My wrists ached from the rough zip ties. The room smelled like gasoline and mildew—concrete walls, no windows, one flickering bulb that buzzed like it had a vendetta against silence.
Matteo hadn't said a word since dragging me out of the black SUV. Just shoved me into a chair and lit a cigarette like he had all the time in the world.
I stared at him. "You planning to kill me or just bore me to death?"
He chuckled. "Feisty. No wonder Lucas is obsessed."
The word obsessed rolled off his tongue like an insult. Like a threat.
"What do you want from me?"
He exhaled smoke, watching it curl toward the ceiling. "Not much. Just your presence. Consider yourself... a message in flesh and bones."
I didn't need to ask who he was sending the message to.
Lucas.
I swallowed hard.
"I'm not part of this war," I muttered.
Matteo leaned in, eyes gleaming with something cruel. "You are now."
He stood, brushing ash from his sleeve. "You'll be staying with us for a while. Try not to die of boredom."
Lucas De Santo
I punched the heavy bag in the basement until the leather split and my knuckles bled.
Nia was in Matteo's hands.
And I had no idea where he'd taken her.
This wasn't just rivalry anymore. Matteo had crossed a line that couldn't be uncrossed.
Martino stood in the doorway, arms folded, unimpressed. "You think breaking your bones is going to save her?"
"I'm thinking."
"Try faster. Before Matteo decides she's no longer useful."
I glared at him. "You know something."
"I know Matteo," he said. "And I know his games always end in blood."
That was the thing with my brother—he never played unless the stakes could cut someone open.
I needed to find her. I needed to get ahead of whatever message he was crafting out of her pain.
And I needed to do it before my rage made me reckless.
Nia Jones
The hours bled into each other.
No windows. No clock. Just my own mind folding in on itself like paper sliced too many times.
Footsteps finally approached.
Not Matteo.
A younger man. Tall, snake-thin, tattoos curling down his neck like vines.
He placed a tray in front of me. Water. A sandwich. Cold.
I stared. "What, no wine?"
He smirked but didn't answer. Instead, he sat across from me, uninvited.
"So, you're the reason Lucas has lost his damn mind."
"Do I look flattered?"
He chuckled. "I'm Rafael. Matteo's second."
"How lucky for me."
His smile dimmed. "You should eat. It won't get better than this."
"You're not going to kill me, are you?"
"No." He paused. "Not unless he says so."
Comforting.
I reached for the sandwich. My hands still trembled, but my stomach overruled my pride.
Rafael watched every bite.
Like he was measuring how long I'd last.
Lucas De Santo
Jessy stood in my office, arms crossed, jaw tight.
"I told her to stay away from you," she spat. "But Nia never listens."
"I didn't ask her to be dragged into this."
"But she was, Lucas. Because of you. And now she's missing."
"I know she's missing," I snapped, voice colder than ice. "I know Matteo has her. And I'm going to get her back."
Jessy stepped closer. "Swear it."
I looked her in the eye. "I'd burn this city down before I let him keep her."
Her jaw twitched.
And for the first time, she believed me.
Nia Jones
Sleep came in broken, bloody pieces.
And every time I closed my eyes, he was there.
Lucas.
Not the man I had kissed in secret shadows. No. This one was darker. Bloodier. His hands stained red, his eyes hollow.
He reached for me in the dream, whispering my name—
I jolted awake, breath ragged.
Chains now.
Matteo had added them during the night.
Overkill.
Or a message.
The door creaked open.
And this time, it wasn't Rafael.
Matteo entered with a steel box in hand.
He set it down without a word, opened it slowly.
Inside—tools.
Rusty. Sharp. Screaming threat without ever making a sound.
"You know," he murmured, "Lucas once cut a man's throat for touching his watch. What do you think he'll do when he finds out I've touched you?"
I didn't answer.
But I didn't look away either.
He smiled. "Good girl. Let's see how long that spine holds up."
Lucas De Santo
Rafael made a mistake.
One I'd been waiting for.
He dropped a name in a conversation with one of my men—"the docks."
It wasn't much. But it was enough.
