Chapter 56 POV LILIANNA

Chapter 56 POV LILIANNA

Pain has a voice.
It doesn’t scream. It whispers—low, insistent, impossible to ignore. It reminds you that you survived something meant to end you.
I woke before dawn, the city outside my window still holding its breath.
For a moment, I forgot where I was.
Then the ache bloomed beneath my ribs, sharp and deep, and memory came rushing back like a tide.
Gunfire. Concrete. Blood slick beneath my hands. Matteo shouting my name like it was the only word he knew.
I inhaled slowly, carefully, letting the machines do their quiet work. The hospital room was dim, washed in blue-gray light, the kind that makes everything feel suspended between night and day.
Between before and after.
I turned my head.
Matteo was asleep in the chair beside my bed.
Not the light, predatory doze I’d seen him take a thousand times before—always half-aware, always ready to kill if needed.
This was different.
His head had tipped back against the wall, dark circles bruising the skin beneath his eyes. His jacket was gone, shirt sleeves rolled up, revealing inked scars and faint streaks of dried blood he hadn’t bothered to scrub away.
Mine.
Something in my chest tightened that had nothing to do with the wound.
I watched him breathe.
Slow. Even. Controlled.
The man who commanded cities. Who ended bloodlines. Who wore violence like a second skin.
And here he was—wrecked, human, unmoving because he’d refused to leave my side.
Careful not to jostle the IV, I shifted slightly.
The movement was enough.
His eyes opened instantly.
Sharp. Focused.
Locked on me.
“You’re awake,” he said, already leaning forward, one hand reaching for mine like it had a mind of its own.
“Looks like it,” I murmured. My throat was dry, voice rough. “How long was I out?”
“Too long.”
I smiled faintly. “That’s not an answer.”
“Six hours,” he said. “I timed it.”
Of course he did.
I studied his face more closely. The tension in his jaw. The restraint coiled beneath his skin.
“You didn’t sleep,” I said.
“I blinked.”
“That doesn’t count.”
“It does where I come from.”
I tightened my fingers around his. “Matteo.”
He sighed, leaning closer. “Don’t start.”
“I got shot,” I said. “I get to start.”
That earned me the ghost of a smile.
“You scared me,” he admitted quietly.
Not you almost died.
Not I thought I lost you.
Just that.
Honest. Bare. Devastating.
“I’m still here,” I said. “You don’t get rid of me that easily.”
His thumb brushed over my knuckles, reverent. “I know. But that didn’t stop the fear.”
We sat in silence for a moment, the weight of everything unsaid pressing in.
Finally, I asked the question that had been circling my thoughts since I opened my eyes.
“What happened after?”
His gaze darkened.
“Rafaele’s dead,” he said flatly. “Petrov died screaming.”
I didn’t flinch.
I’d grown up in this world. I understood its language.
“And the Syndicate?”
“Decapitated,” he replied. “They’re still twitching, but they’ll fall in line. Or they’ll disappear.”
“Which did they choose?”
His mouth curved without humor. “They’re deciding how much they enjoy breathing.”
I exhaled slowly.
“And Callum?”
“He’s safe,” Matteo said immediately. “With guards. With people who’d die before letting harm reach him.”
Good.
The knot in my chest loosened just a fraction.
I turned my gaze to the window, watching the sky lighten, the city slowly waking beneath us.
“So,” I said, “you took the throne.”
“I already had it,” he corrected. “I just stopped pretending otherwise.”
I looked back at him. “You know what that means.”
“Yes,” he said quietly. “It means the knives will come faster now. From closer.”
“And?”
“And I don’t care.”
That made me laugh softly, despite the pain it pulled from my ribs.
“Dangerous thing to say.”
“I’m dangerous,” he replied, unapologetic.
I studied him for a long moment.
“You didn’t just claim power last night,” I said. “You changed the rules.”
“That was the point.”
“No,” I said. “The point was survival. The change was… you.”
His brow furrowed slightly.
“Me how?”
“You didn’t burn everything down,” I said. “You consolidated. You protected. You left room for rebuilding.”
“I learned from you.”
That startled him.
I could tell by the way his breath stalled, just barely.
“I didn’t teach you mercy,” he said.
“No,” I agreed. “I taught you precision.”
His gaze softened, something like pride flickering through the shadows.
The door opened quietly.
Louis stepped in, composed as ever, though I could read the tension beneath his calm like a second language.
“Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“You always interrupt,” Matteo replied. “What is it?”
“The families are assembling,” Louis said. “Press too. They want statements. Appearances. Reassurance.”
Matteo’s jaw tightened.
“They’ll get it.”
Louis glanced at me, measuring. “Doctor says you’re not cleared to leave yet.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I said. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not involved.”
Matteo turned sharply. “Lilianna—”
“I know,” I cut in gently. “I’m injured, not useless.”
Louis hid his smile poorly.
Matteo exhaled through his nose. “You should be resting.”
“I am resting,” I said. “In a hospital bed. With a view. I’ve had worse.”
He stared at me, torn between instinct and respect.
Finally, he nodded once. “Five minutes. Then I speak.”
“And after?”
“After,” he said, “we decide what kind of future we’re willing to bleed for.”
Louis left, door closing softly behind him.
Matteo stood, straightening his shirt, rolling tension from his shoulders like a predator preparing to step into the light.
“You don’t have to watch,” he said.
“I want to.”
He searched my face, then leaned down, pressing a kiss to my forehead—gentle, grounding, nothing like the fire we usually carried between us.
“Then listen carefully,” he murmured. “Because this is where it all changes.”
He walked out.
I stared at the door long after it closed.
Minutes later, the muted sound of voices drifted through the walls—firm, commanding, unyielding.
Matteo Costello claiming the world with words sharp enough to draw blood.
I smiled to myself.
They had no idea what they were dealing with.
By evening, the news had spread like wildfire.
Power shifts. Syndicate collapse. Costello ascension.
The old men called it chaos.
The young ones called it opportunity.
I called it inevitable.
Callum visited just before sunset.
He stood awkwardly at the foot of my bed, hands shoved into his pockets, eyes too old for his face.
“They said you’d be sleeping,” he said.
“I get bored,” I replied. “Come closer.”
He did, slowly.
“You really scared me,” he said.
“I know,” I said softly. “I’m sorry.”
“You promised.”
“And I kept it,” I said. “I’m still here.”
He nodded, swallowing hard. “Matteo says things are going to be different now.”
“They are.”
“Is that… good?”
I considered him carefully.
“It depends,” I said. “On what we choose to protect.”
He frowned. “Like what?”
“Like you,” I said. “Like people who don’t deserve to be collateral.”
His shoulders eased a little.
“I want to learn,” he said suddenly.
“Learn what?”
“How not to be powerless.”
I met his gaze. “Then you already have.”
He blinked. “I do?”
“Yes,” I said. “You asked.”
That seemed to settle something in him.
After he left, night fell again.
Matteo returned hours later, exhaustion clinging to him like smoke.
“It’s done,” he said, dropping into the chair beside me. “For now.”
“For now is all we ever get,” I replied.
He huffed a quiet laugh.
We sat together in the dark, hands entwined, listening to the city breathe.
“You know,” I said eventually, “they’ll never stop testing you.”
“I know.”
“And they’ll come for me.”
His grip tightened. “Let them.”
I turned my head to face him. “That wasn’t bravado.”
“No,” he agreed. “That was a warning.”
I smiled, slow and dangerous.
“Good.”
Because if the world thought Matteo Costello was terrifying now—
They hadn’t seen what happened when someone tried to take what was his.
Or what was mine.