If he were smart, he’d stay right where he is.
Giacomo has never been smart.
He walks straight toward me.
Valerio stiffens beside me.
“Don’t,” he murmurs, low and even, the way you’d speak to a rabid animal. “Be smart about this, boss.”
“I’m not starting anything,” I say, the lie smooth. My grip tightens around the glass. “No reason to get my hands dirty. Not yet.”
“Yet,” he mutters. “I knew we should’ve gone to the nightclub.”
Giacomo stops just short of our table. His hands come together in a slow, deliberate clap.
“Matteo,” he drawls, head tilting. “You look… tired. Time hasn’t been kind to you.”
I don’t rise to it. That’s what he wants. I know this man well enough to recognize the bait—and I’m unarmed.
He clicks his tongue and turns to Valerio. “Not in the mood to talk? Still keeping the leash tight, I see. He used to have more bite.”
Valerio doesn’t blink. “Still pretending you have a kingdom? You’re surplus here, Giacomo. You never should’ve come back.”
Giacomo chuckles. “You don’t hold the keys, Valerio. I go where I please. This city isn’t yours.”
“It isn’t yours,” I cut in, my voice flat. “And he’s right—you don’t belong here. You may not recognize authority anymore, but last I checked, I still run these streets. My word is law.”
He laughs softly. “Then why am I still breathing? I could’ve sworn you wanted me dead.”
My jaw tightens.
“Oh—and tell me,” he adds lightly, “how’s that whore of yours? Let her know I miss her.”
I’m on my feet before I register the movement. The chair shrieks back, slicing through the room. Heads turn.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I say, ice-cold.
He shrugs. “Public place.”
“You lost every right to this city the moment you went after my wife.”
He steps closer—too close. Close enough that I can smell him. Close enough that it would take nothing to wrap my hand around his throat.
His voice drops to a whisper only I can hear. “One day, I’ll take everything you have. Piece by fucking piece. Your throne. Her. Your son. Or should I say—myson.”
My fist curls.
Valerio’s already up, his hand locking around my arm beneath the table, anchoring me in place.
“Not here,” Valerio grits beside me.
I hear him. I just don’t care.
Every instinct in me screams to put my fist through Giacomo’s face—to feel bone give, blood spill across imported tile. To end him.
But I don’t.
“Yes,” Giacomo hisses, tongue clicking against his teeth. “Listen to your lackey, Matteo. Wouldn’t want things to get… messy. Not when you’ve got so much more to lose than I do.”His smile sharpens. “You know what they say about a man with nothing left.”
