Chapter 34: CHAPTER 34 — POV: MATTEO

Peace never lasts.

Not in my world.

Not in any world built on blood, empire, and enemies with long memories.

But for almost a week after Petrov’s fall, the Genovese brownstone held something close to calm. Real calm. The kind of quiet that feels stolen; the kind you don’t breathe too deeply into for fear of losing it.

Callum laughed more.

Lilianna slept without waking up gasping.

Louis stopped jumping at every vibration of his phone.

And me?

I pretended.

Pretended the burden wasn’t still sitting on my spine. Pretended the shadows weren’t whispering. Pretended the world wasn’t already shifting in response to Petrov’s downfall.

Because of course it was.

Take out a wolf, and the jackals come sniffing.

But for the first week… I let myself believe in the illusion. Or maybe I let myself want it.

The morning everything changed started like any other.

Coffee.

Breakfast.

Lilianna humming something soft while she braided Callum’s curls.

I stood there in the kitchen doorway without announcing myself, watching them—his tiny shoulders rocking as he giggled, her fingers gentle in his hair, sunlight softening her features. My family. Mine.

My chest tightened with a foreign kind of ache. Something I wasn’t built for. Something I didn’t know how to carry without fear.

When she noticed me, she smiled. One of the real ones. The kind that made her eyes warm and her lips curve in that slow, soft way that hit harder than any bullet I’d taken.

“You okay?” she asked.

No.

“Yes,” I said.

Her brow lifted in that way that told me she didn’t believe a damn syllable. But she let it go—for the moment.

It was Louis who broke the peace.

He came in through the side entrance, face grave, tension clinging to him like a second skin. Even before he spoke, I knew.

“Matteo,” he said, and those two syllables alone told me everything was about to shift.

I stepped out onto the back terrace with him, closing the door behind us so Callum wouldn’t hear.

“What is it?”

“Word’s spreading,” Louis said. “You killed Petrov. His men are either scattered or dead. The Russians are destabilized.”

“And that’s a problem because…?”

“Because vacuum. Because money. Because power.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face. “And because of the old guard.”

The old guard.

Dante Esposito.

Viktor Arlek.

The families who believed peace was weakness, and that the Genovese shouldn’t have turned away from the expansion war ten years ago.

My father’s war.

The war that fractured everything—including Lilianna’s childhood.

“Someone reached out,” Louis said. “An invitation. A meeting. One you can’t ignore.”

I exhaled sharply. “Who?”

“Dante.”

Of course.

The man had been waiting ten years for a reason to crawl out of the shadows and reassert his version of power.

“When?”

“Tonight.”

Lilianna found me an hour later in my office, staring at the message Louis had delivered. She leaned against the doorway, arms crossed—casual, but not. Her eyes were curious, cautious.

“You look like you’re preparing to go to war,” she said quietly.

“I might be.”

She stepped in, closing the door behind her. “Talk to me.”

I didn’t turn to face her yet. “Dante’s making a move.”

Silence.

Then, “Of course he is.”

She wasn’t surprised. Not even a little. That was both comforting and terrifying. Lilianna wasn’t naive. She’d grown up in the shadow of this world, just like me. She knew what came after victory, what came after blood.

“You’re not going alone,” she said.

“Yes,” I said firmly. “I am.”

“No,” she countered, equally firm.

“This isn’t your fight.”

She stepped closer. “Everything that touches you touches me. And Callum. Don’t forget that.”

My jaw tightened. “That’s exactly why you’re not coming.”

Her eyes flashed. “You can’t keep shielding me from the world I grew up in, Matteo.”

“No,” I said. “But I can shield you from Dante.”

She paused at that, jaw clenched. “He still blames my family.”

“He blames everyone who survived when he didn’t win.”

“Which means he blames you too.”

I didn’t deny it.

She reached out, pressing a hand to my chest. “You’re not walking into this without me. I’m done being left behind. I’m done watching you bleed and wondering if you’ll come home.”

I caught her wrist gently, bringing her hand to my lips. “I know. Believe me, I know. But this… isn’t a battlefield for two. If Dante wants a meeting, it’s because he wants to see if I’m weak.”

“And leaving me behind isn’t weakness? It looks like fear.”

“Fear for you,” I whispered.

Something in her eyes softened. Her anger didn’t disappear, but it shifted—deepened.

“We do this together,” she said softly. “Or this peace we’re building isn’t real.”

And that sentence hit deeper than she knew.

Because she wasn’t wrong.

But the stakes were too high.

I cupped her face, pressing my forehead against hers. “I promise you, Lili. After tonight, I’ll bring you into whatever comes next. But not this. Not yet.”

Her fingers curled into my shirt. “You promise?”

“I swear it.”

She exhaled shakily, then nodded once. Reluctantly. But she trusted me. Even if she hated my decision.

For now, that was enough.

Night fell fast, cold, and sharp.

Louis drove.

The streets were quiet.

Too quiet.

We arrived at one of Dante’s old warehouses near the water—neutral territory, in theory. In practice, nothing about Dante was ever neutral.

“Stay sharp,” Louis muttered. “If something feels off, we pull you out.”

I smirked. “You planning to drag me out by the collar?”

“If I have to.”

We entered.

The warehouse was dim, lit by industrial lamps that buzzed faintly. Dante stood at the far end, flanked by two of his men. He hadn’t aged well—gray hair, lined face, cold eyes that still held too much hunger.

“Matteo Genovese,” Dante said, voice booming. “You’ve made quite a mess.”

“Cleaning your messes,” I replied, unbothered. “Someone had to.”

His smile was all teeth. “Bold. Your father would have admired that.”

“My father would have put a bullet in your skull by now.”

His eyes narrowed. “You think taking out Petrov makes you king? You think the Russians falling apart gives you power?”

“I think surviving,” I said calmly, “makes me dangerous.”

He stepped closer. “The families are restless. The old alliances are breaking. Blood demands blood, Matteo. Your victory over Petrov was the spark.”

“And what do you want?” I asked.

“War,” Dante said simply. “A real one. One that expands. One that rebuilds everything your father failed to claim. The Russians weakened—now is the time.”

I stared at him, expression unreadable.

“No,” I said.

The warehouse went still. The air tightened like a drawn bow.

“No?” Dante repeated, voice cold.

“You want a war? Fight it yourself.” I stepped in close. “I won’t burn this city for your ego.”

His jaw flexed. “So that’s your answer.”

“That’s my answer.”

Silence.

Then Dante smiled again, slow, vicious.

“Then I hope your woman and child are well-protected.”

Louis moved before I did.

Gun drawn.

Aim perfect.

Safety off.

“Say that again,” Louis hissed.

Dante only chuckled. “Threats, boy? Relax. I’m not the one you should worry about.”

I stepped closer. “Who should I worry about?”

His grin widened. “The ones already hunting.”

A chill ran down my spine.

Louis and I exited fast, returning to the car in silence. But the second the doors shut, I called Lilianna.

She answered instantly. “Matteo?”

“Where’s Callum?”

“In his room, asleep.”

“Is the house locked?”

“Yes. Matteo—what’s wrong?”

My pulse spiked.

“Stay with him. Do NOT leave the room.”

“Matteo—”

“Just do it,” I snapped, voice tight. “Something’s coming.”

Louis floored it.

I stared out the window at the dark city.

Dante wasn’t bluffing.

Someone was already hunting.

And this time, they weren’t coming for me.

They were coming for them.