Page 50 of Matteo

"No what?" Matteo’s brow arches in mock curiosity. But there's no real question in his eyes—just a dark promise.

"I’m not going to talk; kill me, but I’ll die with my secrets," Toni growls, but there's an edge of panic there now.

The strike is swift—a punch to the gut that sucks the breath right out of Toni. "Think so? I always get what I need," Matteo snarls, grabbing Toni's foot in an iron grip as Spike steps forward, blade gleaming wickedly in his hand.

It's a fucking nightmare made flesh as Spike slices through toes like they're nothing more than rotten fruit. Thetorch hisses, searing flesh and bone, stopping the bleeding, filling the air with the sickening scent of charred meat. My stomach churns, bile rising in my throat.

"Christ," I whisper, squeezing my eyes shut, willing away the stench of cooked human that's clawing its way into my mouth, threatening to spill over.

A gentle touch on my cheek pulls me back from the edge, and Matteo's hushed voice is in my ear, "It’s okay, Princess. I brought extra bags tonight." His finger trails down my face, leaving a trail of warmth, and the rustling of plastic signals the lifeline he's offering—a simple bag that feels like salvation in this moment.

Breathing through my mouth to keep from retching, I grasp the bag tightly, finding solace in the twisted tenderness of Matteo's foresight. Even here, even now, he thinks of me, protects me in his own warped way.

Matteo's back is a rigid line of authority as he strides back over to Toni. Muscle and menace in every step, the man's like a goddamn executioner returning to his altar. My eyes flick to the bag in my hand, its crinkly sides mocking me. It's a toss-up—do I suffocate on the horror or just let it all out? The contents of my stomach decide for me.

I glance up just in time to see Spike finish with Toni's other foot, each toe dropping to the ground with a sickening thud. Then comes the right hand, fingers snipped off like they're nothing. Fucking hell. It's a scene you can't unsee, no matter how hard you try. And the stench—God, it's like I'm trapped in some twisted barbecue from hell.

The first heave hits me hard, risotto spewing into the bag like vile confetti. It gets everywhere, sticking in places it's gotno right to be. I'm hacking, retching, spitting out grains that cling to my lips. There's nothing ladylike about this chaos, and yet I'm stuck here, watching the savagery unfold like some grotesque show.

Spike's grinning like a loon, slicing through flesh with a zealot's fervour. His eyes are alight, finding joy in the carnage. It sends a shiver down my spine. Niko should never see this side of him—the side that takes pleasure in another's pain. It's a brand of madness that's too raw, too feral. Spike's not just a soldier; he's a fucking maestro of misery.

I swallow down the bile rising again, gripping the bag like it's the only thing keeping me tethered to sanity.

Time drags on, a relentless parade of horror. The stench clings to the inside of my nostrils, a sickening mix of charred human remains and bodily waste. It's suffocating. The air in this godforsaken warehouse is thick with it, every breath a reminder of what's unfolding before my eyes.

"Matteo?" My voice is a whisper, barely audible over the symphony of Toni's muffled cries and Spike's eager snipping.

Matteo whirls around, his dark gaze meeting mine, and for a second, I see something flicker there—an apology, maybe. He strides over, all raw power and predatory grace, wiping his bloodstained hands on a rag as if he can erase the last two hours just like that.

"Fuck, Princess, I'm sorry." His voice is rough, carrying the weight of a storm about to break.

"You want to go home?" He reaches out, offering escape, but I have one more demon to face.

"Yes, but I wanna shoot him first," I say,my finger pointing at Toni's broken form, dangling like some grotesque marionette from his chains.

"Are you sure 'bout that? We don't have who sent him yet?" Matteo's hand hovers over the gun at his waist, questioning me with those tumultuous blue eyes that burn with an intensity that both terrifies and captivates me.

"He isn’t going to give it, Matteo." My hand is steady as I take the gun, feeling its cold weight grounding me.

I raise the barrel, aiming at the shattered man across the room. Toni's a husk, his eyes pleading for an end that I’m all too willing to give.

Spike stands by, impassive now, watching the scene unfold with detached curiosity. How many times has he watched this dance, I wonder?

The gun trembles in my grip, a cold extension of my fury. I square my shoulders, breathe out slow, and find that serene place where the world narrows to just me, the weapon, and the target.

"Sorry, Toni," I whisper, but there's no mercy in my voice.

I pull the trigger twice—the first bullet rips through his groin, a spray of crimson painting the grimy floor. His scream slices the silence before the second shot crashes into his head, silencing him forever. It's a sharp crack, an echo that reverberates off the warehouse walls and within the darkest corners of my soul.

"Can we go home now please?" My voice breaks, raw from the smoke and screams. Dropping Matteo's gun into his waiting hand, I shiver, feeling the finality of what I've done settle like ash on my skin. The need to escape this stench ofdeath claws at me, desperate for fresh air, for the safety of distance.

"Of course, Princess." Matteo's voice is a soft growl, wrapping around me in a promise of protection. He guides me with a firm hand on my back, leading me away from the carnage, away from the monster I've become.

Outside, the night swallows us, the chill a stark contrast to the heat of hell we leave behind. Matteo opens the car door, and I slide into the dark interior, the leather seat cradling my exhausted body.

Blood splatters his tanned skin,dark against the light, like some horrific abstract art. He's a masterpiece of violence—sinew and muscle shifting under inked flesh as he peels off the stained shirt. I watch, transfixed, as Matteo Ricci, kingpin draped in brutality, wipes the remnants of vengeance from his face.

"Keep looking at me like that Princess and I’ll end up fucking you on the bonnet of this car," he says, voice rough like gravel.

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