file and sliding it across the desk.

I opened it. My stomach twisted at the sight of the photos inside of them all. Surveillance photos, all of known Russian mobsters, each more intimidating than the last.

This is Vlad Petrov," Matteo said, his finger pointing at one of the photographs. "He's the head of the Russian mob here in New York. If anyone orchestrated this, it's him."

I committed his face to memory as I studied the photo. "How do we find him?

"We don't," Matteo returned coolly. "Not yet. First, we gather intel. I've got a few guys working on it, but I need you to stay out of it for now."

I bristled at the cold tone. "I can handle myself, Matteo."

"I know you can," he said, his gaze softening. "But this isn't just about you anymore. You have Callum to think about."

His words cut deep, but I knew how right he was.

"So what do you want me to do?" I crossed my arms.

"Stay here. Keep Callum safe. Let me handle the Russians."

The fact that I would be doing nothing while putting Matteo in harm's way didn't sit too well in the pit of my stomach, but really, I had no say in the matter.

"Fine," I said resentfully.

"Good," Matteo said, falling back into his chair. "We'll take this one step at a time.

I nodded, rising and heading for the door.

"Lilianna," Matteo called out to me.

I turned at the door, my hand on the knob.

"We're going to get through this," he said, quiet but resolute.

I wanted to believe him. I wanted to think we could make it through this unscathed. But deep in my bones, I knew better.

Nothing in our world was ever resolved without someone bleeding.