Like I was something to be protected.
Or feared.
Both worked.
I stepped inside without a word.
The door closed behind me with a soft, airtight whisper.
The world outside vanished.
Inside, the air was cool and sterile.
A stark contrast to the chaos still clinging to me.
I leaned back into the leather seat.
It was smooth and unforgivingly clean against the mess I carried.
Blood had soaked into my shirt, dried in places, still damp in others.
It clung to my skin, sticky and heavy, but I didn’t move to fix it.
Didn’t care.
Let them see.
Let them smell it.
Let them understand exactly what I had been doing while they waited.
Up front, Renzo sat beside the driver.
Straight-backed.
Silent.
The entire vehicle felt like it was holding its breath.
Like even sound itself knew better than to exist without permission.
I let the quiet stretch.
Long enough for discomfort to settle.
Then I spoke. “Is Matteo present?”
Renzo answered immediately, his voice respectful, tight with restraint.
“Yes, boss. He came.”
A beat. “It’s his daughter’s wedding, after all.”
Matteo was one of the Spanish mafia—a spineless, weak man who also happened to be the father of my bride.
I had warned him not to come to this wedding, yet I knew he would ignore the warning and show up anyway.
And he did.
