Chapter 4
973 Words
The door opens again—not abruptly, not violently.
Quiet. Controlled.
Matteo steps in first, expression neutral but eyes sharp. He scans the room like he always does—checking corners, shadows, exits—before looking at me.
“They’re ready,” he says.
They.
Meaning him.
My heartbeat kicks hard, but my face stays still.
Matteo walks closer, offers his hand to help me stand. I don’t take it, just push myself up. My legs tremble, but I don’t let him notice.
“You don’t have to act tough with me,” he mutters.
“I’m not acting,” I reply, brushing past him.
He huffs a quiet laugh and follows me out.
The hallway is long, industrial, and cold. Each step echoes. Men stand guard, some with guns, some with scars, some with dead eyes that don’t blink long enough to be normal. They watch me like I’m prey that somehow slipped out of its cage.
Matteo leads me to a large metal door.
Black. Thick. Unwelcoming.
He pauses.
“Don’t antagonize him,” he says softly.
I lift my chin. “Tell him not to antagonize me.”
Matteo stares at me for a moment—like he wants to say something else—but the door unlocks before he can.
It swings open.
And for the first time…
I see him.
The boss.
He’s sitting casually at a long table, sleeves rolled up, dark shirt fitting too perfectly. His posture is relaxed, but something about him feels… tight. Coiled. Like violence sits right beneath his skin, waiting.
His hair is dark, slightly tousled. Sharp jawline. Veins along his forearms. And his eyes—
God.
His eyes are not normal.
Cold gray, but too intense. Too focused. Too steady. They pin me to the ground like invisible hands.
He doesn’t move. Just watches me.
Matteo nudges me forward. I keep walking even though every cell in my body is screaming to run.
He finally speaks, voice low, smooth, and terrifyingly calm:
“Sit.”
I should fight it.
I should stand.
I should show I’m not scared.
But the way he says it—quiet, unforced—slides right under my skin.
I sit.
He studies me for a long moment. I force myself not to look away.
“You were at the club,” he says. “Laughing with them. Dancing with them.”
“I dance with everyone,” I reply. “You can check my i********:. I’m very friendly.”
Matteo’s mouth twitches like he’s trying not to smile.
He doesn’t twitch.
He doesn’t breathe.
He just stares.
“And when the shooting started,” he continues, “you ran with them.”
“I ran in the same direction as the EXIT,” I snap. “Do you want me to run into bullets?”
His expression doesn’t change. “You lie easily.”
“I talk easily,” I correct. “Big difference.”
His eyes narrow—not angrily, but… intrigued.
He leans back in his chair, folds his arms.
“What are you studying?”
“Journalism.”
“So you know how to collect information.”
“So I know how to read people,” I counter. “And right now? I’m reading that you don’t actually believe I’m with the Ukrainians. You just want to see how I react.”
Matteo inhales sharply.
His eyes flick to him briefly.
Then back to me.
“Interesting,” he murmurs.
“I’m not here to entertain you,” I say.
“Oh, you already are,” he replies.
I clench my jaw.
He taps the table once with a finger. “Tell me everything that happened at the party. Every detail. Every movement. Every word.”
“I already told your men.”
“I’m not asking what you told them,” he says. “I’m asking what you’re telling me.”
So I explain. The dancing. The girl. The accents. The gunshots. The chaos. The mistake.
He watches every micro-expression. Every breath. Every hesitation. He analyzes me like he’s dissecting my soul, not my story.
When I finish, he doesn’t speak.
Instead, he stands.
Slow.
Controlled.
Predatory.
He walks behind me, steps quiet but heavy enough that I feel them in my spine. Matteo watches him with a look I can’t quite read—respect mixed with… worry?
He then stops behind my chair.
Close enough that I feel his presence like a cold shadow against my skin.
“Do you know what happens to people who lie to me, Lila?”
His voice is right next to my ear.
Low, almost whispered.
I swallow.
“I’m not lying.”
He hums—a deep, soft sound that vibrates through my whole body.
“Look at me,” he says.
I turn my head slightly.
“No,” he murmurs. “Stand. And turn around.”
My pulse jumps. But I stand, refusing to let my legs shake, and turn to face him.
He steps closer.
Close enough that his breath brushes my cheek.
Close enough that I notice something strange—
His pupils dilate… unnaturally.
Too fast.
Too wide.
His irises flicker—just for a second.
Not gray.
Gold.
Reflective.
Inhuman.
My stomach flips.
What the hell—
He blinks once, and they’re normal again.
Was that real?
Did I imagine that?
He watches me carefully, like he is shocked of what just happened. He takes a single step back looking at me as if I killed some one and brought him back to life.
“Take her back” he says turning around to face his office table. And leave his office without a single glance towards him.
What was that? Whatever it is it’s absolutely not normal. I really have to leave this place as soon as possible.
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