5- The Lie Called Love

Mateo straightened, finally continuing. “Trailing him is possible but infertile, capo. He’s a vice police superintendent.”

Vito’s dry chuckle cut through the stiff tension. “A vice superintendent of the country… is a drug dealer. What a shame.” He snatched the glass and downed it in one swift gulp.

Milan’s eyes widened, and she shot him a scathing glare, but he didn’t care.

Her scowl might have lingered, but then the young waiter returned with bottles of Antinori and Tommasi.

Happiness flared in her chest, chasing away the lingering pressure.

“Tommasi!” she exclaimed, yanking herself free from Vito’s grip as her eyes sparkled at the bottles.

She moved to the seat beside him to avoid him stealing her glass again.

“When did you become such a lover of wine?” Vito’s voice rang with amusement, but Milan paid it no mind.

Over the past several months, she hadn’t tasted a single drop of wine. What she had taken instead were drugs—hard drugs Giovanni either forgot at home or intentionally left for her, hoping she would develop an addiction in his absence. And she had.

She had been addicted… until she discovered another kind of obsession: mafia romance books.

They drank in silence for a while, Mateo quietly suggesting ways to strike against Antonio. Vito rejected each idea, his sharp gaze cutting down every plan, until Milan finally spoke.

“I can bring Antonio to you.”

Almost immediately, both Mateo and Vito turned their eyes toward her, stunned.

“What? You don’t believe I can?” she asked, smirking. Confidence and that familiar rebellious spark surged back within her, stronger than it had been in months.

She blinked, letting the wine glass drop onto the table before slapping her own cheeks.

Okay. She wasn’t drunk yet. This was her. All of her.

She was getting herself back. This was who she truly was.

She repeated the words in her mind like a mantra as she tried to anchor herself but her assaulted brain betrayed her senses.

Her hands began to tremble.

Then her whole body followed.

Beads of sweat formed on her temple. Before she could react, she collapsed to the floor.

“Milan? Milo!!”

