“I was an asshole earlier.” He cups my face in both hands, and the rawness in his eyes takes my breath away. No walls ordefenses. “I’ve been in a dark place since Santino died. I’ve been handling it like shit.”
I lean into his palms, savoring the rough warmth of them against my cheeks. “Tell me what happened.”
I can see him fighting it, that instinct to lock everything down and handle it alone. He’s been doing it so long I don’t think he knows any other way. But he pushes through anyway, and I ache at the effort it must cost him.
“It was a trap. Bratva ambush. We walked right into it.” His jaw tightens, muscle jumping beneath his skin. “Santino went in first. That’s why he took the bullet.”
My heart clenches. “It was just the two of you?”
“Yeah.” His voice roughens, going raw at the edges. “We didn’t expect a fight. It should’ve been nothing. But they were waiting, and Santino...” He trails off, throat working. “It could’ve been me. Sometimes I think it should’ve been.”
His hands drop from my face, and his head dips until he’s staring at the floor like he can’t bear to look at me anymore.
The pain radiating off him makes my eyes sting. This man who seems so untouchable, so in control of everything, and he’s standing here drowning in guilt and grief and I just want to wrap myself around him until it stops hurting.
So that’s what I do.
I step closer and press my palm right over his heart. It beats steady and strong beneath my hand, warm and alive.
“Don’t say that,” I tell him. “Don’t ever say that.”
“You don’t understand.” The words scrape out of him like broken glass. “Santino mattered. He was a leader. He was important to everyone.”
“So are you.” I keep my voice fierce even as my eyes burn. “You matter, Matteo. You matter to me. But you can’t keep shutting me out when things get hard.”
He doesn’t pull away from my touch. If anything, he leans into it, just barely, like a plant starving for sunlight. Like he’s been hungry for this kind of comfort and didn’t know how to ask for it.
“I wasn’t trying to hurt you.” His voice is quiet now. Tired. “I just needed to deal with my head. Needed space to sort through all the shit rattling around in there.”
“I get that,” I say softly. And I do, even though I’m still a little bruised by the loneliness of the last week. “But I’m here now. You don’t have to carry everything by yourself anymore. That’s kind of the whole point of having someone, you know?”
I brace myself for him to push back, to retreat behind those walls like he did earlier. Instead, he leans down and presses his lips to my forehead, lingering there for a long moment. The gentleness of it makes my heart flip over.
“I know,” he murmurs against my skin.
The tension I’ve been carrying in my shoulders finally releases, draining out of me like water. But there’s one more thing I need to say, one more splinter I need to pull out before it can fester.
“These past few days scared me,” I admit. “The distance, the way you shut down without any warning or explanation.” I pause, forcing myself to push through even though the words wantto stick in my throat. “It reminded me of Viktor. The way he changed once he had me hooked.”
Matteo flinches like I’ve slapped him. Not my smoothest moment, but I needed to say it. I needed him to understand.
“I’m not him.” His voice is raw with urgency, almost desperate. “I swear to God, Sierra. I will never be that man. I’ll do better. I’ll be better. Just please don’t look at me and see him.”
The pain in his face undoes me completely.
I rise onto my tiptoes and wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him close. His arms come around me instantly, crushing me against him like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold on tight enough.
We stand there for what feels like a long time, just breathing together. His heart pounds against mine, gradually slowing. His hand strokes up and down my spine in these slow, soothing passes that make me want to melt into him.
“I believe you,” I whisper into his shoulder.
And I do. Because when Matteo hurts me, he cares. When he messes up, he wants to fix it. He feels remorse. He tries.
That’s the difference between him and Viktor. That’s everything.
My trust was tested this past week. Shaken hard enough to crack. But it held. And somehow, coming through on the other side of it, I think it might be stronger than before.
I pull back just enough to look at him. His eyes are red-rimmed, bruised with exhaustion, but something in them has cracked open too. He looks lighter. More himself.
