I woke up to the sound of quiet breathing and the faint smell of soap.

For a second, I didn’t remember where I was.

Then I felt it — warmth, solid and heavy, stretched out beside me in the narrow bed.

Matteo.

I turned my head slightly, careful not to make a sound. He was lying on his side, one arm thrown across his pillow, his cap gone. In the pale morning light, he looked… younger somehow. Less like the king of the underworld and more like a man just trying to sleep.

I should have moved. Should have gotten up before he woke.

Instead, I stayed exactly where I was.

“You stare too much, bella.”

I jumped at the sound of his voice. His eyes were open now, sharp and amused, like he’d been awake this whole time.

“I wasn’t staring,” I lied quickly.

“You were,” he said simply, sitting up.

“You’re insufferable.”

“You say that a lot.” He stretched lazily, like a predator that knew it had all the time in the world.

I forced myself to look away, my face hot. “We should get back. Whoever attacked us might still be out there.”

Matteo’s expression sharpened instantly, the lazy amusement gone. He got out of bed and pulled on a clean shirt from the bag he’d brought — this one black, fitting him like it had been made for him.

“You’re right,” he said, buttoning the shirt with quick, precise movements. “But first we eat. Moving on an empty stomach is a good way to get killed.”

I rolled my eyes. “You sound like my grandmother.”

He glanced at me, one brow lifting. “Your grandmother used to run guns for the Sicilian mob?”

I blinked. “…no.”

“Then she has nothing on me.”

Downstairs, the inn’s small dining room smelled like coffee and fresh bread. Matteo kept his cap low as we sat in a corner table, his back to the wall.

I buttered a piece of bread and tried not to glance at him every five seconds.

“You should eat more,” he said suddenly, nodding at my plate.

“I am eating.”

“You’re picking at it.”

I gave him a look. “What are you, my doctor?”

He smirked slightly, sipping his coffee. “No. But I’m the one who has to keep you alive. That means you eat, bella.”

I muttered something under my breath but took a bigger bite.

We were halfway back to the city when the first black SUV appeared in the rearview mirror.

“Matteo…” I said carefully.

“I see it,” he said calmly, his hands tightening on the wheel.

Another SUV appeared on the side road ahead of us.

“They found us,” he muttered, pulling the car sharply off the main road and onto a dirt path that led toward an abandoned farm.

“Are we running?” I asked, gripping the seat as the car bounced violently.

“No,” he said, his voice flat. “We’re fighting.”

The car skidded to a stop, dust rising around us. Matteo was out of the driver’s seat in seconds, gun already in hand.

“Stay low,” he ordered.

“I can help—”

“Stay. Low.” His voice left no room for argument.

I ducked down as gunfire shattered the quiet morning. Matteo moved like he was born for this — quick, precise, every shot finding its mark.

One man tried to flank him, and without thinking, I grabbed the tire iron from under the seat and swung the door open, slamming it into the man’s stomach. He went down hard.

Matteo turned, his eyes briefly meeting mine — a flash of heat and approval there before he turned back to finish the fight.

When it was over, five men lay on the ground, groaning or silent. Matteo kicked one of their guns away and stalked over to the last man still conscious.

“Who sent you?” His voice was ice.

The man spat blood and stayed silent.

Matteo’s boot came down hard on his chest, pinning him. “Try again.”

“Matteo,” I said carefully. “He’s not going to talk.”

Matteo looked down at the man for a long, tense moment — then shot him cleanly in the leg.

The man screamed.

“Try again,” Matteo repeated.

This time, the man broke. “S-someone called Vieri!” he gasped. “He’s angry you interfered with the port deal. He wants you dead!”

Matteo stepped back, his face unreadable.

“Port deal?” I asked, my heart still racing.

“Business,” he said shortly. “Get in the car.”

“But—”

“Now, bella.”

We didn’t stop driving until we were far from the scene. My hands were still shaking when Matteo finally spoke.

“You did well,” he said quietly.

I blinked at him. “I just hit a guy with a door.”

“You thought fast,” he said. “That’s what matters.”

I stared out the window, trying to process everything. “Matteo… how long is this going to last? The attacks, the danger—”

“Until I finish this,” he said simply.

“And if you don’t?”

He glanced at me, his eyes dark. “Then I die. But I won’t. Not yet.”

I swallowed hard, turning back to the window.

For the first time, I realized something.

I wasn’t just in danger because of Matteo.

I was in danger because of the world he lived in.

And now that world wouldn’t let me go.