Chapter 28: CHAPTER 28 – POV Lilianna

The rain came down in relentless sheets, drumming against the windshield like a taunt from the universe. Every drop felt like a countdown. Every second a threat.

Matteo should’ve been back by now.

He’d left three hours ago—three hours—to meet a contact who claimed to have intel on Petrov’s next move. A quick in-and-out, he said. Routine. Controlled. Nothing to worry about.

But there was no such thing as routine in our world.

I stood by the window of Matteo’s brownstone, arms wrapped around myself, staring at the empty street as lightning clawed at the sky. My heart hammered against my ribs, frantic, refusing to be soothed by logic or by the assurances Matteo had whispered just before leaving.

“I’ll be back before you miss me.”

He’d kissed my forehead.

Like a man who didn’t fear death.

Like a man who didn’t realize how terrified I was to lose him.

Callum slept upstairs, safe behind reinforced locks. I’d checked on him twice tonight. Three times. He slept curled around his stuffed wolf—Matteo’s gift—breathing softly, blissfully unaware of the darkness preparing to swallow us whole.

A buzzing shattered the quiet.

My phone.

Unknown number.

My stomach plunged.

I answered. “Hello?”

Static crackled. Voices. Shouting. A distant clang of metal. Then—

“Lilianna?”

Louis’s voice. Strained. Panicked. Louis never panicked. “You need to listen to me carefully.”

My throat tightened. “Where is he?”

A long pause. And in that silence, something inside me broke.

“He’s been hit.”

My knees buckled. I clutched the window frame so hard my nails dug into the wood.

“What do you mean hit, Louis? Hit how? Tell me—”

“Shot. Twice. We’re moving him now. The warehouse was a setup. Petrov wasn’t there. Matteo walked into an ambush.” His breathing ragged. “We’re trying to stabilize him, but—you need to get to the dock. Pier 17. Bring a car. Fast.”

I didn’t remember ending the call. I didn’t remember grabbing my keys. I barely remembered locking the house behind me.

All I knew was that the world had turned to ice.

And Matteo might be dying.

—

The car fishtailed on the wet asphalt as I tore through Manhattan, speed limits an irrelevant concept. The rain hammered the windshield; wipers fought against the torrent.

“Stay alive,” I whispered into the storm. “Stay alive, Matteo.”

The pier loomed ahead, fog rising off the dark water like a ghostly shroud. Shadows moved. Men. My heart lurched.

Louis’s voice cut through the wind as I stepped out. “Lilianna! Over here!”

I ran.

Matteo was on the ground—no, not the ground, on the wet metal ramp leading into a warehouse. His shirt soaked in blood. His face pale. Eyes half-open, unfocused.

“Matteo?”

My voice cracked. It wasn’t a whisper. It was a plea.

He turned his head toward me, slow, sluggish. Rain streaked down his face like tears he’d never allow himself to shed.

“Hey…” His voice was barely a breath. “You missed me?”

I dropped to my knees beside him, hands trembling as I pressed them to the wounds. One in his side. One too close to his collarbone.

“Don’t joke,” I choked out. “Don’t you dare joke right now.”

His lips curved into that infuriating, irresistible smirk. “I had to. You look like you’re about to cry.”

“I am.” I didn’t care about pride. “You were supposed to come home.”

His eyes softened. “I tried.”

Louis crouched beside us. “We have to move. Now. He’s losing too much blood.”

I nodded, brushing wet strands of hair out of Matteo’s face. His skin was cold. Too cold.

“Stay with me,” I whispered. “Do you hear me? Stay with me.”

He blinked slowly. “Not going anywhere.”

A lie. A beautiful, stupid lie.

Louis and two other men lifted Matteo carefully. He groaned, and something tore inside me.

We loaded him into my car—closer than the SUV behind us—and I climbed into the backseat with him. His head rested on my lap. My hands never stopped moving—pressing, holding, anchoring him.

Louis jumped into the driver’s seat.

“Hospital?” he asked.

“No!” My voice snapped like a whip. “They’ll finish him there. Petrov has people everywhere.”

Louis swallowed hard. “Then where?”

I hesitated. There was one place. One I swore I’d never go back to. One that represented everything I’d tried to leave behind.

