Page 25 of Matteo

He offers a bow, like we're players on a stage rather than two people wrapped in a twisted love in the heart of Australia's criminal underbelly. Power and money ripple around him, but I've never been one to be caught in their currents—not without my say.

"Matteo, I'd take your word more seriously if you weren't naked," I quip, my arm sweeping out to highlight the ridiculousness of his bare legs. He's all mafia boss and power upstairs, but he's just a man trying to find his pants down south.

"Pants or no pants," he retorts, fishing for hisslacks, "you've got carte blanche with my bankroll." His voice is even, but his eyes are anything but.

"Seriously?" My hand shoots up like a traffic cop, halting any more madness spilling from his mouth. "I don't need your money, Matteo. I've got my own, and I'm not above earning my keep."

His movements halt, the air between us electrifies. The darkness seeps into his gaze, a storm brewing over still waters. "Eleanor," he begins, his steps deliberate as he closes the gap, "you left me once. That gate might as well be a damn fortress wall because you're not leaving without me. Got it?"

"Matteo, listen," I start, my voice steady despite the quake in my gut. "I get that you're Mr. Big Bad Mafia Man, but you don't own me. If I want to work, I'll work. If I want to step outside that gate solo, I will. Sure as hell can't run, but you try clamping down on me? You'll lose me. Permanently."

The words hit him like bullets. His body jolts, taken by a tremor that chills me to the bone. Eyes vacant, a void where the fierce man used to be.

"Shit. SHIT!" Panic claws up my throat as I backpedal, inching toward the door without breaking eye contact. Old survival instincts scream at me—never show your back to the beast.

"Angel! Spike!" I holler, my voice cutting through the thick tension. A shift in the shadows, and Spike is there, silent as death itself.

"Easy, Boss," he murmurs, stepping forward, a barrier between me and whatever abyss Matteo's staring into. I slip through the door, heart hammering against my ribs, everyinstinct screaming to bolt. But I don't run, not this time. I stand my ground, a defiant mouse under the lion's paw, daring fate to make its move.

"Boss," Spike's voice cuts through the heavy air, his presence commanding even in the silent standoff.

"Downstairs, Eleanor. Niko and Angel need you," he says without breaking gaze with Matteo. His eyes are steel traps, a clear signal that I'm to leave, now.

"Fine," I mutter, my heart racing as I back away slowly. The moment Matteo's out of sight, I book it, feet slapping against marble, each step echoing like rapid gunfire down the grand staircase.

Hitting the bottom floor, I skid to a stop. All innocent and focused, Niko sits cross-legged with Angel, hunched over a laptop. "Hey Eleanor, check this out," Angel calls without looking up, immersed in whatever tech wizardry they're conjuring up.

"Angel, upstairs," I say, urgency lacing my voice. "Spike needs an assist."

"Fuck already?" He's on his feet in a flash, concern furrowing his brow. "What set him off?"

"Me wanting a life," I whisper back, guilt gnawing in my gut. "Said I wasn't some puppet he could control."

"Damn, girl," Angel grunts before taking the stairs two at a time, leaving me with the weight of my words.

Niko's dark eyes flick up to mine, a storm brewing in their depths. "What's wrong with Dad?" he asks, his voice small but carrying every bit of the fear I feel.

"Your dad..." I pause; how do I explain the monster lurking beneath the man? "He has these episodes. Goesblank. Sometimes stands there, other times..." I trail off, but I'm not sure how much to reveal.

"Has he hurt you, Mum?" Niko's voice trembles; there it is—the same fear I've danced with for years.

"Never," I say more firmly than I feel. "But he doesn’t know you, Niko. And that scares me."

"Wh-what do I do if he...if I'm there when it happens?"

"Nothing." The word is a command I hope he'll never have to follow. "You stay still like a statue. Don't move, don't even breathe too loud. He reacts to movement."

"Okay," Niko nods, though the terror hasn't left his eyes.

"Let's focus on this, yeah?" I gesture to the laptop, desperate to redirect his thoughts from the violence that shadows our lives.

"Sure," he murmurs, but I can tell that the innocence we both clung to is shattered and lying in pieces at our feet.

"Is Dad a killer?" Niko's voice cuts through the silence, his question hanging heavy in the air.

"Fuck, kid," I exhale sharply. "Yeah, he is. And damn good at it." My words are blunt, no sugarcoating the truth.

"Because he's head of the Mafia?" His eyes are wide, searching for understanding.

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