The UnderBoss
1313 Words
Morning didn’t come with sunlight.
It came with voices instead.
They were low, controlled voices, and sounded masculine.
Not loud enough to be arguing, not light enough to be laughter.
They sounded like men who spoke only when it mattered and who made decisions that couldn’t be undone.
I woke before I opened my eyes.
My body was already tense, already expecting something.
My heart was beating too fast, like it had heard the voices before my mind caught up.
This house didn’t really sleep.
It just grew quieter.
I pushed myself up slowly on the bed Matteo had given me. The other side was still cold.
Untouched.
Of course he hadn’t come back.
He had left me alone with the rules.
Silence.
Obedience.
Invisibility.
The door was slightly open.
Just enough to remind me that life outside was moving on without me.
I stared at it for a moment, my chest tightening.
Was this permission?
Or a test?
The voices became clearer.
And one of them—steady, calm, sharp—cut through the rest.
I knew whose it was immediately.
Matteo.
I had only heard his voice a few times, but it stayed with me.
It never rushed, or hesitated, and never needed to be raised to be heard.
I slipped my feet onto the marble floor. The cold stung, but I didn’t pull back.
It felt real.
Safer than the uncertainty sitting heavy in my chest.
I walked toward the door slowly, careful with every step, like even the floor might betray me.
The hallway stretched ahead, quiet and still, but the voices at the far end were clear now.
“…the route changes tonight,” Matteo said.
He didn't hesitate or explain.
He just decided.
Another voice answered, rough with tension.
“That will cost us time.”
“It will save us blood.”
His tone was calm. Almost bored.
I stopped just outside the doorway, my fingers brushing the wall for support.
My pulse was loud in my ears, but I couldn’t bring myself to turn back.
I wanted to understand.
I took one more step and finally saw them.
Four men.
Matteo stood near the window, dressed in a dark suit, perfectly put together.
He looked relaxed, but there was nothing careless about him.
His eyes moved constantly—taking in everything, missing nothing.
He didn’t look like he belonged in the room.
He looked like the room belonged to him.
No—
Like everything being decided in it already belonged to him.
One man sat forward in a leather chair, a scar cutting across his jaw, his fingers tapping restlessly.
Another leaned against the wall, tall and thin, his eyes never still.
The third was older, heavier, his expensive watch catching the light as he shifted, his expression tight with concern.
All of them faced Matteo.
Every single one of them.
No one looked at me.
Not once.
My chest tightened repeatedly.
I stood there—his wife—and I mattered less than the air in the room.
“The shipment is late,” the scarred man said, defensive. “Two hours late. That matters.”
Matteo didn’t fully turn. He only tilted his head slightly. “Then it isn’t late. It’s delayed.”
“That delay costs money.”
“And rushing costs lives.”
The older man shifted. “You think we’re being watched.”
Matteo’s gaze sharpened. “I don’t think,” he said quietly. “I prepare.”
The room fell silent.
No one argued with him.
I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry.
I had heard whispers about him before the wedding.
He was called The UnderBoss.
Not the loudest.
Not the most visible.
But the one who planned while others panicked.
I stepped a little closer without thinking. My dress brushed softly against the wall.
The sound felt too loud.
Too noticeable.
But no one reacted.
No one even acknowledged me.
It was like I wasn’t there at all.
“…and the debt?” the thin man asked, his voice tight.
“It will be paid,” Matteo said.
“And if it isn’t?”
Matteo turned slightly, just enough for his profile to show.
“Then someone else will pay it.”
His voice was soft.
But the meaning behind it made my stomach twist.
No one asked what he meant.
They already understood.
Violence wasn’t explained here.
It didn’t need to be.
The scarred man rubbed his jaw. “There’s also the warehouse. A worker… talked.”
Matteo didn’t react. “About what?”
“Things he shouldn’t have heard.”
“And now?”
“He’s… not talking anymore.”
There was a long, heavy silence.
I held my breath without realizing it.
Matteo nodded once. “That was wise.” He responded very casually.
My fingers trembled slightly.
Wise?
Such a clean word for something so ugly.
I shifted my weight, suddenly aware of how out of place I was.
How small.
How useless.
I wanted to say something.
Anything.
To prove I wasn’t just decoration in a dangerous room.
But the words stayed stuck in my throat.
No one had asked me to speak.
No one had even looked at me.
“She doesn’t need to be here.”
The older man’s voice cut through everything.
My heart jumped.
Had he seen me?
He wasn’t looking at me.
He was looking at Matteo.
“She is your responsibility now,” he added carefully.
Responsibility.
Not a wife
Not a partner.
Just responsibility.
Matteo didn’t turn toward me.
Not even a little.
“She is not part of this discussion,” he said calmly.
The words hit harder than anything else.
My chest tightened, heat rising to my face—humiliation and anger, with nowhere to go.
The scarred man finally glanced at me, quick and dismissive. “Does she know anything?”
“No,” Matteo answered immediately.
Too quickly.
Like shutting a door before I could even touch it.
My lips parted slightly. I wanted to argue.
To say I wasn’t stupid.
That I could learn.
That I wasn’t fragile.
But I stayed silent.
Because he didn’t even look at me when he said it.
He decided for me.
The conversation continued.
They talked on routes. Delays. Payments.
Problems handled with cold precision.
I caught pieces, of it, but never the whole picture.
Enough to know this world was dangerous.
but not enough to protect myself from it.
I wrapped my arms around myself without thinking, feeling smaller with every passing second.
I was here.
But I didn’t belong with them.
I was listening.
But I wasn’t meant to understand.
Matteo finally moved away from the window.
His steps were quiet, but every man straightened immediately.
That was power—that wasn't dramatic or loud.
Just… unquestioned.
He placed both hands on the table, leaning forward slightly.
“We move tonight.”
“When?” the thin man asked.
“Midnight.”
“And the problem at the docks?”
Matteo’s eyes darkened slightly. “I will handle it personally.”
Personally.
The word sent a chill down my spine.
I pictured him somewhere darker, making the same calm decisions that ended in blood no one talked about.
The thin man nodded quickly. “Understood.”
The scarred man adjusted his jacket. “What about the loose end?”
The room went still again.
I didn’t breathe.
Matteo’s gaze flicked toward the doorway—toward me.
Just for a second.
But it burned.
He had known I was there the whole time.
He had chosen to ignore me.
To let me stand there, feeling invisible, powerless and unwanted.
A sharp, fragile ache spread through my chest—something I hated myself for feeling.
Just as quickly, he looked away, his expression unreadable again.
“Prepare the room,” he said quietly.
- Writer
