Chapter 22: CHAPTER 22 — Matteo

The world snaps sideways when the gunshot cracks through the air.

For a split second, I don’t feel anything. No pain. No impact. Just sound — too loud, too close — ricocheting around the warehouse like lightning shattering bone.

Then Lilianna screams my name.

And I know it wasn’t me.

“Lili—”

I whip around just in time to see her stumble backward, hand flying to her shoulder. Her fingers come away red. Bright. Fresh. Too much.

Rage detonates inside me so violently I don’t remember drawing my gun.

I only remember firing.

Three shots.

Clean. Controlled. Lethal.

Petrov jerks back as one of the bullets grazes his arm, spinning him behind a stack of crates. He disappears into the shadows like the cockroach he is, leaving a smear of blood and the echo of his laughter.

But I don’t chase him.

I can’t.

Because Lilianna is falling.

“No—no, no—” I catch her before she hits the ground, my hands sliding under her knees and shoulders. Her head lolls, breath shuddering out of her as I pull her into my lap.

“Stay with me,” I choke out. “Lilianna, look at me.”

She tries. Her eyelashes flutter, sticky with tears, pain, fear. “Matteo…”

I press my hand hard against the wound — too hard — but I don’t care. I need the bleeding to stop. I need her to stay conscious. I need her alive.

Because five goddamn minutes ago Petrov nearly blew up my entire world with eight words.

Ask her who the father of her son is.

I shove the thought away.

She’s bleeding out.

That is the only thing that matters.

“Matteo…” Her voice trembles. “I’m okay.”

“You’re not okay.” My voice sounds like it’s being ripped from inside my chest. “You’re bleeding.”

“It just grazed me—”

“It didn’t graze you.” I grab her chin, forcing her to look at me. “You’re losing blood. That bastard shot you.”

Somewhere behind us, footsteps echo — men regrouping, moving cautiously toward the sound of the gunfire. Petrov’s soldiers.

We have seconds.

Not minutes.

Seconds.

I pull Lilianna up against my chest. “Hold on to me. Do you hear me? Hold on.”

She nods weakly, her hand curling into the fabric of my shirt.

I stand, cradling her against me, and run.

The warehouse becomes a blur.

Shadows. Crates. The flash of gun barrels. The sting of cold air as another door swings open. My own footsteps crash through the silence as I sprint through a side corridor.

Behind us, shouts rise into the air.

“Find them!”

“They went this way!”

“Petrov wants the girl alive!”

Alive.

Alive.

The word slams through me like a hammer.

That means he has something planned for her. Something worse than death. That means he’s already touched her son. Maybe seen him. Maybe—

No.

Later.

I push through an emergency door with my shoulder. It bangs outward onto the back of the warehouse — a deserted loading zone that opens toward the rows of abandoned cargo containers beyond.

The night air hits us like ice.

Lilianna shivers in my arms.

I don’t stop.

I can’t.

Not when her blood is still warm against my skin.

Not when her breathing is growing thinner.

I reach a stack of shipping crates and duck into the shadows behind them, laying her down as gently as I can.

She whimpers at the movement.

I swallow hard. “I know, sweetheart. I know. I’m sorry.”

Her gaze finds mine — cloudy, pained, terrified. Not of dying. No.

She’s terrified of losing me.

“Matteo… we have to go. You’re still in range.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

She shakes her head weakly. “I slowed you down… he was aiming at you…”

I freeze.

The bullet was meant for me.

Petrov shot her because she stepped toward me.

Because she put herself between us.

And that realization explodes in my chest like a second wound.

“Stop,” I whisper, brushing hair from her forehead with trembling fingers. “Don’t you ever apologize for saving me.”

Another wave of footsteps crashes out of the warehouse.

We don’t have time.

I press my hand harder against her wound. She gasps, arching slightly.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur. “I know it hurts.”

Her fingers brush my cheek. “You’re shaking.”

“Because you scared the hell out of me.”

Her lips tilt upward a fraction, but the smile falls quickly. Pain overtakes her expression — sharp, slicing through her features.

The bleeding is slowing, but not enough.

If we don’t move, she’ll fade out.

If we move too fast, she’ll bleed faster.

I take a breath and force myself to focus.

“Lilianna,” I say softly, “I need you to listen to me.”

She blinks slowly. “Okay.”

“I’m going to carry you again. If you feel lightheaded, if everything goes dark, if you want to close your eyes — don’t.”

Her throat works around the pain. “I’ll try.”

“No.” I lean forward, pressing my forehead to hers. “You don’t try. You fight. Do you understand me?”

She nods. “I fight.”

Good girl.

I scoop her into my arms again and slip out from behind the crates, staying low, watching the shadows.

Gunfire bursts behind us — distant but too close. They’re spreading out, combing the maze of containers.

