Smoke and shadow
832 Words
Morning came dressed in gold and guilt.
Elira stirred in the villa’s guest bedroom, tangled in silk sheets that still smelled of him. Her skin still remembered Matteo’s hands, his mouth, the way he had murmured her name like it was both a confession and a promise.
She turned over—and he was gone.
For a moment, panic gripped her. Had it all been a game? A power play?
But then she saw it—his black jacket, draped over the chair. A note pinned to it in neat handwriting:
“Stay inside. Don’t trust anyone who isn’t me. I’ll be back before sunset.”
And beneath it, in smaller script:
“Last night wasn’t strategy. It was real.”
Elira pressed the paper to her chest, her heart betraying her again with that aching flutter.
But peace didn’t last long.
By midday, someone pounded on the villa’s front door.
She peered through the stained glass window and saw a man in a charcoal suit, face narrow and cold. He wasn’t De Luca. He wasn’t safe.
“Elira Costanzo!” the man barked. “You’re harboring De Luca’s ledger. That’s a declaration of war. Open this door, or we come in.”
Her blood went cold.
She backed away, breath trembling, and bolted toward the cellar. She barely made it to the hidden panel behind the wine shelves, the one her father had shown her as a child—a panic tunnel.
As she fled into the dark, her phone buzzed in her pocket.
Matteo: I’m coming. Don’t speak to anyone. And don’t let them find that ledger. You’re in danger, Elira. More than you know.
A Safehouse and a Storm
By nightfall, Matteo found her in the safehouse hidden in the hills.
He burst through the back door, rain slicking his shoulders, eyes wild until they locked on her. Relief crashed over his face like a wave.
“You’re safe,” he breathed, crossing the room in two long strides. He cupped her face with both hands and pulled her to him—not with hunger, but with need.
“I told you not to open the door,” he said into her hair.
“I didn’t,” she murmured, gripping his shirt. “They came for the ledger.”
“Of course they did,” he muttered. “Every family in Sicily wants it. That book proves alliances, murders, money. With it, they can kill whoever stands in their way.”
“But it’s just business—right?”
He pulled back, shaking his head slowly. “No. It’s more.”
He looked into her eyes, and something shifted.
“There’s something I haven’t told you,” he said, stepping back, his jaw tense. “Your father... he didn’t just keep that book for leverage. He was using it.”
“What do you mean?”
“He was orchestrating hits. On our enemies. On our allies. He was playing both sides—gambling with lives to keep you out of this world.”
Elira’s stomach twisted. “He killed for me?”
“He killed with purpose,” Matteo said. “And now the families believe you have the same blood in your hands. The same ruthlessness.”
“I don’t,” she whispered.
“I know,” he said softly. “But they don’t care.”
She wrapped her arms around herself, cold to her bones. “Then I’m already dead.”
“No,” Matteo said, walking back to her. He gripped her shoulders. “You are mine now. And no one touches what’s mine.”
The possessiveness in his voice should have frightened her. But instead, it warmed her.
He pulled her into a kiss that was slower this time, a silent vow beneath every breath. His mouth moved against hers like he was trying to erase the fear from her skin. Their clothes came off piece by piece, nothing rushed. Just heat, and hands, and hearts beating too fast.
They sank into the safehouse bed, a storm raging outside, and she let him consume her again.
But this time, it wasn’t just fire—it was trust.
After
Later, his fingers traced lazy circles on her bare back as she lay against him, chest rising and falling in rhythm with his.
“Matteo,” she whispered, voice raw with emotion, “if they come for me, if I’m used against you—”
He rolled over, pinning her gently beneath him, his expression fierce. “If anyone comes for you, I will end them. No hesitation.”
“But I don’t want to be your weakness,” she said, blinking back tears.
“You’re not,” he murmured, brushing his lips to her temple. “You’re the only reason I haven’t turned to ash.”
She buried her face in his shoulder, and for the first time in days, she let herself believe in something stronger than fear.
She let herself believe in him.
- Writer
