I take a deep breath, then exhale. “I need you to listen.”
He gestures to the chair. “Sit. Now.”
I don’t sit.
Then I tell him everything.
Not clean. Not pretty.
I tell him about the marriage. About the fear. About his father and the bad call I made that changed everything.
Then I tell him about Grant.
About the hit.
About the network.
I tell him about Rafe.
Matteo doesn’t interrupt.
When I finish, the silence stretches heavy with tension.
“So,” he finally says, voice measured. “Let me get this straight.”
Here it comes.
“There was a hit put on the woman you love,” he continues, leaning back, eyes sharp, “and at no point did you think to come to me?”
“Your father was in charge,” I say quietly. “He notoriously killed his brother for trafficking. You think he would’ve believed me if I said the marriage was consensual?”
Matteo winces. “Fair. But that maybe should’ve been your first clue not to force a woman to marry you.”
“Really?” I raise a brow. “And how exactly did you get your wife to marry you?”
Matteo snorts. “I didn’t force my wife.”
“You had a marriage of convenience.”
“Tomato, tomah-to.”
I almost laugh.
Almost.
I open my mouth to speak, but Matteo holds up a finger.
“But what about after? What about after my father died, and I was in charge?”
“I couldn’t risk it. I couldn’t risk it getting out.”
He nods slowly. “Okay. I understand.”
“Thank you. I’m sorry.” I don’t say what I’m sorry for, but he understands, and that’s all that matters.
For a moment, Matteo just stares at me. Then his brows furrow together. “You really killed forty-one assassins?”
“Yes.”
