I pray it never comes to that. But if fate demands it… I already know my answer.
31
MATTEO
Idon’t sleep anymore.
There’s onlyone thing on my mind—him—and he’s there because my wife never truly rests.
She wakes from nightmares soaked in sweat, breath hitching, eyes wild. Every time, I pull her into my arms and hold her until the sobs ease and exhaustion finally drags her under again. By morning, she pretends she’s fine.
She isn’t. And I know it. I see it.
That’s what eats at me most—the waiting. The knowing I can’t tear this fear out of her yet because Valerio is waiting for one mistake. One slip. Then we move. Then we end it.
I hate it. I hate the patience this war demands. I hate that I can’t put a bullet in him right now and be done with it.
I would kill for her peace. I would burn my empire to see the light come back into her eyes. Instead, I watch it dim, reduced to a fragile flicker that refuses to go out—but barely holds.
I rub a tired hand over my jaw and stare out the window. All I want is to go home. To hold my wife. My son is in Los Angeles,brokering a deal he swears will benefit the family. He’s becoming exactly the man I raised him to be.
I’m proud of him.
And some nights, that terrifies me.
And still, some nights I wonder if any of this is worth it… or if Marcello was right to walk away.
“You’re brooding again,” Valerio says, coming to stand beside me at the glass. “Keep scowling like that and your face is going to stick.”
“You’re not funny.” I don’t look at him. “Go home, Rio. I just need to wrap a few things up.”
“Wrap up what?” he counters. “You burned through three weeks of work in four days. There’s nothing left.” His voice drops. “Go home. Be with your wife. Watch a movie. Pretend you’re normal.”
I should. I want to. But here—alone in my office—I don’t have to be the pillar. I don’t have to be unbreakable. I can just exist.
“I will,” I say finally. “In a minute.”
My gaze drifts to the towers beside ours. “I should’ve bought those buildings,” I add. “They’re bigger.”
Valerio snorts, already taking the bait.
“You still can,” Valerio says. “You’re a billionaire—with a capital B. You could even put it in her name. For when she’s ready to restart that fashion line of hers.”
“Good idea,” I reply, distracted.
He lets the silence stretch, then claps his hands once. “Drink.”
“No.”
“Come on,” he presses. “I’m your second, but I’m also one of your oldest friends. And I know that look. Life’s got you by the balls.” He grins. “And in my experience, there’s very little a bottle of good bourbon can’t improve.”
I turn to him. He’s smiling—that infuriating mix of mischief and insight. I already know agreeing means trouble. Valeriothriveson trouble.
“I’m not in the mood.”
“You’re never in the mood,” he counters. “That’s exactly why we’re going.”
“No.”
