Chapter 18: Untitled Chapter 18 — POV Lilianna

Sleep didn’t come for me. Not even for a moment.

I lay awake in the guest room, Callum curled into my side, his small hand clinging to my shirt like he feared I’d disappear if he let go. The soft glow of the hallway light leaked beneath the door, reminding me that Matteo was still awake, still moving, still fighting shadows I couldn’t see.

Tonight had been a victory, but victories in this world were temporary—a breath before the next storm. And I knew, with the kind of certainty that lived in bone and blood, that another storm was coming.

Petrov wouldn’t accept defeat quietly. Men like him never did.

I breathed out slowly, brushing curls from Callum’s forehead. My son. My whole world.

And then there was Matteo… the man I had spent three years trying to forget, only to be pulled right back into the gravity of everything I’d once been terrified to want.

He was dangerous. Ruthless. Calculated.

But he was also safety.

He was comfort in the middle of a battlefield.

He was… home.

I hated that truth almost as much as I needed it.

A sound drifted down the hallway—soft footsteps, muted curses under his breath. Matteo. He never cursed around me unless he was frustrated, furious, or exhausted.

Gently, I disentangled myself from Callum’s grip and slipped off the bed. He didn’t stir. He’d needed the sleep more than anything else.

I stepped into the hallway, quiet as a shadow. Matteo stood at the far end, leaning against the wall beside his office door, his head tipped back, one hand pressed to his chest as though he were holding himself together.

“Matteo?” I whispered.

He looked up sharply. The hardness in his eyes softened—just a fraction—when he realized it was me.

“You should be sleeping,” he said, voice low, hoarse, still threaded with leftover adrenaline.

“So should you.”

He shrugged one shoulder, a tired, humorless gesture. “Sleep’s a luxury right now.”

I walked toward him slowly, each step careful. “You got Petrov’s men today. You intercepted the convoy. You took down the lieutenants.”

“And Petrov got away.” His jaw clenched, the muscle twitching. “He’s preparing something bigger. I can feel it.”

I stopped beside him, close enough to catch the faint scent of gunpowder still clinging to him. “You can’t control everything.”

His eyes darkened. “I can control what threatens my family.”

My breath caught.

Family.

He’d said it again.

I swallowed, feeling my heartbeat pick up. “Matteo…”

He pushed off the wall, stepping closer until my back brushed the closed office door. His presence wrapped around me like heat—intense, overwhelming, familiar.

“You two are my responsibility now,” he said quietly. “You, and Callum.”

I lifted my chin. “We can take care of ourselves.”

“I know you can.” His fingers brushed a strand of hair from my cheek, lingering longer than necessary. “But you shouldn’t have to—not alone.”

The words burned, stung, soothed. A contradiction I wanted too much.

“You left,” he murmured. “Three years. No goodbye. No explanation.”

I turned my face away. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“Bullshit,” he whispered. “You chose fear. You chose to run. You chose to keep—”

He stopped, swallowing the word.

Callum.

The unspoken truth pressed between us. I couldn’t run from it anymore. I couldn’t hide behind the wall of excuses I’d built.

“Yes,” I whispered, voice shaking. “I chose Callum. I chose a life where he wouldn’t grow up dodging bullets or hiding under tables every time someone knocked at the door.”

“And you think he’s safer now? After what Petrov tried to do last night?” His voice was sharp, painful.

I shook my head. “I don’t know anymore. I thought I could keep him away from this world. I thought I could protect him on my own.”

“You don’t have to anymore.”

I looked up at him then, really looked. Matteo wasn’t the same man I’d left. There was more weight in his eyes, more scars etched into the hard lines of his face. But there was also more control. More purpose. A colder edge, yes—but a deeper loyalty too.

And beneath all that… the Matteo I’d loved fiercely, recklessly.

“I’m scared,” I admitted quietly.

He exhaled slowly, a sound of frustration and tenderness all at once. “I know,” he murmured.

Then he reached for my hand.

I didn’t pull away.

He didn’t lift my hand to his lips or press it to his chest like he might’ve years ago. Instead, he just held it—solid, grounding, warm. A tether. A promise.

“You’re not alone, Lilianna,” he said. “Not anymore.”

My throat tightened. My fingers curled into his. And something fragile—dangerous—unfolded inside my chest.

Without warning, Matteo’s phone vibrated violently in his pocket. He tensed, jaw hardening again as he answered.

“Speak.”

I heard Louis on the other end, but only fragments of his rushed report:

“…intercepted signal… Petrov… movement tonight… possible ambush…”

Matteo’s eyes snapped to mine. Cold. Sharp. Calculating.

“When?” he demanded.

“Within the hour.”

Matteo cursed under his breath and hung up.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Petrov’s regrouping,” Matteo said. “He’s pulling in reinforcements from Jersey and Brighton Beach. And he’s not hiding it.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means,” Matteo growled, “he’s baiting us.”

Cold slid down my spine.

“So what do we do?”

Matteo stepped closer, his palm cupping the back of my neck in a protective grip that felt more like instinct than intention.

“We outplay him,” he said. “We strike first.”

The house exploded into movement within minutes.

Men flooded the downstairs area, armed and focused. Tactical gear. Loaded weapons. Maps spread across the dining table. Routes traced in red. Escape lines in blue. Enemy clusters marked in black.

Matteo commanded the room like a general—sharp, efficient, lethal. Louis at his right. Marco at the maps. Every man hanging on Matteo’s words.

But despite the chaos, his eyes kept flicking to me—to ensure I stayed within view, within reach.

I stood near the stairs with Callum in my arms. He’d woken to the noise, confused and frightened, clinging to me like a frightened kitten.

“Momma? What’s happening? Why is everyone yelling?”

I kissed his forehead. “Nothing you need to worry about, baby. We’re safe, okay? Just stay with me.”

He nodded, trusting me completely.

Matteo strode over, kneeling so he was eye-level with Callum. His expression softened in a way I’d only ever seen in rare moments—moments I’d thought I’d imagined years ago.

“Hey, champ,” he said gently. “I need you to be brave for your mom tonight. Can you do that?”

Callum nodded solemnly. “I’m brave.”

Matteo’s mouth twitched, a ghost of a smile. “Yeah. You are.”

He stood, pulling me aside.

“You two stay in the panic room.”

I stiffened. “Matteo, no—”

“You’re not negotiating this,” he said, voice low, firm. “If Petrov is baiting us, he’s expecting retaliation. He might try a distraction. He might send men here. I won’t risk you out in the open.”

“You need me,” I argued. “You saw how I handled myself last night.”

“I need you alive,” he growled.

My breath caught. “Matteo—”

He cupped my cheek, thumb brushing the corner of my mouth. “If something happened to you… or to him...” His voice dropped lower. Rougher. “I’d burn this city to ashes.”

The air died in my lungs.

Matteo turned to Louis. “Ten men stay here. Guard the perimeter. If anyone gets within ten feet of the brownstone, drop them.”

Louis nodded sharply. “Yes, boss.”

Matteo leaned down to brush a kiss over Callum’s head—so soft I barely felt it.

Then his forehead touched mine, our breaths mingling.

“Stay alive for me,” he whispered.

“Come back to us,” I whispered back.

Then Matteo left—slipping into the night with his men, ready to face war.

And all I could do was hold my son tight as the panic room door sealed shut.

Waiting.

Praying.

And realizing with terrifying clarity…

I wasn’t just in this fight anymore.

I was in love with Matteo all over again.

And this time… I couldn’t run.