The Things Buried In fire

SALVATORE POV

Revenge was supposed to feel cleaner than this. Simple. Kill everyone responsible, walking away empty but satisfied.

Instead, I stood outside Lena Moretti's bedroom at two in the morning wondering why I couldn't stop thinking about the way her hands shook when Matteo smiled at her.

It irritated me. Everything about her irritated me. The softness. The defiance. The way she looked at me like she could see the blood beneath my skin.

I pushed open the office door instead of going to her room. Rain hammered against the fortress windows. Thunder rolled across the island like distant gunfire.

Charlie stood near my desk reading reports while Diego leaned against the wall cleaning a knife lazily. My brother barely looked up when I entered.

"You haven't slept again," Diego muttered.

"I don't remember asking for commentary."

"You look like shit anyway."

Charlie snorted quietly.

I ignored both of them and poured whiskey into a glass. The burn barely registered anymore. Nothing did lately. Not even violence or blood. Only her. And I hated that.

Charlie placed a file on the desk carefully. "Rinaldi's men are moving weapons through the eastern ports again."

"Handle it."

Diego finally lifted his eyes toward me. Cold gray eyes identical to mine but only his still carried humanity. Mine lost that years ago.

"You're distracted," he said bluntly.

"I'm not."

"You stared at security footage of Lena for almost forty minutes today."

Silence. Charlie suddenly found the floor fascinating.

I set the whiskey glass down slowly. Dangerously.

"Careful, brother."

Diego didn't flinch. He never did. Not even the night our world burned. Especially not that night.

My jaw tightened instantly as the memory slammed into me without warning. Fire. Screaming. Smoke choking the hallways. Our mother collapsing onto marble floors covered in blood.

I was twenty-five while Diego was nineteen. Too young to watch monsters tear our family apart. Too young to survive it. But we did. Barely.

Because one man dragged us out of hell while bullets chased us through burning corridors. Uncle David. The only family we had left.

The office door opened quietly before the memories swallowed me whole.

Uncle David stepped inside wearing his usual dark suit. Calm. Sharp and controlled. The man looked more like a politician than the head of one of the deadliest mafia networks in Europe.

Silver touched his dark hair now, but his eyes remained dangerous. Observant. Nothing escaped him. Not even me unraveling slowly because of a woman.

"What's going on," he said smoothly.

Diego smirked. "Salvatore's in love with his hostage."

I grabbed Diego by the throat before the sentence finished. Fast but not violent. His knife clattered onto the floor as I slammed him against the wall.

Charlie cursed immediately. But Diego only smiled through the pressure crushing his throat. Crazy bastard.

"If you talk to me like that again," I said quietly, "and I'll bury you beside our enemies."

Diego laughed hoarsely. "You won't."

That was the problem. He knew me too well. I released him roughly. My brother straightened his shirt while Uncle David watched silently. Studying me. Always studying.

"She's affecting your judgment," Uncle David finally said.

"She's leverage."

"Is she?"

The question hit harder than it should have. I looked away first. Mistake. Because Uncle David noticed everything.

"She's a Moretti," he continued calmly. "Never forget what that family did to us."

As if I could. I still heard my mother screaming in nightmares. Still remembered my father covered in blood trying to reach us while bullets tore through the mansion. Still remembered the way my sister was crying and asking for help. I couldn't do anything.

Thank God Diego was not around. I would have lost him too.

No child should survive something like that. Part of me never did.

"I haven't forgotten anything," I said coldly.

Uncle David nodded once. "Good."

Then his eyes sharpened slightly. "Interrogate the girl tomorrow. If she knows something about the massacre, we need answers before Caruso moves against us again."

Lena. Just hearing her name inside my head made something dark shift in my chest. Possessive. Hungry and dangerous. I hated it.

"She'll talk," I said.

But even I wasn't convinced. Because Lena didn't break easily. That woman looked fear in the face and still stood tall. And God help me, I respected it.

