The boy who touched me…Was Matteo fucking Messina?
They wouldn’t just hit me. They’d bury me.
Chapter 10
Matteo
Sunday arrives with fog curling over the Hollow, the sun prying through the clouds.
We returned from Blackstone late. The manor is quiet, only Father’s office glows like a pulse. Grandfather and Father had returned from Chicago to another business meeting with an Italian family. I don’t ask. They only tell us what we need to know.
We gather in Father’s office, sunlight slicing through the stained glass. Marco and Milo slump in leather chairs. I lean against the wall, nursing a mug I’m not drinking. Sleep won’t come, blue eyes keep crowding my lids.
They’re beautiful eyes, ones I could stare into for hours. But they must stay away. They’ll burn us both.
Father steeples his fingers. “First week at school. Speak.”
“Classes suck,” Marco says, stretching.
“Training’s good,” Milo adds. “Real good, already learning how to use the knife in better ways.”
I nod, silent but agreeing.
Father smiles. “I thought you’d say that, you learn a lot there.”
Grandfather chuckles from the corner, where he’s swirling whiskey before noon like he’s earned it. I mean the man has been out of bed since six this morning, so I’m going to say the work he's done in that time, he does deserve it. “They don’t go to Blackstone to learn algebra,” he mutters. Making the three of us laugh, because we don’t.
Father turns his eyes to me. Serious now. “Leo spoke to us,” Father says. “There’s a lot of rage in you, Matteo. You’re barely holding it in.”
I clench my jaw. “You're not wrong,” I admit.
Grandfather smiles. “You’ve always needed a fight. You like blood on your hands.”
A smile creeps across my face. I’ve been fighting so long my hands hardly feel it anymore.
Father nods, agreeing with Grandfather, then turns to me. “That’s why we spoke to the Antonovs,” he says. “They have someone like you, older, fights dirty. We arranged a match.”
My brows lift. “A fight?”
“Of course.” Grandfather smirks. “Break his nose if you want. Do damage. Show them what you can do.”
I smile for real now. My fingers twitch just thinking about it.
“Your father and I will watch. We want to see what you’re made of.”
“I already know what I’m made of,” I say, and Father just smiles wider.
“We want to see it in blood,” he says.
Marco groans. “Can I fight someone too?”
Milo grins. “Yeah, what the hell? Let us have some fun!”
Grandfather laughs, loud and warm. “Your time will come. Don’t worry, boys.”
“Besides,” Father adds, “we have a long year ahead. Plenty of blood to spill.”
There’s a knock at the door, soft but deliberate, our mother.
