Finn steps over him without a second glance. He pulls up the second chair, the legs scraping against concrete with a sound that sets my teeth on edge, and sits beside me.
The casual normality of the gesture makes my stomach churn and my panic rise from a casual million to at least a trillion.
“You know,” he begins conversationally, leaning back in the chair as if we have all the time in the world, “I’ve been planning this for a very long time.”
I stare at him, unable to reconcile this cold-eyed stranger with the professional I’ve been working with for weeks. Was any of it real? The client meetings, the approvals, the casual chats about pyrotechnics and marketing?
“Planning what?” I manage, voice hoarse from screaming. “Kidnapping me? Murdering your family?”
“My family,” he repeats, a bitter smile twisting his lips. “That’s the interesting part, Raven. The Kearneys weren’t my blood. They were just… placeholders. Temporary guardians who raised a wolf among sheep.”
He leans forward, his eyes boring into mine with unsettling intensity.
“My real name, the one I was given at birth, is Salvador Greco.”
The name stirs something inside me. Like a memory that wants to break free from the recesses of my mind. “Fascinating,” I say, aiming to sound aloof, but my abused throat makes it come out like a croak.
Finn—no, Salvador—smiles, the expression never reaching his eyes. “Look at you trying so hard to pretend you haven’t heard that name before.”
“Who’s pretending?” I volley. “I’ve never heard your name before outside of teen vamp dramas. And those Salvatores were—”
“No,” he interrupts me sharply. “NotSalvatore.Salvador.” He enunciates the two names slowly. “And I don’t expect you’ve heard my first name. It’s my last name that’s ringing a bell, isn’t it, Raven?”
Greco… Greco… and then it hits me like a physical blow.Greco.The Sicilian family that once ruled Cleveland before the Russos took over. The same family that…
“Matteo killed your family,” I whisper, the pieces clicking into place with sickening clarity. “The fire. He told me he burned the people who killed his parents.”
“He thought he’d killedallof us. A reasonable assumption, considering the thoroughness with which he burned my home to the ground with my parents and sisters inside. But I wasn’t there that night. I was at a friend’s house.”
He speaks with clinical detachment, as if describing someone else’s tragedy. I almost tell him that Matteo left him alive and that it wasn’t an oversight. But then I decide against it.
“The police woke me up in the middle of the night to tell me I no longer had a home or a family—”
“The Kearneys adopted you,” I interrupt, the full horror of the situation dawning on me.
“Yes,” he confirms. “Good, kind people who had no idea what they were bringing into their home. They gave me a new name, a new life. And I played along, the perfect son, while inside…” He taps his temple with one finger. “Inside, I was just waiting. Planning. Learning.”
“Learning pyrotechnics,” I realize aloud. “So you could use fire against Matteo. The same way he used it against your family.”
His expression sharpens with something like approval. “Poetic, isn’t it? I spent years mastering the science of controlled destruction. Every client job, every stadium display, every movie special effect—they were all just practice for what I really wanted to create.”
A pathetic whimper escapes me as I realize something else. “You already tried to kill him, didn’t you?” I ask, my voice barely audible. “The explosion last year was you, right?”
“That was my first attempt,” Salvador acknowledges with a small nod. “Imperfect. He survived, though not without… souvenirs.” He gestures to his own eye. “But it taught me something valuable.”
Even though I should shut the fuck up and let him talk, I ask, “What?”
“To truly destroy Matteo Russo, I needed to take everything from him. Piece by piece. His security. His club. His people.”
“Vito and Kayla,” I breathe. “Even Gia.”
Maybe Gia’s a bit of a stretch. Except I don’t think so. She was a regular employee at the Leone Room. That makes her both part of Matteo’s club and his people.
“Necessary casualties,” he says with a dismissive wave. “Gia served her purpose as my inside source, but she became unreliable. Emotional. She actually believed I was helping her win Matteo back.” He laughs, the sound empty of humor.
“Why did you let her live?” I ask, confused.
He shrugs. “I’d hoped Matteo would kill her once he learned her knife wounds might look… suspicious.”