They're hunting her.

They're hunting the mother of my son.

The woman I never stopped loving.

The woman who kept something so massive, so earth-shattering, from me that my mind can barely wrap around it —

And yet nothing inside me feels betrayal.

Only devastation.

Only the echo of Petrov’s words ricocheting through my skull.

She has a son. A sweet child. Perhaps eight. Quiet. Has her eyes.

Your son.

No. Not now.

Not when her blood is on my hands.

Not when she’s gasping against my neck, trying to breathe past the pain.

Not when the only thing that matters is getting her out of here alive.

I reach the far edge of the cargo yard and spot the car Lorenzo parked earlier — tucked between two dead cranes.

Three more yards.

Two.

One.

A shadow steps out from behind the car.

Gun raised.

I twist, turning my body so my back shields Lilianna —

The shot cracks.

But it never hits.

Because the man behind the gun drops, a hole between his eyes.

Lorenzo appears behind him, panting. “Jesus Christ, Matteo, we heard gunfire all the way from the gate—”

Then he sees her.

“Fuck.” He rushes forward. “Get her in the car. Now.”

Together we move, fast, controlled panic pushing us. I slide into the back seat with Lilianna in my arms as Lorenzo jumps into the driver's seat.

The engine roars to life.

“Where to?” Lorenzo shouts.

“Home,” I growl. “She needs stitches. Blood loss control. Camila knows what to do.”

“And Petrov?”

“Petrov can rot,” I snap. “Drive.”

The tires scream as we tear out of the yard.

As soon as we hit the road, I cradle Lilianna closer.

Her head lolls.

Her eyes flutter.

“Stay awake,” I whisper fiercely. “Lilianna, look at me.”

She tries. Her lashes lift slowly. “I’m tired…”

“I know.” My throat tightens. “But you don’t get to sleep. Not yet.”

Her eyes fill with tears — pain, fear, exhaustion.

And something else.

Something she’s been holding in for years.

“Matteo…” Her voice trembles. “I wanted to tell you.”

My chest constricts. “Don’t. Not now.”

“I need to.”

“Lilianna—”

“You deserve the truth.” A tear slips down her cheek. “Callum is—”

“Stop.” My voice cracks. “Don’t use your strength on me. Save it.”

“You already know.”

I close my eyes.

I do.

From the moment Petrov said the words. From the moment she screamed my name as the bullet hit her. From the moment I saw the terror in her eyes when Petrov mentioned her child.

And it feels like someone split me open from the inside.

“Matteo,” she whispers, “Callum… he’s yours.”

The world tilts.

Not like a shock.

Like something falling into place that had been crooked for years.

Mine.

My son.

My blood.

My flesh.

Eight years I didn’t know.

Eight years she raised him alone.

Eight years Petrov could have touched him.

Eight years she protected him from me and from everyone else.

The pain, the betrayal, the fury — they should be there.

But all I feel is something so fierce it nearly brings me to my knees:

Love.

And terror.

Because Petrov spoke about Callum like he’d seen him.

Like he’d gotten close.

Like he knew.

“Where is he?” My voice breaks. “Where is Callum right now?”

Her breath hitches. “Safe… I promise… he’s safe…”

“Where?” My heart slams against my ribs. “Where, Lilianna? Where is our son?”

A tear slips from the corner of her eye.

“He’s with… with your sister.”

My heart stops.

Camila.

Camila.

I exhale shakily — relief and fear fighting for space in my chest.

“At the house?” I whisper.

She nods faintly. “In the nursery… sleeping…”

I pull her close enough to feel her heartbeat against mine.

“I’m going to protect him,” I tell her, voice breaking. “I swear it. You hear me? I swear on my life, nobody touches our son.”

Her lips move.

“I know…”

Then her eyes roll back.

“Lilianna!”

Blood loss.

Shock.

Her body goes limp.

I hold her tighter, my heart splitting open inside me.

“Lorenzo!” I shout. “Drive faster!”

The car tears through the streets.

I press my forehead to hers.

“Don’t die,” I whisper, voice shaking. “Don’t you dare die on me. We’re not done. You’re not leaving me. Do you hear me? You are not leaving me.”

Her blood stains my hands.

Her breath warms my throat.

Her heartbeat flutters weakly against my chest.

And for the first time in my life, I pray.

Not to God.

Not to fate.

To her.

To the stubborn, infuriating, fierce woman bleeding in my arms.

“Stay,” I whisper. “Stay with me, Lilianna.”

The house comes into view.

The lights are on.

Camila’s silhouette moves through the living room window, carrying a small boy with dark curls —

My son.

My son.

And as we pull into the drive, I know two things with absolute certainty:

I will burn the world to keep them safe.

And Petrov just started a war he won’t survive.