I curse under my breath and force myself to focus on the present. The girls are ripping into the gifts now. Serena squeals when she opens a box of ridiculous lingerie Rory picked out.
“Antonio is going to pass out when he sees you in this,” Isabella teases.
“I would never be caught dead in that.” Alessia fingers the silk, lacey scrap of clothing, but her grin gives her away.
The aunts clap, laugh, and toss back champagne like it’s water. It’s chaos. Loud, messy, and glittering chaos. Our chaos, the Rossis and Valentinos.
I try to enjoy it, but all the while, I can’t shake the feeling of eyes on me.
Ale leans closer, his voice low. “You feel that too?”
I nod once, scanning the balcony over the dance floor where a pair of guards stand like statues. “Yeah.”
Ale straightens, jaw tight, but doesn’t make a scene. We can’t spook the women, not today. Not with Serena grinning ear-to-ear, basking in the spotlight she’s been craving since she could walk.
So we wait. Watch. Pretend.
And I sip my whiskey, keeping my expression smooth while my insides churn. Because even as I tell myself I’m imagining it, a part of me knows.
She’s here. Somewhere.
I sip whiskey while a sliver of citrus lingers in the air, and for the briefest second a flash of blonde moves across the balcony like a moth.Kitty Cat?
Or have I lost my damned mind?
Worst, now I don’t know if I want to catch Trigger… because a part of me is terrified I already have.
CHAPTER 9
HOLLOW ECHO
Matteo
Ale has his arm tight around Rory. He whispers something, and she slaps him with the ridiculous toilet-paper bouquet Serena forced on her, laughing like she’s light enough to float. He looks like he’s on top of the fucking world, the explosion that nearly ruined his life long forgotten. Ever since Rory blew into his life, the scars no longer make him look haunted. They make him look alive.
Cazzo, and now they’re pregnant.
The word gnaws at me like a rusted blade. He and Rory are about to step into something new, something permanent. A family. That kid’s going to be born into chaos and danger, but if anyone can build a fortress out of love, it’s Ale.
I should be happy. And I am. Sort of. But it digs at me too, the hollow echo in my own chest. The one woman I ever really gave a damn about is long gone, and I’ve got nothing to show for it except empty nights and too much whiskey.
I drain the last of mine and glance up at the mezzanine balcony that rings the club. That’s when it hits me again.Movement. Just the edge of a figure, blonde hair catching the chandelier glow for a second before vanishing into shadow.
“Matty?” Rory calls, tugging me back to the present. “Where are you going?” She’s radiant in the commotion, paper tiara crooked, and emerald eyes lit with laughter. Ale’s hand stays on her hip, protective and possessive but most of all proud. For a second, I wonder if she can feel that spark of life inside her already.
I force a grin. “Just making sure no one sneaks in a stripper.”
Serena howls, Alessia nearly chokes on her prosecco, and the boisterous anarchy swells again. They buy it. Ale’s sharp gaze cuts to mine. He knows better.
I shake it off, give him my best devil-may-care smirk, and push away from the table.
The stairs to the VIP balcony creak under my steps, muffled by the bass thrum of pop music and the cackle of aunts demanding another round of champagne. I move slowly, steady, hand brushing the inside of my jacket where the weight of the pistol rests. Just in case.
The balcony is empty except for one of the guards who’s posted at the far end. But his gaze is pinned to the guests on the floor below. Nothing unusual. But the hair on the back of my neck is prickling, and I’ve learned never to ignore that instinct.
I scan every corner, every shadow. Nothing. No blonde. No assassin.
Still, the itch won’t leave me.