“My father’s safehouse,” I said quietly. “East Village. He kept it off the books. No one knows it exists.”

Louis nodded once and slammed his foot on the pedal.

The wheels screeched. The city blurred.

Matteo’s breath hitched.

“Lilianna…”

I leaned over him, pressing my forehead to his. “I’m here.”

“Say something,” he murmured, voice loose, slipping. “Anything. Keep me awake.”

My throat thickened. I couldn’t lose him. I wouldn’t.

“Do you remember Greece?” I whispered. “Before everything fell apart? The night on the balcony when you said the stars weren’t real, that they were holes punched into the sky so the universe could look in on us?”

He blinked, lips parting. “Thought that would make you laugh.”

“It did.” I brushed my thumb over his cheek. “I laughed so hard I dropped my gelato.”

His breathing softened, slowing.

“Matteo.” I slapped his cheek lightly. “Stay with me.”

His eyes fluttered open. Barely. “I remember something else.”

“What?”

“You kissed me after that. You tasted like pistachio and trouble.”

Despite everything, a broken laugh escaped me. “You idiot.”

His voice slurred. “Your idiot.”

Those words sliced through me.

Because they were true.

—

The safehouse was an old brick building, abandoned to the world but fortified on the inside. My father had used it as a fallback when negotiations went bad.

Louis carried Matteo inside and laid him on the kitchen table—solid marble, easy to clean blood off. I’d always hated that detail. Tonight, I was grateful for it.

“I’ll get the med kit,” Louis said.

“No,” I said softly. “I know where it is.”

My father had drilled all his hiding places into me as a child. Training. Preparation. A future I’d vowed I would never accept.

But now… tonight… I needed every tool he had left me.

I found the supplies tucked behind a false panel. Painkillers. Sutures. Blood clot powder. Needles. Everything except the one thing we needed most: time.

When I returned to the kitchen, Matteo was barely conscious. His shirt had been cut open. Blood everywhere.

Louis hovered. “Tell me what to do.”

“Hold him down,” I said. “He’s going to fight.”

Matteo forced a weak grin. “Never fought you a day in my life.”

A lie. We all knew it.

I cleaned the bullet wound at his shoulder, teeth biting so hard into my lip I tasted blood. Matteo hissed through gritted teeth.

“Hurts like hell,” he murmured.

“Good,” I whispered. “Means you’re alive.”

I stitched the wound as carefully as I could. My hands shook. My vision blurred. But I kept going. I couldn’t stop.

Then I moved to the second wound—his side—and the moment I touched the soaked cloth, Matteo’s hand clamped around my wrist.

“Lilianna…”

His voice was hoarse, pained.

“Look at me.”

I did.

“I need you to know something,” he whispered.

I felt the world tilt. “Not now. Save your strength.”

“No. Now.” His grip tightened. “If I don’t make it—”

“You will.”

“Lilianna.”

He forced my eyes to stay on his.

“You were never supposed to do this alone.”

My breath hitched.

He swallowed, struggling for air.

“And I know, even if you won’t say it, that Callum—”

“Stop.” My voice cracked. “Please.”

“—is mine.”

The world slammed into silence.

Louis froze. My heartbeat shattered.

Matteo’s hand slid up, brushing my cheek. “I knew the moment he looked at me. He has your fire. My eyes.”

Tears spilled down my face, hot and relentless.

“I wasn’t ready,” I whispered. “I didn’t want him in this world. I didn’t want you dragged into the danger—”

“Too late.” Matteo smiled faintly. “I’m already his father.”

A sob burst from my chest.

“Matteo, please—stay with us. Stay with me.”

But his eyes rolled back.

His body went still.

And the world collapsed.

“Matteo? Matteo!”

I pressed my ear to his chest.

Faint heartbeat. Too faint.

Louis grabbed my shoulder. “We need to work faster.”

I wiped my tears, steadied my hands, and leaned over Matteo again.

“I’m not losing you,” I whispered, voice shaking but fierce. “Do you hear me? I’m not losing you.”

And I stitched him back together with shaking hands and a heart torn open.

Because if he died tonight—

If Matteo Costello slipped away from me—

I knew one truth with absolute certainty.

I would never recover.

Not in this lifetime.

Not in any.