Confirmation

Confirmation
Matteo’s POV

The compound no longer looked like a place where people had lived.

It was ash and broken concrete and twisted metal, still breathing smoke into the morning air. Heat clung to everything. The smell was heavy, sharp, and impossible to forget. Fire. Fuel. Blood. It coated the back of my throat every time I breathed.

I stood at the edge of it and watched.

Rescue crews moved slowly through the ruins, careful with every step. Search teams worked in silence, lifting debris piece by piece. Dogs sniffed through blackened rubble, their handlers tense and focused. Thermal scanners swept the ground again and again, lines of light passing over places that no longer held shape.

I did not leave.

I did not sit.

I did not hand this over to anyone else.

Every movement mattered. Every delay felt dangerous. I watched hands. I watched faces. I listened to every report twice. I counted time without looking at a watch.

Hope does not vanish all at once.

It thins.

It stretches until it feels fragile, like it might snap if you pull too hard.

A voice came through the noise.

They had found something.

I moved before the words fully landed.

The body was buried deep beneath collapsed concrete and steel. Fire had eaten through most of it. The damage was severe. Burns. Crushed bones. The kind of injuries that made certainty difficult and mercy impossible.

They cleared the area so I could step closer.

I looked.

I forced myself to look.

Height matched. Build matched. The burn pattern fit where Dante had last been seen. Something metallic lay near the remains, warped and scorched, barely recognizable.

I knew it.

My chest tightened, slow and heavy.

The team hesitated. I could see it in the way they looked at each other, in the way no one spoke for a long second too long.

Then someone said it.

“It’s him.”

The words did not echo.

They did not explode.

They settled.

I went still.

No shouting. No denial. No collapse.

I nodded once.

“Secure the body,” I said. “Stand down the wider search.”

Orders were repeated. Men obeyed. The pace of the operation shifted. Slowed. The shape of hope changed into something darker and quieter.

Leadership slid into place like armor.

By the time I returned to the safehouse, the weight felt permanent.

The moment I walked inside, the air changed.

Enzo looked up from where he stood near Aria’s door. He read my face before I said anything. His posture stiffened. His eyes searched mine, desperate and afraid.

“It’s Dante,” I said.

Not gone. Not dead.

Presumed.

Silence swallowed the room.

Enzo did not shout. He did not break anything. His shoulders sagged, just slightly, like something essential had been pulled out of him without warning.

He turned away.

That was when Aria heard.

She was already moving before anyone could stop her. Her knees buckled. Panic tore through her body faster than words could catch up. Her breathing went wild and uneven. Her hands clawed at her chest like she could pull the air back in by force.

Medics rushed in immediately.

Her vitals spiked. Her skin went pale. Sweat broke out along her temples. She gagged, dizzy and shaking, unable to focus on anything except the fear ripping through her.

I stood there and watched.

There was nothing I could do.

A medic touched my arm and pulled me aside.

“Sir,” she said quietly.

She showed me the tablet. Bloodwork flagged. Numbers highlighted. Results that had nothing to do with explosions or bullets.

“She’s pregnant,” the medic said.

The words knocked the breath from my lungs.

Early stages. Fragile. Stress dangerous.

Life growing in the same breath as death.

Not his child.

Not mine.

Ours.

All three of us.

The weight multiplied until it felt unbearable.

“Increase security,” I said immediately. “Full rotation. No gaps.”

“Yes, sir.”

I found Enzo alone near the end of the hall and told him quietly.

His reaction was slow. Shock first. Then something sharp and burning settled behind his eyes. Grief did not disappear. It transformed.

Protective. Furious. Focused.

Later, paperwork crossed my desk.

The body was logged. Reports finalized. Flags raised. A name entered where uncertainty had lived.

Dante. Deceased.

My hand shook as I signed.

That night, I stood alone in a quiet room.

Dante’s belongings were secured nearby. Aria slept under constant watch. Enzo stood guard outside her door, unmoving.

A child was growing.

A brother was buried.

Or so we believed.

The truth remained hidden beneath ash and silence.

And the cost was already unbearable.