Page 118 of Mafia King of Lies

MATTEO

The moment I walk into the penthouse, I can already tell that something is off. There is a shift in the air that unsettles me. The lights are all off except for the one that leads to our room.

“Maria?” I call her name. My voice echoes through the walls of the penthouse. “Amore? Where are you?”

I walk toward the stairs. I relieved Marco—her guard—as soon as I walked in. There are three more posted outside the door and five more around the building. No one could have possibly gotten in.

She is safe. She is safe.

I repeat the words in my head, over and over, as I ascend the stairs. I make my way to our room and pause when I see her sitting on the bed in her silk nightdress. I let out a sigh of relief, but it’s short-lived when her eyes flick up to meet mine.

They’re red and swollen. She’s been crying, her cheeks stained with old streaks of tears.

“Maria?” I rush to her and sit beside her on the bed. “What’s wrong?”

I reach for her, aching to hold her—but she pulls away.

Her hazel eyes—so warm, so full of life—are now filled with something I never wanted to see: a shattering sadness that hits me like a punch to the gut. I have no idea what the hell is going on, but whatever it is, I want to fix it.

“Did you kill my brother?”

My entire world seizes.

She doesn’t blink, doesn’t waver. Tears line her lashes, but she doesn’t let them fall. She sits there, waiting, demanding the truth. She knows. I don’t know how… but she does. She just wants to hear it from me. She wants me to admit the crimes that I have committed.

My throat is dry, my pulse pounding like war drums in my ears. I could try to explain, try to soften the words—but there’s no dressing up something like this.

So, I give her what she wants.

“Yes.”

The moment the word leaves my lips, her entire body jolts—like I’ve struck her. Then, the silence shatters.

A broken sob rips from her throat, her entire frame trembling as the truth crashes over her. She pushes to her feet, but too quickly—stumbling backward. Her hands cover her mouth, her breaths coming in sharp, erratic gasps.

“Maria—”

“No.” She shakes her head violently, stepping farther away, putting as much distance between us as possible. “No, no, no.”

The pain in her voice is unbearable.

I get up from the bed and take a step forward, desperate to reach her, but the moment I do, she lifts a shaking hand. “Don’t. Don’t you dare come near me!”

My chest tightens. “Please. Let me explain?—”

“You killed him,” she whispers, her voice hoarse—barely a breath. “You—” Her eyes squeeze shut as another sob wracksher body. “It was your gun, Matteo. I saw it. You—you killed my brother.”

Her words slice into me, deeper than any bullet ever could.

She’s right.

It was my gun—my bullet.

I move again, reaching for her, but she shoves against my chest with everything she has. “Don’t touch me!”

I don’t fight it. I let her push me away, let her rage crash into me because I deserve it. My worst fear has now come true, and I have no idea what I’m going to do. My heart is cracking with each breath I take.

“I didn’t know,” I say, my voice rough, pleading. “Maria, if I could take it back?—”

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