Chapter 88 Chaos
ARYA’S POV
I managed to slip past Matteo's watchful eye with a carefully crafted lie about an all-women's painting class I had seen advertised online.
He was skeptical at first, but I played up the need for normalcy, and eventually he agreed…. on the condition that he waited outside.
It was enough.
Marco was already waiting at the café when I arrived, sitting at a corner table with two espressos. The moment I saw him, relief flooded through me.
"Marco!" I slid into the seat across from him, and he stood to hug me properly.
"It's good to see you," he said, and there was genuine warmth in his voice.
I smiled in response. "How's everyone?" The question burst out of me before I could stop it. "My family… are they okay?"
"They're fine. Worried about you, but fine." He pulled out his phone, swiping through photos. "Actually, today's your parents' anniversary. Your mother had a small gathering."
He turned the screen toward me, and my heart clenched. There was my mother, beautiful in a blue dress, laughing at something my father was saying. My father was there as well and Christabel looking cute in her pink dress.
“She misses you," Marco said softly, showing me another photo of Christabel holding a drawing. "She made this for you. Wanted me to tell you she's practicing her art so she can be just like her big sister."
Tears pricked my eyes. "I miss them too. So much."
He reached out and squeezed my hand and I sucked in a sharp breath.
"Marco, I don't have much time. Matteo's waiting outside, and if I'm gone too long he'll get suspicious." I leaned forward. "You said you knew about the Riveras. What can you tell me?"
He sighed and shook his head. “They're dangerous, Arya. One of the most ruthless families in the underworld…”
He shook his head. "You shouldn't be involved with them.”
Disappointment settled heavy in my stomach. "That's it? That's all you know?"
"What else is there to know? They're criminals, Arya." His eyes searched mine. "Please tell me you're not getting attached to him."
Too late for that, I thought.
"I'm fine," I said instead. "I can handle myself."
"Can you?" Marco leaned back, eyeing me closely. "How has Giovanni been handling them anyway? Has he said anything about his plans?"
I frowned. "No. We left Italy in a rush, and he hasn't really involved me in any of that since then."
"Nothing at all?" Marco pressed. "No meetings, no phone calls you might have overheard?”
The questions felt odd. "Why are you asking?"
He laughed, but it sounded forced. "Just concerned. Trying to understand what kind of danger you're in."
Something didn't feel right, but I pushed the feeling aside. This was Marco. He knew me since I was a child, and had always looked out for me.
"Thank you," I said, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. "For everything you do. I know Father doesn't have a son, so you're probably next in line for all his responsibilities. I appreciate you taking time for this."
I meant it as a joke, but Marco didn't smile. Instead, something flashed in his eyes.
"Take care of yourself, Arya." His voice was strained. "I'm sorry."
"Sorry? For what?"
He stood abruptly, pulling me up with him. Then he kissed my forehead, holding me there for a moment longer than necessary.
"I wish I could do more," he whispered against my hair.
"Marco, you're scaring me. What's going on?"
"Nothing. Just… be careful and trust your instincts." He pulled back, his smile not reaching his eyes. "Go. Before your guard comes looking."
We hugged one more time, and as I left the café, I looked back. Marco was still standing there, watching me with that odd expression.
Something was wrong, I could feel it, but I didn't know what.
I hoped he was okay.
The painting class was easy enough to fake, I slipped in through the back, signed the attendance sheet, and spent the next hour staring at a blank canvas while my mind replayed the conversation with Marco over and over.
“I'm sorry.” He had said but sorry for what?
On the drive home, Matteo made small talk about the class.
"Did you enjoy it?" he asked, glancing at me in the rearview mirror.
"Yes," I lied, forcing a smile. "It was... therapeutic."
"Good. You seem lighter lately."
Because of Giovanni, I thought. Because for the first time in my life, I felt like someone actually saw me.
We turned onto the long driveway leading to the estate, and I noticed that the gates were open. There were no guards at their usual posts.
"Matteo?" My voice came out small.
"I see it." His entire demeanor changed, one hand reaching for something under his jacket. "Stay calm."
As we got closer, I could see the front courtyard was in disarray. The planters overturned, gravel scattered, and dark stains on the white stone that looked sickeningly like blood.
"Oh my God."
"Get behind me." Matteo pulled out a gun, and the sight of it made everything horrifyingly real. "Stay close and do exactly what I say."
We approached the house on foot, and the front door was ajar, hanging off one hinge.
Inside was worse.
The foyer was destroyed and sprawled across the marble floor was a body.
One of the guards. His eyes stared sightlessly at the ceiling, blood pooling beneath him.
I gasped, staggering backward, my hand flying to my mouth. Matteo caught me before I could fall, steadying me with one arm while keeping his gun raised with the other.
"Don't look," he commanded. "Keep your eyes on me and breathe."
But I couldn't breathe. I couldn't do anything except stare at the carnage. Then the lights flickered on, flooding the space with harsh brightness.
The full extent of the destruction became visible. There were more bodies and blood everywhere.
And staggering forward from the shadows, covered in blood, with a gun hanging loosely in his hand was Giovanni.
His face was splattered with blood and his knuckles were raw and bleeding. But it was his eyes that made my heart stop.
They were fixed on me with an expression of pure rage.
"Where the fuck," he said, his voice deadly quiet, "have you been?"