“Don’t!” I warn, kicking my legs. “HELP!”
He cackles. “You really think anybody gives a shit some dumb girl’s calling for help? Hate to break it to you, sweetheart. But people have disappeared on this block. You won’t be the first one or the last. Nobody’s coming to your rescue.”
Matteo’s bleak prediction turns out to be true—if anybody hears my cries for help, they decide to ignore me. I’m pretty sure I catch the sound of a window slamming shut on the second story of one of the nearby buildings.
But it would make sense for anybody living on a street like this, one known for heavy mob activity.
Matteo drags me toward the Italian restaurant, the interior dark and silent like a tomb.
His nervous energy crackles like live wire.
"This better be worth it," he mutters, glancing over his shoulder. "Nero's gonna want answers, and I ain't got time for games. Not with Caelian hunting me down for taking you.”
I wince as he twists my arm and the ache from my wrists shoots through the rest of the bone.
But I don’t let him see me sweat; Caelian taught me that showing weakness invites predators, and right now I’ve been captured by one.
The restaurant dining room stretches before us, chairs stacked on tables and the lights dimmed. Our footsteps echo off the polished floors as we enter and Matteo flicks on the rest of the lights. He checks his watch, then glances at the doors.
His anxiety comes off him in waves, evident in every move he makes.
"Where is he? Nero said eight o'clock sharp."
I remain silent, testing the bonds at my wrists. The rope has rubbed my skin raw, but there might be enough space to slip free if I get the chance. My ballet training taught me how to dislocate joints when necessary—a skill I never thought I'd need.
The back door creaks open, making us both jump.
But instead of Nero's men, Ignazio steps through alone. He's dressed in an expensive sateen shirt with stripes and tailored pants that match his usual flair for the dramatics; his brown hair held perfectly in place by too many products to name.
The sight of him makes my heart lurch in my chest.
"Ignazio?" Matteo's confusion mirrors my own. "What the hell are you doing here? Where's Nero?"
Ignazio smiles, though his eyes remain cold. "Matteo Bandini, I see you decided to go through with it after all. What would your boss think if he knew you’d taken his precious bella ballerina?”
"Don't give me that shit. I delivered the girl like I was asked to do. Now where's my money? Where's Nero?"
"Nero isn't coming."
The words hang in the air between the three of us, silence following for a few seconds. Matteo's face goes pale, then reddens with anger.
"What the fuck do you mean he ain't coming? We had a deal!"
Ignazio flattens his hand down his sateen shirt as if fixing a nonexistent wrinkle. "The thing is, Matteo, you're simply not important enough to warrant Nero's personal attention. You never were."
I watch the exchange with growing dread.
Something is very off. Something so wrong I’m not even sure if Matteo had the foresight to anticipate what was happening.
"You son of a bitch!” Matteo snarls, releasing my arm to advance on Ignazio. "I risked everything for this. I betrayedCaelian! I brought you the girl with the key. Me and Nero had a fucking deal!"
“Actually, Matteo… you only thought you had a deal.” Ignazio reaches behind his back. “But you were too stupid to see you were being played like a fiddle.”
The gunshot rings out, deafening in the enclosed space. Matteo's body jerks backward, a deep crimson stain spreading across his shirt. He looks down at the wound in shock, then up at Ignazio with betrayal written across his face.
"You..." Blood bubbles from his lips. "You fucking..."
The second shot takes him in the chest. Matteo crumples to the floor, his body twitching before going still. Blood pools beneath him, spreading across the clean tiles like spilled wine.
