Chapter Five (Matteo)

I wake up when my body decides it’s done sleeping.

No alarm. No urgency. Just sunlight slanting through the curtains and the faint, distant knowledge that I don’t actually have to be anywhere at a specific time. I roll over once. Twice. Consider getting up. Then don’t.

When I finally do, it’s unhurried. I take a shower and drink some coffee. I choose a shirt that doesn’t require ironing because nothing in my life requires ironing anymore. I check my phone. No missed calls. No emergencies. No one angry that I’m late.

A tragedy, really.

I stroll into the bookstore sometime midmorning, hands in my pockets, already grinning because I know exactly what face Sofia is going to make when she sees me.

She looks up from the counter and sighs like I’ve personally ruined her day just by existing.

“Nice of you to join us,” she says.

I glance at my watch. “I’m early in at least one time zone.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re late.”

“Counterpoint,” I say cheerfully. “I’m here at all.”

She mutters something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like menace.

I lean against the counter. “You know, having my boss also be my sister is kind of the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“You’re a pain in my ass.”

“Aw, you wound me.”

She shakes her head, but she’s smiling despite herself. That’s the thing about Sofia—we’ve seen each other at our worst. Bookstore chaos doesn’t scare her. Neither do I.

Truth is, I don’t have to be here.

None of us do.

When Luca, my brother in law, dismantled the family he sold sold everything. He shut it down piece by piece and then he split the money. Every single person who’d worked under my father got a cut. No favoritism. No secrets. Just… done.

Clean.

I’m loaded. Quietly, comfortably loaded.

I could disappear tomorrow and never work another day in my life.

But Sofia needs help. And more than that—I like being here. I like her. She’s my sister, yeah, but she’s also one of my best friends, and that feels rarer somehow.

The bell over the door jingles, and Luca walks in holding my niece Renata like she’s the most precious thing in the world.

Which, to be fair, she probably is.

“There she is,” I say, already reaching for her. “The tiniest tyrant.”

Luca hands her over without hesitation. She’s warm and solid and smells like lavender scented baby lotion. I coo at her, make ridiculous noises, pull a face that would absolutely ruin my reputation if anyone important were watching. She stares at me. Blinks. Then her mouth crumples.

“Oh no,” I say immediately, holding her at arm’s length. “Nope. That sound means you want your father.”

She lets out a protest wail.

I hand her back to Luca in under two seconds. “I love her. From a respectful distance.”

Luca laughs, adjusting her against his shoulder. Sofia watches us from behind the counter, soft in a way she never used to be.

The store settles into its usual rhythm. It’s quiet, safe, and predictable. That’s when it hits me. I miss the mess.

Not the violence or the fear of course, but I do miss the unpredictability. The way every day used to feel like it mattered. Like something could explode at any second—figuratively or otherwise.

Now everything’s… fine. I glance around the bookstore, the neatly stacked shelves, the calm hum of normal life, and feel something restless shift in my chest.

I’ve got money, freedom, and time and absolutely nothing that makes life feel exciting. Some days, I think that’s the problem.

***

I tell myself I’m just stopping by.

That it’s casual. Friendly. Normal.

The diner is slammed—every booth full, the air thick with grease and noise and impatience. Libby moves through it like she’s being hunted, tray balanced, jaw set, hair pulled back tight. She looks exhausted in a way that makes something in my chest tighten.

I lift a hand to catch her attention.

That’s my first mistake.

She sees me—and for half a second, something flashes across her face. Not relief. Not happiness.

Alarm.

I don’t even have time to process it before the tray tilts. A glass slips. Shatters. Soda floods the floor.

Everything freezes.

Then it explodes.

Her boss is there immediately, voice sharp, words clipped. I catch fragments—already warned, distraction, this isn’t a social club. Libby tries to explain, hands shaking, eyes darting to me like I can undo this if I just say the right thing.

I don’t say anything. I freeze as if my feet are stuck to the sticky linoleum floor. I don’t know what to say. When her boss tells her to clock out, it doesn’t feel real. Not until Libby’s face crumples like something inside her finally gives.

Outside, the air is cooler. Quieter. She’s crying so hard it looks like it hurts—like her body doesn’t know how to stop.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, pacing, hands raking through my hair. “Libby, I swear, I didn’t mean to—”

“I needed that job,” she says, voice breaking. “I need it. I have bills. I have my sister. I can’t just lose it.”

The words land heavy.

This isn’t embarrassment. This is survival.

“I fucked up,” I say. The admission tastes awful. “Let me fix it.”

She laughs once, sharp and humorless.

I rush on before she can stop me. “I can get you a job. At the bookstore. Sofia needs help. I’ll talk to her—”

She wipes her face, eyes red and furious. “You think that fixes it?”

“It gives you a paycheck,” I say. “A schedule. Stability.”

“From you.”

I step closer without thinking. Not crowding—just earnest. Desperate. “Listen to me. I know it sounds like I’m throwing money at the problem, but—maybe I am. And maybe that’s not the worst thing.”

Her jaw tightens.

“I can give you flexibility,” I continue, softer now. “Better pay than this place ever did. You wouldn’t be running yourself into the ground. You could breathe again.” I search her face. “All you have to do is say yes.”

For a second, I think she might. Then her eyes harden.

“I don’t trust you,” she says flatly.

The words hit harder than I expect.

Not I don’t want it.

Not I need time.

I don’t trust you.

Something old and sharp twists in my chest.

Mariela’s voice flashes through my head—You say that now, but you’ll get bored. You always do.

The way she never quite believed I could stop being the man everyone assumed I was.

Now Libby’s looking at me the same way.

Like my kindness is a trick.

“You don’t even know me,” I say quietly.

She shrugs, like that doesn’t matter. Like I don’t matter. “I know how nice you’re being all of a sudden. And I don’t trust it.”

That’s the part that really gets me. Not the refusal but the complete indifference. She doesn’t argue. Doesn’t explain. Doesn’t soften it.

“I’m going home,” she says, turning away. “I’ll figure it out myself.”

I could stop her but I don’t.

I watch her walk away with shoulders hunched, wiping her cheeks with the back of her sleeve like she’s done this before and for the first time in a long time, the money, the freedom, the easy fixes all feel useless.

I let her go and it feels like losing something I didn’t realize I was already holding.