Chapter 4 Chapter 4

The residuals of last night's chaos still clung to me, much like the scent of blood in the air. No matter how long I sat this morning under the stream of hot water, it wasn't going to wash away the weight of what happened. My brother and father were gone-saved by Matteo, but the cold lifelessness of their eyes still clung to my brain. Again. And again. And again an e'er-turning vortex of terror, reeling around in my head.

"Momma? " Callum's small voice sliced through my reverie, slamming me back in the present. My gaze landed on him as he sat on the bed, big brown eyes wide and innocent-just so completely ignorant of what horrors were just beyond the haven that was Matteo. My heart spasmed. He was my reason to stay strong. I wanted to fall apart, to cry for my brother as much as I wanted, but I couldn't. Not now.

Not yet.

"You're hungry, baby?" I said lightly-the lightness a strain-coming over to him. My body still ached from tension of the past day, but I forced myself to smile, to ruffle his dark curls. He looked so much like Matteo; it was a hurt to see all the echoes, to remember all the lies I'd told.

Callum nodded enthusiastically, perking up at the mention of food. "Pancakes?"

I couldn't help the smile. "Pancakes it is." We trooped down the stairs, the air growing heavier with each step. The home was grand, muffled in a silence that seemed almost expectant-as if the very walls were holding their collective breath, waiting for the next wave of violence to crash through and make its presence known. A wave of weirdness washed over me; comfort and fear of being here washed over me as I stepped inside the kitchen. Everywhere were Matteo's men: silent, watchful, deadly.

Yet, they made me feel safe, and I knew they'd protect Callum and me from anything. I sat Callum down at the kitchen table with his favorite drawing book, something to distract him while I worked on breakfast. The pancakes hadn't been hard to make, but my mind kept drifting back to last night. Again, Matteo had saved the day. I hated how much I needed him; I hated that without him, I couldn't get free of this life.

Again on the same note, I couldn't deny how the warmth spread through my chest at every single thought of how fast he came to our rescue.

The sound of batter hitting the pan was soothing, gnawing grief that had burrowed into me in fits. I focused on flipping the pancakes, watching edges bubble and brown. Too fragile to expect anything more from a world where flying bullets kill people without warning, where weddings turn into slaughters-what else would well, this simple act feel like with Callum. I couldn't afford to let my guard down.

I had just begun to plate the pancakes when the approach of footsteps sounded. Matteo's heavy, deliberate strides filled the room before I even saw him. There always, commanding. His presence a force of nature, impossible to ignore. I didn't turn to face him, not until his eyes were on me.

You should eat something," the sound of his deep voice cut through the stillness, making me jump slightly. I hated that he'd notice such a thing-that I hadn't been taking care of myself-and how much he still affected me after all these years.

"I'm fine," I lied, focusing on placing the plate in front of Callum, who'd already dug enthusiastically into his breakfast. Anything just not to meet Matteo's gaze for another few seconds.

"You're not," he said simply. Matteo wasn't one for small talk or niceties. He saw right through me, as if the walls I'd spent years building up around myself were invisible.

I sighed, finally turning to face him. “I’ll eat later.” The look in his eyes told me he didn’t believe me for a second, but he didn’t press the issue. Instead, he walked over to the table and crouched down next to Callum.

“Hey, buddy,” Matteo said softly, his voice taking on a gentleness that was rare for him. “You like pancakes?”

Callum grinned, his mouth full. “Uh-huh!”

It was then that Matteo smiled, and my chest pinched. He didn't know Callum was his son-he didn't know how much I'd robbed him of by keeping this secret all these years. It was easier to lie than it was to tell the truth. The truth would break everything. I couldn't afford that. Not now.

Good, Matteo said, ruffling Callum's hair before he stood. He turned back to me and his expression hardened once more. We need to talk.

I knew this was coming. There was always more to say, more planning to do, more peril lurking just out of reach. I nodded, looking across at Callum. Give me a minute.

"Meet me in the office when you are ready," he said, and with that he pivoted on his heel and strode from the kitchen as if his last word had ended the matter.

I watched him disappear-the familiar tangle of anger-attract that seemed to follow me everywhere. Matteo Costello was a hurricane heading my way, and no matter how hard I tried to put distance between us, I couldn't. Not when the same blood ran through my son's veins.

Once Callum was settled, content with his breakfast, I made my way to Matteo's office. The door stood open a crack, voices inside. Matteo was in discussion with his second-hand man, Louis, talking about security measures and the attack that had taken place. They fell silent as I pushed the door open, stepping inside.

Matteo looked up at me, unreadable. "We need to talk about what transpired last night.

"I know," I said, closing the door behind me. "But first, I want to know if Callum is safe here. Is your house secure? After what happened—"

"He's safe," Matteo said then, firmness dripping from his tone. "I've tripled the security. No one's getting in without my permission."

I nodded, and the weight felt like it had fallen off my shoulder a little. Not enough, though. Nothing was going to be safe until this was all over, until those people who had to do with my brother's death were gone.

“We need to go on the offensive,” Matteo continued, leaning back against his desk, arms crossed. “We can’t just sit around waiting for the Russians to make their next move. I’ve got two of their men downstairs for questioning. We’re going to find out who’s behind this.”

I felt the surge of anger rise in me as I got more alert with the mention of Russians; they took everything away from me-my family, my life, my peace. Now they wanted my son. Never would that happen.

This time I said it: "I want in". All the while I stared right into his eyes.

His eyebrows arched high, surprised, yet not quite shocked. He knew me well enough to expect this. "You sure of that? This isn't some petty criminal like in Italy you tailed. These men are dangerous."

"I'm not afraid," I shot back. "I want them to pay for what they did to my family. And you need my help."

Matteo watched me for one silent, extended moment, his dark eyes boring into mine. Then he nodded. "Alright. But you follow my lead."

I didn't argue. Matteo knew more of this world than I did, and I needed him as much as he needed me. He pushed off the desk and jerked his head toward the door, a silent invitation to follow him out of the office.

We worked our way downstairs, each step thickening the air, growing colder. Thick walls, soundproof-the far hum of voices from upstairs faded away. This part of the house was meant for one thing: interrogation.

Two men sat in chairs, placed in the centre of the darkened room; their faces were bruised and battered from earlier beatings. Matteo's men stood by silent sentinels as we entered. The air was heavy with the smell of sweat and blood. My stomach was churning.

Approaching the first, his face as stony as an unforgiving god, Matteo said icily, flipping the knife over between his fingers after pulling it from his belt: "You're going to tell me everything I want to know, or this is going to get a lot worse for you.".

The man did not utter a word, only his eyes were wide with fear, while the lips shut as tightly as possible. I knew this was tough nuts. I watched as Matteo did circles around him like some predator, and just with the presence of him making the man squirm in his seat.

"We know you were at the wedding," Matteo snarled, his voice low and sinister. "We know you were part of the attack. So either you talk now, or I'll make sure you never talk again."

The man still did not utter a word. Matteo sighed in exasperation; his patience was finally, definitely worn off. Then, he slammed the knife into the table beside the man's head, its blade embedding with a loud thud. The man started back and fell apart, but nothing came out of his mouth.

I could feel the tension grow thicker with every second that ticked by in the room. I took another step forward with a cool, steady voice. "You think keeping quiet is going to save you?" My eyes locked onto the man's. "They don't care about you, you're just a chess piece that they'll discard when it's convenient. You die in here, nobody's gonna be looking for you. But if you can help us, well.you might just leave this place walking." The man's eyes flipped back and forth between Matteo and me, indecisive.