Vito’s scream was the last sound she heard before darkness claimed her, knocking her out cold.

~~~~

She scared him.

Milan had jolted the life out of Vito.

“She will be fine, Capo. Andrea said she was just having brain distortion from previous trauma and exhaustion,” Mateo insisted, still beside him, but his words did nothing to settle the knot in Vito’s gut.

“I remember what Andrea said.” His voice was low, thick with worry as he ran a hand through his hair for the hundredth time.

Why was she getting to him like this? He told himself he didn’t care for her that much.

A lie even to his own ears.

Mateo stared at him, his eyes wide and nervous like a trapped bird.

Vito’s patience snapped.

“Say your peace, or leave my presence,” he barked in Italian, his teeth clenched.

Mateo flinched, then bowed his head. “Apologies, capo, but wouldn’t you rather be inside with her instead of dying of worry out here?” He said, careful now.

Vito’s brows pulled together. “I’m not worried,” he grunted, the words hollow even to him.

“At least go in and join her. She must be awake,” Mateo nudged, a small, knowing grin teasing the corner of his mouth.

Vito glared. He hadn’t expected Mateo to be so bold. “You can go home. Vincenzo will inform you if there’s any update on this case.”

Mateo nodded and stepped back.

“Buonanotte, Capo.”

“Buonanotte.”

After Mateo left, Vito’s mind replayed the moment over and over.

She’d said it so casually in the middle of Mateo’s suggestions: I can bring Antonio to you.

For a beat he’d been stunned, then the reality hit: she was Giovanni’s widow.

She’d said it with that dangerous, arrogant confidence of hers. That same unruly spark he both despised and couldn’t stop noticing.

He remembered her smirk, the way her eyes had glinted. He remembered her dropping the glass and slapping her cheeks as if to prove she was present.

For a brief second, she’d seemed steady. Then her hands had started to tremble. Her body had gone limp with a sick, violent shudder.

“Milan? Milo!!” he had screamed, lunging to scoop her from the floor and press her to his chest.

“Signorina!” Mateo had cried.

They both slapped at her face, shouted her name but she didn't wake up. Her body convulsed; her eyes stayed open, glassy and unresponsive.

Panic was a taste in Vito’s mouth he’d never expected to know.

“What’s happening to her? Get Andrea now!” he barked, his voice frayed.

Mateo’s hands shook as he fumbled for the doctor’s number. When the line connected, Vito snatched the phone.

“It’s an emergency, Andrea. Get to Angels Den, stat!” he roared, every syllable a command that left no room for hesitation. He handed the phone back, ordering Mateo to alert the guards at the gate.

“I think it’s fear, Capo,” Mateo offered after the call. “You need to say calming words to soothe her before Andrea arrives or we might lose her.”

Vito tightened his arms around her, feeling the tremor of her body against him like a second heartbeat.

“I don’t know any fucking reassuring words.” He snapped in Italian.

It was true; his language was threats and promises of retribution, not soft comforts.

He had never been the man to comfort anyone. He had been the man who made others obey. Now he was reduced to holding someone who he thought he'd never see again, and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t know what to do.

“Tell me. Tell me any reassuring words I can say to calm her,” Vito blurted through clenched teeth. “I can't lose her, Mateo,” he added in Italian.

Mateo shook his head, breathing unevenly as if he were the one trapped in the storm of fear.

“Are you going to fucking talk!” He yelled, dropping Milan back onto the couch. He rubbed her head, her face, her legs, almost every part of her, as if he could will her calm through touch alone. Only then did Mateo speak.

“Tell her you are here, and she is safe, or something. Assure her she does not have to be scared of anything or anyone as long as you are here,” Mateo said.

Vito blinked, incredulous. If Milan could hear this, it would sound more like a threat than reassurance.

“Those are reassuring words?” he asked, shaking his head. “That cannot help. Tell me another one. A better one this time, or just shut up.”

Mateo looked anxious, and Vito felt it, but his own fear far outweighed the younger man’s. He could literally feel Milan trembling against him, her small body shaking as if she had been pulled from an icy lake.

“Tell her you love her. Girls love it when their lover says the L word,” Mateo said suddenly.

Vito froze. “Are you fucking crazy? Do I look like her lover?” His glare pierced Mateo as he snapped.

Mateo tried to think of proper reassuring words when he finally saw Andrea pushing through the club’s doors, her big white bag in tow.

“Capo, get her to the inner quarters!” Andrea shouted, rushing toward them.

Mateo moved to take Milan, but Vito shoved him aside.

“Do not fucking touch her,” he hissed.

Mateo stepped back, giving him space to carry his burden himself.

Vito hauled her into his arms and moved swiftly toward the inner quarters of Angels Den, a private section reserved for the family’s most trusted members.

As soon as they reached the closest room, he pushed the door open and hurried toward the bed.

Once Milan was laid carefully on the king-size bed, questions tumbled from his lips. “What is it? What do you think is wrong with her? Why will she not stop shaking?”

“She’ll get better, Capo. Please excuse us,” Andrea said in Italian before she hung her stethoscope around her neck and moved closer to the bed.

After her words, Mateo turned to leave, and Vito reluctantly followed him.

It took Andrea nearly an hour before she returned to them.

“What the hell has that woman experienced?” She exhaled sharply the moment Vito noticed her presence.

“How is she? Has she stopped quivering like a fish out of water?” he asked immediately.

Andrea nodded, her eyes searching his with curiosity.

“Who is she to you, Capo?” she asked, suspicion threading her voice.

Vito glowered. “Are you answering my question with another question?”

Rage flared instantly. He didn’t even know what Milano meant to him, and this woman had the audacity to probe.

“Apologies, Capo. I just need to know who instilled such fear in her that it disrupted her brain,” Andrea explained, her eyes flicking toward the room, probably glancing at Milan again.

“She’s strong. She will get over it,” Vito said firmly. He would make sure any fear Giovanni had planted in her would be ripped out, no matter what it took.

Andrea stiffened before looking back at him. “Capo, I didn’t say she won’t get over it,” she said in Italian, then switched to English. “I’m saying it will be extremely hard. Her brain has been distorted from previous trauma and mental exhaustion.”

Her words cut through him, sharp and deep.

For the first time, Vito felt a pang of regret for killing Giovanni. The man hadn’t deserved such a quick death.

He clenched his fists, his fingers digging into his palm. “How is she?” he asked, forcing himself to calm down. He didn’t want to hear more reasons Giovanni had deserved his fate.

“She is better now. I think her brain went through too many shifts today to retain it all,” Andrea said.

“Is she okay now? What’s her condition?” Mateo asked.

Andrea turned toward him as if seeing him for the first time. “Matteo, how come you are still here?”

He sighed. “I’m worried about Milano,” he admitted genuinely.

Vito frowned. Did Mateo not realize that his worry alone was enough for Milano?

“Is anyone there?” Milan’s tiny voice broke through, jerking Vito out of his memory lane.

He flinched, stepping back from the door.

“Mateo? Vito?” she called again. Her tone trembled and made his heart race.

It must be the sound of my footsteps, Vito muttered in Italian.

He inhaled sharply and told himself it didn’t matter that she called out for Mateo first. Mateo that she didn't know until today.