The thought sends a flutter through me. Hopeful. Almost painful in how much I want it.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I don’t need to look to know it’s someone from my family. The group chat hasn’t stopped since I made the announcement. Questions I keep dodging. Excitement I don’t deserve.
When do we get to meet him?How did he propose?Send more pictures!
I’ve been giving vague answers.Soon. It was romantic. I’m so happy.But I know “soon” has an expiration date. My family will want to meet him. They’ll welcome him with open arms and home-cooked food and a hundred questions about our future, and I’ll have to sit there smiling while I lie to their faces.
But what am I supposed to tell them?Hey, family, remember that boyfriend you never liked? Turns out he’s actually in the Russian mafia and has been stalking me. So now I’m fake-marrying a scary Italian enforcer to make him jealous enough to show himself so the scary Italian enforcer can do something violent to him. Wedding’s in three weeks. Please bring a dish to share.
Yeah. That would go over great.
My dad’s blood pressure is already a mess. My mom would cry. My brothers would want to fix it, and there’s nothing they can do to fix this. I’ve made my bed with the monsters, and now I have to lie in it.
My phone buzzes again. And again.
With a sigh, I pull it out.
Mom:Dinner this weekend? Dad wants to meet him.
I close my eyes. Of course he does.
I take a deep breath and look back out at the street below, trying to find some calm in the morning routine of strangers going about their lives.
That’s when I see it.
Black. Parked across the street. The Mercedes that’s been haunting my nightmares for months.
My body locks up mid-breath. Every muscle, every joint, frozen like prey that’s just spotted the wolf.
I can’t see the driver from this angle, but I don’t need to.
Viktor.
The mug slips from my hand and clatters onto the balcony table, coffee sloshing over the rim. My pulse is already hammering in my ears as I lurch to my feet and stumble back inside.
Matteo is awake. Sitting up on the couch, pulling on his boots. His head snaps toward me the second I step through the door, and whatever he sees on my face makes him go completely still.
“Viktor’s outside.”
Matteo doesn’t ask questions. He doesn’t hesitate. He goes from sleepy to lethal in the space of a breath, grabbing his gun and moving toward the door with a speed that should be impossible for a man his size.
“Stay here.”
Then he’s gone.
I hate this. Standing here useless while someone else runs toward the man who’s been terrorizing me.
But if I go down there, I’m just a target. Another problem for Matteo to solve.
I force myself back onto the balcony, gripping the railing hard enough that my knuckles go white.
Down below, Matteo bursts out of the building just as the Mercedes peels away from the curb. Viktor hits the gas, tires squealing, and disappears down the street before Matteo can even get close.
From three floors up, I can see the rigid line of his shoulders. The way one hand balls into a fist at his sides. He spins back toward the building, and even at this distance, the fury on his face is unmistakable.
My neighbor holds the door for him, too busy checking her phone to notice the gun tucked into his waistband or the violence radiating off him as he stalks past.
I’m sitting on the couch when he returns. My hands are folded in my lap to hide the trembling, and I’ve arranged my expression into something I hope looks calm.
