Chapter 92

Matteo's Pov

A few days later.

Blood has always been a constant factor in my life. From the earliest years of my life that I can remember, up until now, it has never been unknown to me.

Shedding and spilling blood whenever I see fit has become a part of me, and I've learned to welcome it with open arms.

And I don't just welcome it unwillingly, I am so willing to do whatever it takes to spill as much blood as I can. It's an act which I enjoy so much so I don't feel at ease when I haven't indulged.

My hands are bloody, my eyes tightly narrowed, bottom lip caught between my teeth as I stare at my wife's father in contemplation.

The old man is on the floor, several parts of his body bleeding out, his throat eliciting pained and sorrowful whimpers, and his eyes rolling to the back of his head-an indication that he's slowly drifting into the depths of darkness. Death.

"Fuck," I whisper frustratedly, my gaze shifting from the old man to Alessio who also has a regretful expression etched on his face.

Don't get it wrong, we do not regret killing this fucker who has tormented my wife for almost all her life. We just regret not making it as painful as we planned.

I also personally regret not getting Mirabella's approval before finally snatching life from her father.

"At least turn him to you if you're just gonna watch him bleed out. His stupid eyes are making me sick." Alessio blurts, his tone of voice etched with sarcasm.

I roll my eyes at his constant snippy remarks and grumbles, and boredly kick Marcelo onto his back.

As I watch him lay in the pool of his own blood, his skin slowly paling, his eyes on me, all I can think about is years ago when these same eyes watched me break apart, years ago when he became a sworn enemy of mine.

Anger almost clouds me, but I don't let it. Why? I got my revenge on him, fucked him up in ways he never thought possible. And then I took his daughter whom he thought would amount to nothing and gave her a beautiful view of life.

His loss.

My win.

While he lays on his back, it doesn't take long before he chokes on his own blood. His whimpers seize and his skin pales some more.

It's done.

For confirmation, Alessio kicks him a few times, but the man is still as stiff as a dead man.

Oh, he is dead. Jokes on him.

"What do you think we should do with his body?" Alessio asks.

I stare at the body for a short moment, only now realizing that I'm able to breathe properly. Of all the enemies I've encountered in my lifetime, Marcelo has to be the most dangerous of them all. Why? He's an incredibly intelligent man who knows not to pointedly target his target but his target's weakness.

He was an enemy who continually attacked the people I love, as such, crippling me from the inside; in a way that before I am able to go through grief and put myself back together for a retaliation, he's already struck again, sending me down back into a deeper hole of despair.

Now, he's dead. And now, I'm a sated man.

I can now feel at ease while sleeping in my own home with the knowing that my wife and children are truly safe.

Heaving out a shaky breath, I whisper underneath my breath, "I don't have an idea. Perhaps we leave that up to the soldiers."

Alessio tuts, "not on my watch. You and I both know that this man has incredible luck, as unbelievable as it may seem, leaving him up to those soldiers might not be the best idea."

He's right.

I raise a brow.

Alessio smiles at me with understanding. "I know you're missing out on family time, Matteo, so go back to your family and l'll take care of this, okay?"

"You're sure?" I ask, the corners of my lips attempting to stretch into a smile. Alessio nods. "I appreciate it, man."

"It's my job, boss." He snickers.

I rush into the bathroom in the holding cell and quickly wash myself clean of the bloody mess. I strip my shirt, using it to wipe off the blood stains on my face and torso.

. . .

I step into the house shirtless, exhausted from a long day of soiling my hands. But as I enter the dining room, my fatigue vanishes. My family is gathered around the table, laughing and chatting as they enjoy dinner together.

I stand in the corner, unnoticed, and take in the scene. Mirabella is smiling, her eyes shining with warmth as she talks to our children. They're giggling, their faces lit up with joy.

My heart swells with love and gratitude. This is what it means to be a family. This is what I've been working so hard for.

I watch as Mirabella helps Mariano with his pasta, her patience and kindness on full display. Mariana is teasing her brother, but Mirabella intervenes, her voice gentle but firm.

