I glance down. For a second, I’d forgotten it was there. I forgot I wasn’t free.
“So fucking ugly,” Matteo says, reaching for a shirt.
I say nothing. The ring is ugly, but the fear of what they’d hear in my voice is worse.
They talk about training, the next trial, white noise under Matteo’s fingers tracing lazy lines down my spine. My body hums under his touch, greedy for more.
Milo glances over. “How’s the knife?”
“Better,” I say. “Thank you.”
He nods, taking it like he’s not used to hearing it.
My phone buzzes. Unknown number. One link. I click on it.
My breath catches. The date blinks up at me, familiar. Too familiar. Heat drains from my face.
Matteo’s hand stills on my back. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I lie, curling my fingers firm around the phone like it might bite. “I should go.”
His arm tightens around my waist. “Stay. No class yet.”
“Conor will come looking,” I murmur. “I’m not in the mood for his protective-ass routine.”
Matteo studies me, eyes flicking over mine, searching. He knows I’m lying. He just lets me keep the lie.
I’m grateful and it hurts, because he never pushes, not even when I want him to.
I cross to the bed, pulling on my clothes. Matteo’s gaze trails over me, slow and claiming, while his brothers and Rosa talk about some party like we’re not here at all.
He steps behind me, heat and breaths at my neck.
“We could have fun before you go,” he murmurs. “Already miss being inside you.”
I turn, his hands still gripping my waist. Mine finds his neck, pulling him down as I rise onto my toes and kiss him.
“Maybe this was supposed to be it,” I whisper, holding back tears. We’ll have to stop sooner or later, but if it ends, I want last night to be the memory that stays.
Matteo kisses me once, slowly, then smiles. “Cute you think I’m done playing, little lamb.”
The way he says it makes heat crawl through me.
“I’ll see you again,” he adds, glancing toward Marco.
“The cameras are down. Five minutes to get back to your room,” Marco says, already turning back to Milo.
“Thanks,” I say, but Marco doesn’t look up. I nod to Matteo and slip out.
The link glows on my screen. Not gossip. A Hollow Edge publication. I duck into a narrow corridor, into shadow.
The headline hits me first.
“Blood on the Docks: Unnamed Witness Tied to Disappearance of Two Messina Operatives.”
My chest locks.
I scroll. No photo, just words that scrape raw. It’s Rory. My fingers tremble as I read it again.
