“I really shouldn’t talk about this, Sierra.”
“I know.” I pull my knees tighter against my chest. “But I’m in it now, aren’t I? Whether you tell me or not.”
He’s quiet for a long moment. I watch him wrestle with something, his expression shifting through emotions too quickly for me to read. Eventually he scrubs a hand over his face. “Fuck. You’re right.”
He stands from the recliner and settles next to me on the couch. “You know Viktor’s in the Bratva.” It’s not a question, but I nod anyway. “The Bratva and the Italians here in Vegas don’t get along. Never have.”
He shifts, angling his body toward me. Even exhausted, he’s alert. Watchful. Like some part of him is always scanning for threats.
“There’s always been friction, right from the beginning. The Italians won’t admit this, but the Bratva was here first. Moved into Vegas back in the forties.” He spreads his hands. “But they were smaller. Couldn’t keep the Italians out by force. Both sides were forced to share the city, carving out territories and running things within those lines.”
“And someone got greedy?” I ask softly.
“Isn’t that always how it goes?” A ghost of amusement flickers across his features before disappearing. “There’s been conflict. Spats over territory. Fighting among lower-level members. Sometimes it escalated, but it’s mostly been manageable for the last couple decades.” He pauses. “Then the current Pakhan took over.”
“Pakhan?”
“Their leader. Kozlov.” Matteo’s voice hardens. “He’s an arrogant piece of shit. Disrespectful. Power-hungry. He won’t stop until he takes everything we have, and there’s no line he won’t cross to get it.”
A chill runs down my spine.
“Viktor works for this asshole.” His hand moves to his shoulder, pressing against it. “He shot me a few years back. Left me for dead in the street.”
My stomach drops.
“I survived.” His mouth twists. “But I’ve got scars and a long memory.”
His eyes meet mine, and there’s something cold there. Something that reminds me he’s killed before.
“But outside of my personal vendettas, the Bratva has done terrible things. They’ve killed and dismembered our men. Tried to gun our people down in the street. Kidnapped our women. They created a drug that kills people, and Viktor was part of that too.”
His hand finds mine, fingers intertwining. The touch steadies something inside me.
“When I say he’s my enemy, I’m completely serious. He stands for things that are hateful. He works for a power-hungry maniac.” His thumb traces circles on the back of my hand. “What happened at your apartment today... that wasn’t just about Viktor wanting you back. It’s part of something bigger. A war that’s been building for a while now.”
I let that sink in. A war. Not just a rivalry. Not just bad blood. An actual war, with casualties on both sides.
“So when you said this won’t end until one of you is gone...”
“I meant it.” His eyes hold mine, unflinching. “Kozlov won’t stop. Viktor won’t stop. The only way this ends is if we make it end.”
“By wiping them out.”
“Yes.”
I should be terrified. I should be running for the door, calling a cab, getting as far from this man and his world as possible.
But I’m not.
And I’m not sure what that says about me.
Matteo squeezes my fingers, his expression understanding. Like he can read the conflict playing out across my face. “Some people deserve to die, Sierra.”
I don’t argue. A few months ago, I would have. But that was before.
“Let’s go to bed.” He stands, offering me his hand.
I take it and let him lead me back to the bedroom.
