Page 72 of Matteo

"You say that with such reverence!" My laugh is more bark than anything else, the sound echoing off the walls of our gilded cage.

She points at me, her finger accusing. "Well, his father is the underworld king, is he not?"

"And his mother is the queen." The words are a retort, sharp enough to cut. I'm both those things and neither—a king on a throne built of bones, a queen draped in shadows.

"Are we gonna stay on topic today, children?" Spike chimes in, hands raised like he's balancing the scales of justice.

Angel's there, smirking over his popcorn, the crunch of kernels like the tick-tock of a time bomb we're all waiting to go off. Maybe I should have gotten some fucking popcorn too...

"Yes, sorry," Eleanor's voice draws me back, apologetic but edged with that steel I know all too well. She's no damsel; she's a warrior queen.

This is the moment when we peel back the layers of deceit that have shrouded our world in shadow.

"Okay, well, for all intents and purposes, Fuckwit No.1 told me he was hired by a man named Tino to do the job," Spike says, his voice slicing through the silence. "He had been on Ricci’s payroll for years and wasn't fully okay with what he was asked to do, but the money was substantial."

I lean forward, my elbows digging into my knees. "He was paid 50k in cash up front for the job." Spike continues, recounting the details with the precision of a blade. "He was assured no one would find out and the hotel security cameras would be removed the day before."

"Fuck's sake." I rub a hand over my face. "So, I’m gonna take a guess and say Tino wasthe Tino- Enzo’s righthand man?"

Spike nods, his expression grim. "Yes, the the same."

Angel chimes in from his perch by the window. "This makes sense, as the apartment building paperwork shows there was some security camera maintenance in the building the same week it went down."

"Right, well, that’s it for Fuckwit No.1," Spike declares, then his gaze shifts, dark and knowing. "As for Fuckwit No.2, things get interesting."

He pauses, biting his bottom lip—a tell that the news isn’t pretty. "So, Fuckwit No.2 was the one who had the most amount of contact with Tino; he said Tino approached him on a building site where he was working and offered him the same deal as the rest."

My knuckles whiten as I grip the chair, leaning in. "The only difference was he was to scoop out of the building, arrange the day and time that worked best, and arrange everyone to execute their plan."

Spike exhales slowly, and the room holds its breath with him. "They were meant to go in, rough you up, and get you to leave. That’s it," he admits, the weight of the betrayal hanging between us.

I feel the rage simmering beneath my skin, ready to boil over. "They did because he told them that was the plan; he changed it to suit himself."

Angel, ever the fucking detective, adds his two cents. "I ran his record; he had priors for rape and stalking."

"Was he on my payroll too?" My voice is a growl, the threat of violence never far from the surface.

"No, he wasn't, but he was on the payroll of a company your family used for building," Angel meets my gaze squarely, his eyes like flint.

"Remember when your dad had the club in the Cross refurbished into a strip club—' The gentleman's only one?'" I ask, the memory bitter in my mouth.

"Yes," Spike confirms, and it feels like the final piece of apuzzle snapping into place, a picture of treachery revealing itself.

The air in the room is thick with tension, a tangible pressure that seems to squeeze around my chest. My knuckles are white as they grip the edge of my chair, every muscle coiled tight.

"That's the building site he was approached on," Angel cuts in, his voice the scrape of a switchblade against a stone. "Enzo wanted it to be some kind of fucking pleasure palace, right?"

I rake a hand through my hair, yanking at the roots. Memories crowd into my mind, dark and slippery as oil. "Council shot it down. Dad wasn't having any of it either." I can still hear their heated arguments and feel the vibrations of slammed doors.

Spike leans forward, elbows on knees, his gaze briefly flickering to Niko, who's playing the part of an innocent bystander—poor kid's anything but. "When Tino confirmed the job, he nearly blew a gasket after hearing what happened. He was ready to put a bullet in the guy."

Eleanor, her arms folded defensively across her chest, chews on her bottom lip. Her frown is a shadow that darkens her delicate features. "I still don't get how Patrick and Enzo tie together. They're up to their necks in this shit, but why?"

"Has to be something personal," I grumble. The game's always personal in our world.

Niko pipes up, his youthful voice slicing through the murk of theories. "Patrick could be more to Enzo than we think." His eyes are too old for his face; he has seen too much already.

Eleanor's brow knits, her mind turning over possibilities like tumblers in a lock. "But how? Enzo's old enough to be..."

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