I’m not looking to marry. I’m not stupid. Our lives aren’t built for it. Especially not now, with the Bratva stirring up shit in our boroughs.
Niccolò called this dinner. Though we're now squarely in the after-dinner phase and didn't manage to talk about much at all. Luca and Riccardo left early, each with an unconscious woman in their arms, playing knights with bloodied hands.
It's why I'll never do it. I know the blood on my hands is too much for even the love of a woman to wash away.
No, I'm content with watching. From afar, like I'm supposed to.
Of course, that only applies to my little gem Amber. The Bratva situation, on the other hand? Not the kind of thing you can just sit on your ass and do nothing about.
Nico has already explained it to us. We've already agreed to a plan. But right now, I'm itching for a variation.
“I want to hit first,” I say.
Matteo looks at me sharply. “What are you talking about?”
“The Pavlov brothers,” I answer. “They’re good at hiding. At striking from the shadows. We’ve all felt it.”
Brooklyn. Staten Island. The Bronx. Even Manhattan and Queens, through Pavlov-affiliated crews. None of it accidental.
Nico studies me. “We have a plan."
"Isn't it better to have two?"
He considers it for a moment. "Could be dangerous. I wouldn't have the resources to back you up.”
“That won't be a problem.”
Matteo’s lips quirk at the corner, just a little, but enough that his expression turns sharp. “My part doesn't change either way. I’ll handle the research if you take the footwork.”
I laugh under my breath. “Figures. Fine, you can stay cooped up in your library.”
We drink to it.
But even as we empty our glasses, my eyes keep drifting back to the bar.
Nico’s right, even though I don’t want to admit it.
Amber is young. Beautiful. Precious in a way that has nothing to do with softness and everything to do with rarity. The kind of thing you don’t throw into the dark just because you live there yourself. The kind of thing you protect by keeping your distance.
My world isn’t built for people like her. It chews them up. Spits them out worse than it found them. I know that better than most. I’ve watched it happen. I’ve caused it to happen.
And yet, the thought creeps in, uninvited.
Gems don’t shine in daylight.
They shine in the dark. On black velvet. Under a single, unforgiving ray of light.
That’s the life she’s already living, whether she knows it or not. She comes out with the stars every night, pours drinks and soft words and practiced smiles down strangers’ throats, thendisappears again before dawn. There’s something alive about her after sunset. Something that belongs to the night.
I can relate.
I’ve never slept much. Insomnia is an old companion. The night is quieter. Cleaner. Fewer lies. Fewer people pretending they’re something they’re not. I do my best thinking when the city is asleep.
Amber doesn’t take any nights off. I’ve noticed that too. A year of watching patterns teaches you things. Hard times, maybe. Bills that don’t wait. Responsibilities that don’t care if you’re tired. And still, I don’t think she’d trade her schedule for a 9-to-5 for anything in the world.
The night is familiar for her now. I can tell it’s her refuge. She wouldn't know how to move in the light, not after so much time spent under the stars.
I know a kindred spirit when I see one. Someone who keeps going because stopping isn’t an option. Someone who understands that survival isn’t heroic, it’s just necessary.
