Chapter 10: Chapter 10 – POV Lilianna

The night air hit me like a whip as we stepped out of the brownstone, the streets of New York slick with a faint drizzle that made the city glow under the scattered streetlights. Matteo’s presence was immediate and overwhelming—every step deliberate, every movement precise, the way he navigated the world like a predator fully aware of every threat.

I tugged my jacket tighter around me, shivering slightly—not from cold, but from adrenaline. Callum clung to my hand, oblivious to the danger, trusting me completely, as though I could shield him from everything.

“You’ll stay here with the safehouse team,” Matteo said, his voice low, intense. “I’ll handle the docks tonight. This isn’t just about intercepting Petrov’s shipment—it’s about sending him a message. Making him think twice about coming for us again.”

I hesitated, wanting to argue, wanting to insist that I was going with him, but the weight of his gaze pinned me in place. Those dark eyes—so sharp, so unyielding—reminded me that I was still out of my depth.

“Alright,” I said, forcing my voice steady. “Callum will be safe.”

He nodded once, sharp and fast, then glanced at me with something I couldn’t name flickering in his expression. Something softer, almost… human. “Good. And Lilianna?”

I met his gaze, heart hammering. “Yes?”

“Stay alive,” he said, the words brief but heavy with meaning. “Don’t do anything reckless. Not tonight.”

I swallowed, nodding, and stepped back as he disappeared into the shadows of the street, leaving me with a churning sense of both fear and admiration. He was a force of nature, and somehow, I was tethered to him by more than just survival.

Back at the brownstone, I paced with Callum at my side, anxiety gnawing at my insides. His small hand in mine was a lifeline, grounding me in a world that had become chaotic and violent almost overnight. Every creak of the house, every muted noise from the street below, set my nerves on edge.

“Momma?” Callum asked, tugging at my sleeve. “Are they gonna be okay?”

I crouched to his level, forcing a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “Yes, baby. Matteo and the men know what they’re doing. They’ll be careful.”

“But you’re staying here with me?” he asked, brow furrowed.

I nodded firmly. “Always, baby. I won’t leave your side.”

He hugged me tightly, and for a moment, I let myself sink into that warmth, trying to pretend that the chaos outside didn’t exist. But the truth was impossible to ignore. Petrov was out there. He was calculating. And tonight, I knew, the city would bleed before this was over.

Hours passed slowly. The night deepened into a velvet darkness, punctuated by occasional sirens in the distance, the faint hum of traffic, the occasional bark of a dog. I kept Callum occupied with toys and whispered stories, but my mind kept drifting back to Matteo.

He had always been fearless. Always precise. And yet, when I thought of him out there, facing a man who had orchestrated the slaughter of my family, a man who would stop at nothing, I felt a cold chill settle in my chest.

I paced again, hands clenched, trying to stay composed. Callum’s small voice called me back repeatedly, drawing me from my spiraling thoughts. He was eating dinner—cold scrambled eggs and toast, the kind of simple meal I had made him as a child—and laughing quietly, the sound cutting through my tension like sunlight through storm clouds.

It was a fragile calm, one that could shatter with a single gunshot, a single misstep. And I knew it.

Meanwhile, Matteo was out there, moving through the shadows of the city like a ghost. Every step calculated, every move precise. He had taken only a few of his most trusted men, knowing that stealth was more important than sheer numbers.

The docks were deserted, save for a few scattered containers and the occasional creak of steel. The shipment had been moved, but the men guarding it were tense, aware of the possibility of an ambush. And Matteo was waiting for the right moment to strike.

He moved silently, like a shadow, closing in on the group with surgical precision. The first man went down before he even had a chance to react—a single shot, muffled, precise. The others spun, guns drawn, but Matteo’s men were ready. Chaos erupted in controlled bursts—shots fired, orders shouted, the metallic smell of gunpowder thick in the air.

