The Devil In Our Blood
829 Words
The warehouse was empty, save for the hum of fluorescent lights and the echo of ghosts Matteo hadn’t buried yet. He stood at the center of the room, gun in one hand, silence in the other.
Lena watched him from the upper level, leaning against the rusted rail, arms crossed. He hadn’t spoken since they returned from the compound. Not after Luca. Not after the explosion.
Not after the kill.
“He deserved it,” she said softly.
Matteo didn’t answer.
Lena descended the stairs, boots echoing like gunshots. “You’re not a monster for surviving.”
His voice was gravel. “I’m not sure I know the difference anymore.”
She walked to him, placed her hands on his chest. “Then let me remind you.”
Matteo’s hands shook as he pulled her into him. Their kiss was quiet, slow—less about lust, more about grounding. About holding on to something that wasn’t soaked in blood.
They made love that night in silence. No promises. No guilt. Just the raw ache of two souls trying to feel something that didn’t hurt.
---
The next morning, Matteo stared at a photograph of his father. Don Enzo Ricci. Charismatic. Ruthless. Worshipped by outsiders. Feared by his own blood.
“He won’t stop,” Matteo said. “Not until we’re dead.”
“Then we make the first move,” Lena replied, seated across the table, her leg bouncing nervously.
“We already did,” he said. “The compound. Luca. That explosion sent a message.”
“He’ll want to answer it.”
Matteo nodded. “And he’ll use my brother to do it.”
---
Aria returned that afternoon with intel.
She tossed a folder onto the table. “Your brother’s been promoted.”
Matteo opened the file. Surveillance photos. Alessandro, sharp in a suit, exiting the family’s downtown front business. A cigar bar.
“He’s running the show now?” Lena asked.
Aria snorted. “Looks that way. Don Enzo’s grooming him. Word is, Alessandro wants to outdo his father.”
Matteo clenched his jaw. “He always wanted the crown.”
“You planning to kill him?” Aria asked.
“No,” Matteo said. “I’m planning to break him.”
Lena raised a brow. “How?”
“By taking what he values most.”
Aria leaned forward. “Which is?”
Matteo looked straight at Lena. “Control.”
---
That night, they returned to the city under false names. Lena wore a black wig and colored contacts. Matteo trimmed his beard and walked with a slight limp. They looked like ghosts of themselves.
They infiltrated the cigar bar through a service entrance.
Matteo led them through the corridors, his memory guiding them to the hidden office where Alessandro kept his encrypted files.
Lena hacked into the system while Matteo stood guard.
“You ever think about the future?” she whispered as she typed.
Matteo was quiet. “I used to think I didn’t have one.”
“And now?”
“I think I’d like one… if you’re in it.”
She looked up. “I’m already in it.”
Footsteps.
Matteo grabbed her hand and ducked into a supply closet just as two guards passed.
In the dark, they pressed together, hearts pounding.
Lena whispered, “This is starting to feel like foreplay.”
He smiled against her ear. “If we make it out alive, I’ll make it worth your while.”
She smirked. “You better.”
---
They escaped with the files—bank accounts, shipment details, a list of judges and cops on Ricci payroll.
It was gold.
Lena stared at the data in awe. “This is enough to burn the Ricci empire to the ground.”
Matteo’s voice was cold. “Let’s light the match.”
---
But the Riccis struck first.
A bomb. Under Aria’s car.
She survived, barely.
Matteo and Lena rushed to the hospital. Aria lay in a bed, bandaged and unconscious.
Matteo stood at her bedside, fists clenched. “He’s drawing lines.”
Lena placed a hand on his arm. “Then we stop playing nice.”
---
Later that night, Matteo and Lena stood on the roof of an old hotel overlooking the city.
“This war ends with someone in a grave,” Lena said.
Matteo nodded. “I know.”
She turned to him. “Then promise me one thing.”
“Anything.”
“If it’s me… if I’m the one who has to go… don’t let it break you.”
His throat tightened. “Don’t ask me that.”
“Promise me.”
He cupped her face. “Only if you promise the same.”
“I do.”
In that moment, under the stars, they weren’t killers. They weren’t enemies' children. They were just two broken people, holding each other like it was the only thing left.
And maybe, for tonight, it was.
- Writer
