After the Fall

After Matteo left, the silence wrapped around me again—but this time, it wasn’t empty. It hummed with the echo of his voice, the heat of his mouth, the look in his eyes like he saw something in me I hadn’t dared name.

I sat on the edge of the bed, the coin pendant resting like a promise over my sternum, still warm from his touch.

And I waited.

Not for him.

Not for any of them.

But for whatever would come next.

Because something was coming. I could feel it in the way the air thickened, like the whole city was holding its breath. In the way my skin prickled, like someone had written a prophecy just beneath the surface.

I didn’t want to be afraid of it.

I wasn’t afraid.

But I was ready.

I dressed slow, methodical. Not for allure—there’d been enough of that. Enough seduction, enough silk and shadow games. No, this was armor. Black denim. Heavy boots. The leather jacket I hadn’t worn since before Luca touched me like I was fragile and Matteo kissed me like I was fireproof.

I braided my hair back, tight and clean, and left my face bare. No mask. No war paint.

Just me.

The knock came at dawn.

This time, I didn’t hesitate.

I opened the door to find Nico leaning against the frame, shadows clinging to his shoulders like they belonged to him. Like he’d been born wrapped in them.

His eyes were unreadable.

“Morning, regina,” he said, voice like smoke. “We need to talk.”

I stepped aside to let him in. He didn’t move at first—just stared at me, at the sharp line of my jaw, the bloodless grip I had on my own silence.

Then he stepped inside.

“Where’s Luca?” I asked.

“Gone. Out hunting loose ends.” He paused. “Dante’s men, mostly.”

My stomach twisted, but I didn’t let it show. “And Matteo?”

“Gone quiet.” He shot me a glance. “Since last night.”

I turned away, heart beating a little too fast, a little too loud.

Nico leaned against the window, arms folded. “You made a choice.”

I didn’t deny it.

He nodded slowly. “Good.”

That word. Again.

They kept saying it like I was some equation finally solved. Like becoming this—sharp-edged and unyielding—was something they’d wanted all along.

But I wasn’t sure that was true.

“You’re not angry?” I asked.

He tilted his head. “That you chose him?”

I waited.

“No,” he said. “I’m not angry.”

I arched a brow. “You’re never just anything.”

He smirked. “True. I’m curious. I’m watching. I’m… wondering how long it’ll take before you realize what you really chose last night.”

I frowned. “And what’s that?”

He stepped forward, all slow grace and calculated menace. The kind of movement that made people flinch. The kind that made my blood run hotter.

“You didn’t choose Matteo,” he said, voice low. “You chose yourself. And now? Everything’s going to burn for it.”

I stared at him. “And you’re okay with that?”

“No.” His grin sharpened. “I’m ecstatic.”

The tension between us pulsed—alive and loaded. Nico had always been the most dangerous of them. Not because he threatened. Because he didn’t need to. He made you walk willingly into your own ruin.

And right now, he looked like he wanted to drag me down with him—into fire, into shadow, into whatever came next.

But he didn’t touch me.

Didn’t try.

He just held my gaze and said, “There’s a meeting. Warehouse district. Noon. Bring your teeth.”

I blinked. “My what?”

He stepped past me, already heading for the door. “Don’t come soft.”

And then he was gone.

By noon, the sky had bruised over with stormlight, the kind that pressed low and heavy like something waiting to break.

I walked into the warehouse with my head high and my jacket open, the coin pendant catching what little light bled through the broken windows.

Luca was already there—arms crossed, blood on his knuckles, heat radiating off him like an aura. His eyes cut to me the second I entered.

And something in him eased.

Not softened.

Just settled.

Matteo stood near the table, jaw tense, mouth unsmiling.

But he nodded.

Nico lounged in the shadows, of course, because that’s where he lived. And when I stepped into the center of them all, something shifted.

Not in the room.

In me.

Because for the first time, I wasn’t walking into their war.

I was walking into mine.

“I’m not here to be handled,” I said, voice like flint. “Not here to be saved or protected or passed around like some precious thing you’re all too afraid to break.”

Luca’s jaw flexed. Matteo’s fingers curled. Nico didn’t move.

“I’m here to end this,” I said.

“What does that mean?” Matteo asked, voice careful.

“It means we stop waiting for Dante to make the next move.” My gaze swept the room. “We make it first.”

Silence stretched.

Then Luca said, “You have a plan?”

“No,” I said. “I have rage. And you three? You have a choice.”

I stepped closer to the table, placed my palms flat against the wood. “You can follow me. Or you can stand in my way.”

Matteo stared at me like he didn’t know whether to kiss me or kneel.

Luca looked ready to burn the city down just to keep pace.

And Nico?

He smiled.

“I knew I liked you,” he said.

And just like that, the room shifted again.

Only this time, it bowed toward me.

Like it knew who I was.

Who I chose to be.

And this time?

I wasn’t leaving anyone to pick up the pieces after the wreckage.

I was the wreckage.

And I was done apologizing for it.