Chapter 18
I step in, slow and steady, the barrel of my gun locked on his face. “You should’ve never crossed my bloodline, Matteo Rosetti,” I mutter coldly. “I gave my word—and I’m a man who keeps it.”
“Go to hell, Santino!” he spits, gasping for air. He writhes on the floor, one hand smeared with the blood pouring from his chest.
With one swift motion, I knock his hand away, exposing the raw wound to the cold air. He howls in pain as I press my palm deep into the open gash, letting my fingers burrow into his flesh like claws.
The metallic tang of his blood lingers on my tongue as I lick the red from my knuckles, a twisted smirk forming. I stand upright, my motions harsh, savoring his agony like a symphony of vengeance.
Bar La Lupa is silent now. The pulsing beats and raucous laughter that once filled the air have given way to a thick, menacing stillness.
Ryker and Vito remain unmoved, guns steady, eyes fixed on Matteo’s soldiers.
“Wipe them out,” I command. “Spare Matteo. Let him suffer. Let him feel what my family endured.” I pull a knife from my belt, pressing the cold steel into his arm as I carve the Rosetti crest into his flesh.
His eyes roll, desperate to hold onto consciousness. I lean close, my breath hot with fury. “Let the same terror that gripped my bloodline take root in your bones. This is just the start.”
I draw deeper, until his screams shatter the silence.
“Blood answers blood. And I won’t rest until every Rosetti lies in ruin.”
Without a glance back, I turn away. Gunfire erupts, Vito and Ryker releasing a storm of bullets into the crowd of Rosetti men.
This night was only the opening act of the massacre I intend to unleash.
⸻
Colina
So much can unravel in three years.
Nothing’s been right since the day I realized I was carrying Santino’s child. Motherhood transformed me. I stand over her now, watching her sleep—the little soul that saved mine.
Isabella’s face holds an innocence that cuts deep. It’s nothing like Santino’s. Honestly, I can’t even picture his face anymore. Is he alive? Dead? Somewhere in between?
Three years. That’s how long he’s been gone—vanished.
Still, Isabella is a reflection of him. Her honey-brown eyes, her subtle smile, the same arch to her brow—it’s all him. But her thick curls and lips? Mine.
I gently move her hair behind her ears. She stirs, turning on her side, her small hands spread wide like wings. I kiss her forehead before slipping out of the room.
Matteo’s been there for us. For her. Not like Father. Father looks at her with scorn, like she’s a mistake he never forgave.
Defying my parents nearly cost me everything. They begged me to get rid of her. But I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. She became my reason to survive. And Matteo—he helped me when no one else would.
“Everyone’s gone. Omar made it out alive.”
I freeze as I hear murmurs from the living room.
“Where’s mio figlio?” Mother’s voice rises in panic.
What happened to my brother?
“He took a bullet to the chest. They’re unsure if he’ll survive.”
I sprint toward them, my heart slamming against my ribs, each beat louder than the last.
“Where is he?! Where’s Matteo?!”
Cyrus meets my eyes. He’s bleeding, his shoulder soaked through his shirt. “The hospital. He’s lost a lot of blood.”
Dear God.
“Who did this?” Father’s growl cuts through the tension.
Cyrus hesitates, the name heavy on his tongue. “There was a crest on his arm. One I know all too well.”
Father’s eyes narrow. “Who?”
“It was the Famiglia Nera.”
I stop breathing. My head starts to shake before I even register it.
“No. No. That’s not possible.”
“They’ve been gone three years,” I argue, clinging to hope, to logic.
“I thought so too… until I saw the mark. I think Santino’s back in Italy.”
My stomach knots violently. Hearing his name again after all this time… it makes me ill.
“He’s dead. Santino’s dead,” I whisper like a prayer.
But Cyrus watches me with that look—that one that makes me question everything.
I’ve told myself he’s gone. I need him to be gone. It’s the only truth I’ve been ready to give Isabella when she’s old enough to ask.
“I want whoever’s responsible buried,” Father snaps, storming down the hallway.
“I’m going to the hospital,” Mother declares. “Silver! Bring my purse!”
Silver scurries toward the hallway, her heels clicking sharply on the tiles.
I’m left alone, stunned by the storm that might’ve just blown back into my life.
Back in my room, I collapse onto my bed, murmuring a shaky prayer for Matteo.
⸻
Isabella’s cries jolt me from sleep.
Groggy, I rush to her room, heart lurching when I see her at the edge of the bed, about to fall.
“Isabella!” I cry, sweeping her into my arms just in time.
She clings to me, quieting instantly as I cradle her against my chest.
“You’re alright, amore mio,” I whisper, rubbing her back.
“Silver!”
Isabella perks up, recognizing her name. She beams as Silver approaches us.
“Good morning, miss,” Silver says, always put together in that crisp uniform.
“I need you to feed and bathe her. We’re going out today—to see my brother.”
Isabella willingly goes with her. She adores Silver, who’s practically helped raise her.
I head to the living room, catching Cyrus before he leaves.
“Wait, Cyrus.”
His shoulder now bears a fresh bandage. “Yes, Miss Colina?”
“I need to visit Matteo. Can you drive me there? I’ll be ready within the hour.”
He nods once. “I’ll have the car prepared.”
As I turn to go freshen up, Mother enters the room. She’s dressed sharply, her hair sleeked into a tight bun. Everything about her screams control.
“Matteo Rosetti was here last night,” she says.
I stop in my tracks. My breath stutters.
She doesn’t wait for me to ask. “He says it’s time. The marriage must go forward. He’s waited long enough.”
My chest tightens. Three years. I’ve resisted this future for three years, begging for delay after delay. Matteo was patient—too patient. I hoped he’d move on. That he’d disappear, like Santino did.
“When?”
“Two weeks.”
My eyes snap to hers. “That’s too soon.”
“You’ve had years to prepare. No more delays.”
“But—”
“It’s decided, Colina.” She steps forward, lifting my chin. Her perfume is sweet, suffocating. “Time to fulfill your role.”