“That’s fucking enough.”
Everyone turns.Matteo De Luca stands there, and even at nineteen, he commands the kind of respect that grown men twice his age struggle to achieve.His expression is cold, the kind that makes dangerous men step back.
“We’re just training the kid,” says one of the men.
“Go.Get the fuck out of here.”Matteo’s voice does not rise.It doesn’t need to.The ice in his tone is enough.“Now.”
The men exchange glances.For a moment, I think they might argue or push back, but then they see whatever it is in Matteo’s eyes that makes even the cruelest men in the world think twice, and they walk away.
“Fucking waste of time anyway,” one of them mutters under his breath.
Matteo’s hand shoots out and grabs the man by the throat.The others freeze.
“What was that?”Matteo asks, his fingers tightening around the man’s throat until the man’s face turns red.“I didn’t quite hear you.”
“Nothing,” the man chokes out.“I said nothing.”
“That’s what I thought.”Matteo releases him, and the man stumbles, gasping for air.“Get out of here.All of you.And if I hear that any of you have been running your mouths about the kid again, I will cut out your tongues and feed them to you.Are we clear?”
They nod before fleeing.They practically trip over themselves to get out of the room.
I’m still holding the gun.Still waiting for Matteo to say what everyone else has already made clear.
But the words never come.
Instead, he walks over to me, and when he reaches me, his entire demeanor changes.The coldness melts away.
“Don’t worry about those assholes,” he says, with his hands on my shoulders, positioning me correctly.Making sure my weight is distributed properly.
“There,” he says.“Now try.”
I fire again.Still wide.
“Again,” Matteo says.
I miss every single shot, but Matteo doesn’t lose patience.He doesn’t sigh, roll his eyes, or glance at his watch as if he has somewhere better to be.He just keeps reloading the gun and handing it back to me.Keeps making small adjustments to my form.Keeps offering quiet encouragement that I cling to desperately in a world that has given me nothing but pain.
Something in my chest loosens slightly.It’s not much, but it’s enough for me to take a full breath for the first time in weeks.
“I will teach you,” Matteo says, taking the gun and reloading it once more.“Every day if I have to.I will teach you to shoot, to fight, and to survive in this world.And I will make sure those men never speak to you that way again.You have my word.”
Matteo becomes the only constant in my life.He teaches me to fight until I can hold my own against men twice my size.He teaches me to think strategically, read people, and survive in a world that wants to chew me up and spit me out.
He covers for me when I fuck up and takes the blame when I make mistakes that could’ve gotten me killed.He shields me from the worst of the cruelty that saturates every corner of this life.
I am still staring at the photograph when I hear footsteps in the hallway.Isabella.
I turn as she walks into my office.She’s wearing one of my shirts, the fabric hanging loosely on her, sleeves rolled up to her elbows.Her hair is pulled back in a messy knot at the base of her neck, and she holds a cup of coffee.
She doesn’t ask if she can come in; she just walks straight to my desk and sets the cup down.“You’ve been in here for hours.I thought you might need this.”
“Thank you,” I say, grateful for the distraction, for the excuse to look at something other than Matteo’s photograph.
Isabella walks around the desk until she stands directly in front of me, then she sits on my lap.
My arm automatically wraps around her waist, holding her close.
Her eyes drift to the board, taking in the photographs, maps, and notes I’ve been obsessing over.“Can you do it, Lorenzo?”