"What kind of situation?"
"The kind I handle. You're the attorney. Let me be the—" He paused, choosing his words carefully. "Let me handle the business side of things."
He kissed me once more and disappeared into the crowd. I watched him go and felt unease settle in my stomach.
I knew what "business" meant in Sandro's world. It meant violence or threats or something else I'd have plausible deniability about if anyone asked.
I should leave. Should call a car and go home. Should distance myself from whatever was about to happen.
Instead I stayed. Ordered another champagne. Waited for Sandro to return from handling whatever situation Matteo had created.
Because that's what I did now. I stayed. I waited. I chose him over the smart choice, the safe choice, the ethical choice.
I chose him.
And I'd keep choosing him, no matter what came next.
CHAPTER 16: SANDRO
MATTEO'S TEXT HADbeen simple:Service hallway. Second floor. Now.
I found him in a maintenance corridor behind the hotel kitchens. Elio and Luca were already there, forming a wall between Matteo and whatever lay beyond them. The smell of blood hit me before I saw the source.
Antonio Costello was on the floor, conscious but barely. His nose was definitely broken—blood streaming down his face and onto his tuxedo shirt. His right eye was already swelling shut. Matteo stood over him, knuckles split and bloody, chest heaving like he'd just run a marathon.
"What the fuck happened?" I asked, though I could piece it together well enough.
"He was running his mouth," Matteo said. His voice was low. Controlled. But I heard the rage simmering underneath. "About Emilio. About you. About how he was going to make sure your pretty lawyer boyfriend regretted defending scum like us."
I looked down at Antonio. "That's what he said?"
"Word for word. In front of a dozen people. Laughing about the bomb threat. Joking about what they'd do to Emilio if he didn't drop the case." Matteo's fists clenched. "So I gave him something to really laugh about."
Antonio tried to sit up. Matteo put a foot on his chest and pressed him back down. Not hard enough to break ribs but hard enough to make the point.
"You don't—" Antonio coughed, spitting blood. "You don't get to do this. Not here. Not in public."
"I just did." Matteo crouched down, getting in Antonio's face. "You threatened Emilio Rossi. You sent men to his apartment. You tried to terrorize him with fake bombs and death threats. Did you really think there wouldn't be consequences?"
"My father—"
"Your father's going to be very disappointed when he finds out about your gambling debts. The ones you've been hiding. The ones that total almost three hundred thousand dollars." Matteo smiled. Cold. Vicious. "Yeah, we know about those. We know everything about you, Antonio. And if you ever even think about Emilio Rossi again, we're going to make sure your father knows too."
"We need to leave," Elio said quietly. His eyes were on the service elevator. "Hotel security does rounds every fifteen minutes. We've got maybe three before they find him."
"Let them find him," Matteo said, standing. "Let everyone see what happens when you threaten people under our protection."
"Matteo." I kept my voice level. "Elio's right. We leave now. Before this becomes a bigger problem than it already is."
"He threatened Emilio. He deserves worse than this."
"He absolutely does. But not here. Not now. Not with five hundred witnesses in the next room." I grabbed Matteo's shoulder. "You've made your point. He's bleeding and broken and he knows we're not fucking around. That's enough for tonight."
Matteo looked at me for a long moment. Then down at Antonio. Then back at me. "Fine. But if he tries anything else—"
"If he tries anything else, we'll handle it together. Permanently." I pulled him toward the service stairs. "Luca,make sure Antonio understands that talking about what just happened would be a very bad idea."
Luca crouched down where Matteo had been. His voice was quiet but I heard every word. "You're going to tell hotel security you slipped and fell. Hit your face on the railing. Clumsy accident. Very embarrassing. Do you understand?"