I feel a sense of pride and contentment wash over me. This is my family, my beautiful, beautiful family. The family I made along with the love of my life. I'm the luckiest man alive to have them.

For a moment, I just stand there, taking it all in. The warmth, the love, the laughter. It's a moment of pure happiness, one I'll carry with me forever.

Finally, my wife looks up and catches my eye. She smiles, and I smile back, feeling my heart full to bursting. I take a deep breath, savoring this moment, this perfect, wholesome scene.

Her eyes drags down my chest and she pulls her bottom lip into her mouth, desire crossing her eyes. I chuckle and begin approaching the table.

As I reach the table, I bend down to kiss my children on the cheeks. Mariana and Mariano look up at me with big smiles, their eyes sparkling with excitement.

Why are they extremely happy today? Mariano especially.

"Papà!" Mariana exclaims joyously, throwing her arms around my neck.

"Yes, firecracker, how is my little princess doing today?" I whisper into her hair, hugging her tightly. I also hug Mariano even if he's not big on physical touch. And it's a good thing he doesn't protest. I kiss them again, this time on the forehead.

"I'm fine, papa," she giggles, "Mama made pasta."

My gaze shifts to my wife, "I can see that, my love. Hope you helped out?"

"I did."

"That's my good girl."

Mirabella looks up at me, her eyes shining with warmth. She smiles, and I smile back, my heart full.

I move around the table, my eyes locked on hers, and bend down to kiss her. It's a brief, gentle kiss, but it speaks volumes. I love you, it says. I'm home.

Mirabella's hand comes up to my cheek, her touch sending shivers down my spine. "Hey," she whispers.

"Hey," I reply, my voice low and husky. "How's the most beautiful woman in the whole world feeling this evening?"

Stars erupt in her eyes as she murmurs, "I'm feeling perfect. How did it go?"

I chuckle awkwardly, "good."

She hums and watches me with observatory eyes before diverting her gaze back to the kids. The children start chattering again, teasing one another.

A smile coats my lips as I take a seat next to my wife, my heart welling with the feeling of fulfillment-like I'm exactly where I belong.

The dinner soon ends and I find myself in our room, watching as my wife freshens up in preparation for the night.

She looks at me through the mirror and her eyes tighten in a narrow. "You're awfully quiet, Matteo, did something happen?"

I clear my throat, "it's not. . . I. . . I have to tell you something."

She sets the bottle in her hand down onto the table and turns to fully face me. "You're scaring me. . ."

I clear my throat and begin approaching her with quiet steps, my mind running wild with thoughts of the best ways to pass this information to her without upsetting her.

"There's no need to be scared, my love," I whisper, kissing her cheek softly. "Your father. . . things got out of hand today and he. . . uhm. . . he didn't make it through."

Her brows form into a deep furrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Cradling her face in my hands, I stroke her cheeks with my thumbs and whisper, "he's dead. Your father is dead, Mirabella."

It's silent for a moment too long. I wait for her to speak, she doesn't. Her eyes lock with mine, dancing in perfect synchronization as though awaiting something that puts my claim to sleep. I remain silent, still holding her stare.

Her lips part, but she forces them close, a hard gulp going down her throat.

"Mirabella. . ." I whisper, sliding my hand into her hair, my fingers massaging her scalp. Still, we're enveloped in that dead silence.

I open my mouth to speak again, but I'm forced to swallow my words when tears fall free from her eyes. They're like rain drops, an indication of her sadness, anger, relief, and perhaps shock.

"What's wrong, baby?" I ask, my tone soft.

"I think. . ." She hiccups, "I think I'm finally breathing."

"What?"

"I'm breathing, Matteo," she sniffles.

My confusion only lasts for a moment before I realize what her words mean. My eyes brim with tears as I lean down and place a kiss on her forehead. "I think I'm breathing too, Mirabella."

She laughs through her sniffle, her chin trembling. "Why did we wait so long to get rid of him?"

"I don't know," I whisper, "perhaps we were scared of being free from the darkness of our families. But we're finally free and we're fine."

"We are." She nods, "now, it's time to focus on our future with our children."

"There's nothing else I want to do except that."