Chapter 21: CHAPTER 21 — Lilianna

Matteo’s name is the only sound in my head as I run.

I don’t hear the gravel crunching beneath my boots. I don’t hear the distant engines from the port or the faint metallic creaks of the cargo yard at night. All I hear is his voice in my memory — rough, angry, desperate — telling me to stay in the damn car.

I didn’t listen.

Couldn’t listen.

Because the look in his eyes before he walked into that warehouse…

It wasn’t the look of a man going to negotiate.

It was the look of a man preparing to die.

And I will not let Matteo Vitale die for me.

Not again. Not ever.

“Lilianna, slow down!” Lorenzo hisses behind me as he catches up, hand brushing the grip of his gun. “You’re running straight into a setup.”

“It’s already a setup,” I snap, not slowing. “With or without me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes.” My breath shakes. “I do.”

Because I know how Petrov thinks.

The moment Matteo showed his face publicly — the moment he tied himself to me — the board shifted. Petrov wants me. But he needs Matteo dead.

He wants to break the Genovese legacy by making me watch the man I love bleed out at my feet.

Love.

The word slices through me like glass.

I haven’t said it aloud — not to Matteo, not even to myself — but it’s the truth. The kind of truth that terrifies me more than gunfire or blood or the way my hands tremble now as I weave between stacks of old shipping containers.

Two more turns.

Then I see the warehouse.

A yawning, rusted thing with broken windows like cracked teeth. A single light flickers above the loading bay door, throwing long shadows across the concrete. The door stands half-open. Dark. Too dark.

Matteo went in ten minutes ago.

Ten minutes of silence.

Ten minutes of imagining the worst.

Ten minutes of fighting every instinct screaming at me to run into the fire.

I reach the side entrance—quiet, narrow, half-hidden behind a stack of crates. The metal is warm under my palm.

“Lilianna.” Lorenzo grabs my arm. “We need a plan.”

“I have one.”

He stares at me. “Don’t tell me it’s ‘walk straight in.’”

“No.” I meet his eyes. “It’s get Matteo out alive. Whatever it costs.”

His jaw tightens. “Even if he won’t leave without killing Petrov first?”

“Yes.” My voice cuts like steel. “Especially then.”

Because I know Matteo. I know the rage coiled under his ribs, the guilt he carries like a second skin, the haunted look that flashes through his eyes every time he thinks someone he cares about is in danger.

He would rather die than let Petrov touch me again.

And if Petrov laid a trap — Matteo will walk straight into the teeth.

I press my back to the metal door.

I exhale once.

Then slip inside.

The warehouse breathes around me.

Cold. Damp. Dark.

The air smells of dust, oil, and something metallic — faint but sharp, like old blood. Dim emergency lights glow faintly along the ceiling, casting pale red streaks that make the shadows look deeper, thicker, alive.

I pause.

Listen.

Voices, low and tense, echo from deeper inside. I recognize Matteo’s tone immediately — firm, controlled, but edged with something dangerous.

The other voice…

My stomach twists.

Petrov.

I grit my teeth hard enough to ache, moving silently between stacks of crates until I reach a narrow upper walkway — rusted metal stairs that spiral up into shadows. From there, I’ll get a better angle. Fewer blind spots.

My steps are soundless as I climb.

Halfway up, a muffled shout cuts through the silence.

Matteo.

I move faster.

At the top, I crouch behind a support beam and look down into the main floor of the warehouse.

And I freeze.

Matteo stands alone.

No crew. No backup. Just him, hands slightly away from his sides, body tense, jaw locked.

Facing him across the space are four of Petrov’s men with rifles raised.

And behind them —

Petrov himself.

He looks almost casual, hands in his pockets, suit immaculate, hair slicked back. A serpent in silk. A man who smiles with his teeth but never his eyes.

And tonight, he’s smiling at Matteo.

“I must say,” Petrov drawls, “I didn’t expect you to be so predictable. Showing up all alone? How… heroic.”

Matteo doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch. “You wanted me,” he says evenly. “I’m here. Let’s skip the theatrics.”

Petrov tsks under his breath. “Always impatient. Much like your father.”

Matteo’s shoulders tighten.

A hit.

A deliberate one.

Petrov sees it and smiles wider.

“Ah. Sensitive subject?” He spreads his hands. “Well. No matter. Let’s get to business. You have something I want.”

Matteo’s voice drops, lethal. “You’re not touching her.”

“Her?” Petrov raises a brow. “Who said I was talking about Lilianna?”

My heart stops.

Matteo’s head tilts, eyes narrowing. “What game are you playing?”

Petrov steps forward, slow and deliberate, like a man savoring the moment.

“You think you know everything about the girl you’ve wrapped yourself around?” he says softly. “But you’ve always been too blinded by your own anger to see what’s in front of you.”

Matteo says nothing.

So Petrov goes in for the kill.

“Tell me, Matteo… has she told you about the boy?”

My entire body goes cold.

No. No, no, not here. Not now. Not like this.

Matteo’s expression doesn’t change — not outwardly — but the air shifts around him. A subtle, seismic crack.

Petrov hums, pleased with the reaction he’s drawing out.

“A sweet child,” he says lightly. “Perhaps eight? Quiet. Has her eyes.”

Matteo’s jaw locks a fraction tighter.

Petrov laughs softly. “Oh, Matteo. You didn’t know? She has a son. A lovely boy. She’s kept him hidden… from you.”