Matteo had always liked using the old warehouses for his side deals. Far from cameras. Far from the city's eyes.
Exactly the kind of place you'd hide someone you weren't ready to kill—yet.
I gathered my men.
I cleaned my guns.
And I left Martino behind, not trusting that smirk on his face.
This wasn't a rescue.
It was a reckoning.
Nia Jones
"Don't flinch," Matteo said.
The blade hovered near my cheek, cold and gleaming. He didn't press it in. Yet.
"Scars," he mused, "are love letters in skin. I want to write one Lucas can read from miles away."
I didn't cry.
I wouldn't.
"Do it," I hissed. "And when he finds you, he'll do worse."
He blinked, slow.
Then he laughed. Long and low, like he hadn't expected me to speak at all.
"Oh, sweetheart," he said, "you really think this is about love?"
He turned, snapping the blade back into the case.
"No. This is about debt."
He held up a photo.
It was my mom.
Younger. Bloody.
And next to her—Matteo, holding a knife.
I stopped breathing.
"She was the price," he whispered. "And now it's your turn."
The night smelled of rain-soaked dirt and gunpowder.
Somewhere outside the cave hangar, the world was coming apart.
Sharp cracks of gunfire ripped through the dark, bouncing off the rocky walls like cruel laughter. Shouts followed, rough voices in Italian, orders barked with urgency. Then—silence for a heartbeat. The kind of silence that means someone's just fallen.
I sat on the cold floor, wrists tied, the damp seeping into my bones. Every sound felt louder here—every boot scraping against stone, every metallic clink echoing from the shadows.
Matteo paced in front of me, his movements slow and deliberate, as though he was savoring each second. His black coat swept over the dusty ground, his hand resting lazily on the handle of a knife strapped to his thigh.
"You hear that, Nia?" he asked without looking at me. "That's the sound of loyalty breaking. Men dying for someone who won't come in time."
I swallowed hard, forcing my voice steady. "Lucas will come."
Matteo stopped, turned, and gave me a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I'm counting on it."
Another burst of gunfire erupted, closer this time. Muffled grunts, the sound of bodies hitting the dirt. The heavy smell of burnt metal drifted in with the cold wind.
Matteo's men shifted uneasily. One of them whispered something in his ear, but Matteo just waved him off, eyes fixed on the cave entrance like a predator waiting for his prey to walk straight into his teeth.
Then it came—a deep metallic groan as the hangar's steel doors shuddered. A shadow stretched across the floor, long and sharp.
Lucas stepped inside.
He wasn't running. He didn't have to. His presence rolled in like a tide, quiet but unstoppable. Dark hair damp from the rain, jaw clenched, eyes locked on Matteo. He looked like a man who had walked through fire and come out harder.
"Let her go," Lucas said, his voice low but carrying.
Matteo chuckled, tilting his head. "And spoil the reunion? No, fratello. Tonight, you pay the blood price."
Two men moved in on Lucas from the sides, but they didn't get far. The crack of gunfire inside the hangar was deafening—Lucas dropped one before the man could even raise his weapon. The other lunged, but Lucas sidestepped, slammed an elbow into his ribs, and sent him crashing to the ground.
Matteo didn't flinch. "Still quick," he said. "But not quick enough to stop me."
Lucas took a step closer, his gaze like cold steel. "If you touch her—"
"You'll what?" Matteo's grin sharpened. "Bleed for her? You already will."
The rope at my wrists loosened suddenly—Lucas had reached me, his hand strong and warm as he pulled me to my feet. But before we could reach the door, Matteo's voice cut through the chaos.
"Walk away with her if you want. But someone you care about won't see sunrise. And you already know who."
Lucas froze for half a second. His grip on my hand tightened until it hurt.
"What did you do?" His tone was deadly calm, but I could hear the fracture in it.
Matteo only smiled. "
Check your phone when you get home."
The wind howled through the open doors, carrying in the faint wail of approaching sirens. Lucas pulled me into the night, but the weight in his eyes told me—whatever Matteo had set in motion, it was already too late to stop.