Through it all, Matteo moved with deadly efficiency, taking down anyone in his path while keeping the shipment intact. It was like watching a storm rage through the night—powerful, unstoppable, and terrifyingly beautiful.

Back at the brownstone, I had finally managed to settle Callum in the living room with one of Matteo’s men, a tall, silent figure named Enzo. His presence was reassuring, but it did little to calm my own nerves.

I moved to the window, staring out at the rain-slick streets, imagining Matteo moving like a phantom through the darkness. My heart raced with every distant sound—the faint echo of sirens, the creak of a gate, the slap of rain against pavement.

And then, the first call came through Matteo’s secure line.

“Shipment secure,” he said, voice low but steady. “No casualties on our side. Petrov’s men scattered. But he knows we’re coming.”

My stomach dropped. He was right. Petrov never forgave, never forgot. And now, the battle had truly begun.

“Are you alright?” Matteo asked, his voice softer now, carrying through the phone in a way that made me shiver.

“I’m fine,” I lied, though my voice trembled slightly. “Callum is asleep. He’s safe.”

“Good,” he said. There was a pause, long enough for tension to coil around me like a snake. “Listen to me, Lilianna. The next move will be Petrov’s. Expect anything. Expect him to hit where it hurts. Expect fire, betrayal, and blood.”

“I understand,” I whispered, my throat tight.

“I need you calm. I need you thinking, not panicking. You’re the anchor here.”

I clenched the phone tightly, nodding though he couldn’t see me. “I will.”

“Good,” he said, voice steady. “I’ll be back before dawn. Stay put. Keep him safe.”

The hours crawled forward. I barely slept, barely ate, barely moved from the window. Every shadow, every movement outside, seemed like a threat. Callum stirred in his sleep occasionally, murmuring dreams I couldn’t hear, his little hand clutching my shirt.

By the time the first pale streaks of light began to cut through the night sky, I was exhausted. I hadn’t slept a full night in months, not since the wedding massacre, not since my father and brother had been killed. Every sense was on edge, every thought laced with fear for the man who had become both my protector and the father of my son.

And then I heard the car pulling up outside.

I rushed to the window, heart hammering, and saw Matteo stepping out, damp from the rain, clothes still pressed to his frame, a faint streak of blood on his sleeve. He looked up, eyes meeting mine, and I felt a strange, overwhelming wave of relief, terror, and desire all at once.

He came inside quickly, shedding his jacket, scanning the apartment before his gaze fell on me. “He’s safe?”

“Safe,” I said quickly, moving to him, tugging him toward the living room. “Callum’s fine. Nothing happened.”

He exhaled sharply, rubbing the bridge of his nose, tension easing slightly from his shoulders. “Good. That’s the most important thing.”

I hesitated, then stepped closer. “Matteo…”

He looked at me, eyes dark, unreadable. “I know.”

We didn’t speak of the details. We didn’t need to. The night had been a war, and both of us had survived it, both of us carrying the weight of loss, guilt, and fury.

Callum stirred, blinking up at us with sleepy eyes. “Momma…?”

“I’m here, baby,” I whispered, scooping him up into my arms. Matteo’s gaze softened, ever so slightly, as he watched me hold him.

For a moment, the chaos of our lives—the danger, the threats, the constant shadow of Petrov—felt distant. For a fleeting second, there was just the two of us, two parents and the boy caught between a world of violence and love.

But the peace was temporary. I knew it. Petrov would strike again, and next time, the cost could be higher.

Matteo reached out, fingers brushing mine, a silent promise. “We’ll be ready,” he said, dark, determined.

I nodded, letting my head rest briefly against his chest. “We have to be,” I whispered.

And in that moment, as the city stirred awake beneath us, I realized that survival wasn’t enough. Not anymore. We weren’t just fighting to live—we were fighting for revenge, for justice, for Callum, and maybe… somehow… for us.

The war was far from over. But for the first time in years, I wasn’t facing it alone.