My breath is a knife in my throat.

Matteo’s voice is low, dangerous. “If you touch him—”

“Touch him?” Petrov presses a hand to his chest in mock shock. “Matteo, dear friend, I already have.”

I gasp — too loud.

A clatter of metal to my left gives me away — a loose bolt skittering across the walkway.

Matteo’s head snaps up.

Petrov follows his gaze.

Our eyes lock.

Everything inside me freezes. I force myself to stand, though my knees tremble, stepping out from behind the beam and gripping the rail.

Petrov beams. “Ah. Perfect timing.”

Matteo breathes my name.

“Lilianna.”

The sound of it nearly breaks me.

Petrov lifts a hand lazily. “Bring her down.”

Three of his men peel away immediately.

No.

I draw my gun so fast the metal screams against my palm.

“Don’t take another step,” I snap, hating the tremor in my own voice. “I swear to God—”

“Lilianna,” Matteo cuts in, voice sharp. “Put it down. Now.”

“No.” My voice cracks. “I won’t let them take you.”

And I won’t let them touch our son.

Not again. Never again.

Matteo’s eyes soften with something so raw it makes my chest ache — fear, anger, affection, all twisted into one.

“Please,” he says quietly. “Don’t do this.”

Petrov laughs, delighted. “Ah, young love. So dramatic.”

He waves to his men.

“Take her.”

They start up the stairs.

I fire.

One shot.

It hits the metal step inches in front of the lead guard, ricocheting with a spark. He jumps back, swearing.

“Next one goes between your eyes,” I warn.

“Lilianna!” Matteo’s voice whips through the air like a lash. “Stop shooting!”

“They’re trying to take me!” I shout back.

“And you’re making it easier for them!”

Petrov sighs exaggeratedly, as if bored. “This is tiresome. Matteo, come now. You know how this ends. Give me the girl. Give me the boy. And perhaps I let you walk out alive.”

Matteo turns his head slowly.

And the look in his eyes…

Dark.

Cold.

Deadly.

“Touch them,” he says softly, “and I will tear your empire down to the dust.”

Petrov tilts his head, amused. “You say that like you still have a choice.”

He snaps his fingers.

All hell breaks loose.

Gunfire erupts.

Bullets tear through the air. The walkway shudders beneath me as metal screams and splinters. I drop to the ground, covering my head as shots slam into the railing, sparks flying.

“LILI—” Matteo’s shout is drowned out by the deafening crack of rifles.

I crawl to the edge and fire downward, aiming for the men advancing on him, but they’re moving fast, spreading out.

Matteo dives behind a crate, firing back with precision even under overwhelming fire.

Petrov slips behind a steel beam and disappears deeper into the warehouse.

Coward.

“Matteo!” I yell.

“Get out!” he roars. “Now, Lilianna! MOVE!”

I don’t.

I won’t.

Instead, I leap to my feet and run across the walkway to the stairs on the far side, bullets ringing around me like angry hornets.

I hit the ground floor and sprint toward Matteo.

Two of Petrov’s guards step into my path.

I don’t think — I react.

One swing of my arm, the butt of my gun slamming into the first man’s jaw. He drops. The second lunges, grabbing my wrist.

I twist, duck, slam my knee up into his ribs. He grunts, grip loosening for a split second —

Enough.

I elbow him hard across the throat. He collapses.

I reach Matteo’s hiding spot.

He grabs me immediately, fingers digging into my arms as he drags me behind cover with him.

“What the hell are you doing?” he snarls.

“I’m saving you!”

“I told you to stay in the car—”

“Then stop giving me orders you know I’ll ignore!”

His chest rises and falls hard.

“Lilianna…” His voice cracks, just barely. “If something happened to you—”

“If something happened to you,” I cut in, breath shaking, “I wouldn’t survive it.”

His eyes slam shut like the words hurt.

He presses his forehead to mine for a single heartbeat.

A single, desperate, stolen breath.

Then the gunfire stops.

A dead, heavy silence sweeps the warehouse.

Matteo stiffens.

“They’re repositioning,” he whispers. “Reloading. Moving to flank.”

A chill races down my spine.

“What do we do?”

He opens his eyes — and every emotion drains out of them, replaced by something ruthlessly calm.

“We run.”

I swallow. “And Petrov?”

“We’ll deal with him later. I’m not losing you tonight.”

He grabs my hand and pulls me after him, weaving through shadows, slipping between crates toward a back exit.

We’re ten feet away when a figure steps into view.

Petrov.

A gun pressed lightly to his palm.

A smile carved onto his face.

“Leaving so soon?”

Matteo shoves me behind him instantly.

Petrov laughs.

“Oh, Matteo… you really don’t know, do you?”

Matteo’s jaw tightens. “Know what?”

Petrov lifts his gun.

And looks at me.

“Ask her who the father of her son is.”

My heart stops.

Matteo freezes.

Slowly, mechanically, he turns his head toward me.

“Lilianna…” He barely breathes the word. “What is he talking about?”

My world tilts.

The truth crashes toward us like a wave I can’t outrun.

I open my mouth.

But nothing comes out.

And Matteo’s eyes — the eyes of the man I love — fill with something worse than anger.

Something worse than betrayal.

Recognition.

He already knows.

He just never dared to believe it.

My voice breaks.

“Matteo… Callum is—”

The gunshot cuts me off.