The next morning smelled like rain and sea salt. The island was quieter than usual. Deadly quiet.

I found Lena in the library. She's moving as if she not a prisoner here. She looks comfortable.

Matteo sat asleep on the couch nearby with Brutus curled beside him like a giant black wolf. My dog barely tolerated most people. Yet somehow the beast adored Matteo already. Traitor.

Lena looked up when I entered. And there it was again. That awareness between us. Sharp enough to cut skin.

She wore simple black clothes today. It looks good on her. I had my housekeeper organize clothes her size before she came to my island. Good. I hated remembering her in another man's wedding gown. The thought alone made my mood darker.

"You keep watching me," she said quietly.

Straight to the point. No fear.

I closed the library doors behind me. "You keep surviving me."

Her expression didn't change, but I saw the small shift in her breathing. Awareness. Dangerous awareness.

"I didn't realize surviving was forbidden here."

"It depends."

"On what?"

"Whether I want you alive."

The words should have terrified her. Instead, Lena slowly closed her book and stood. Defiant as always.

"You dragged me to your island," she said. "If you planned to kill me, you would've done it already."

Smart girl. Too smart. I moved closer slowly. Close enough to smell vanilla and rain on her skin. Close enough to notice exhaustion beneath her eyes. She hadn't been sleeping well. Neither had I.

"You think you understand me already?" I asked softly.

"No." Her gaze locked onto mine. "I think you're trying very hard to hate me."

My jaw tightened. Dangerous answer. Because it was true. And I despised the truth.

I stepped even closer until her back nearly touched the bookshelf behind her. No escape. Her pulse jumped visibly. But she didn't move away.

Christ.

"You talk too much," I murmured.

"And you threaten too much."

Our faces were inches apart now. The tension felt alive. Breathing. One wrong move and it would become something neither of us could control.

Then Matteo shifted in his sleep. The moment shattered instantly. Lena stepped back first. I hated that disappointment hit me immediately. Weakness. Dangerous weakness.

"I have questions," I said coldly.

"So ask."

I studied her carefully. Every expression. Every breath. Looking for lies.

"Ten years ago," I began quietly, "where were you the night my family died?"

I'm testing her. I know all her family was at my house before everything started. My mother organized a mafia family gathering.

Her face changed instantly. Not guilt. Pain. Real pain.

"I was eleven."

"That wasn't my question."

"My parents dragged me and Matteo before the fire started."

I stared at her silently.

"You expect me to believe your brothers murdered an entire family while you knew nothing?"

Her eyes darkened immediately. "My brothers were monsters."

The answer came too fast. Too honestly.

I frowned slightly. Lena crossed her arms tightly like she hated even speaking about them.

"You think I cried because you killed Luca and Killian?" she asked bitterly. "I cried because Matteo saw it happen."

Interesting. Very interesting.

Hatred flickered across her face again. Raw. Personal. Not fake.

"My brothers destroyed everything they touched," she continued quietly. "Women disappeared around them constantly. Men feared them. My father ignored it because power mattered more than morality."

Every answer scraped against the version of the Moretti family I built inside my head for ten years. I hated that. Revenge needed certainty. Lena was slowly poisoning mine.

"You're lying."

"I wish I was."

Silence stretched heavily between us. Outside, thunder rolled over the ocean again. Lena looked exhausted suddenly. Not weak. Just tired.

"Twelve girls disappeared from one of Luca's clubs three years ago," she said softly. "I tried reporting it anonymously."

I stared at her. She laughed bitterly at my expression.

"You expected a spoiled cartel princess?"

"I expected loyalty."

"To monsters?"

Her voice sharpened. "You think blood excuses evil? Because it doesn't."

The fire in her eyes hit something ugly inside me. Because she sounded like my mother. Strong. Fearless and too good for this world.

I looked away first. Again I made a mistake.

Lena noticed. She noticed everything.

"That's why you can't hate me properly," she whispered suddenly.

My head snapped toward her instantly. Dangerous.

"What did you say?"

"You want to." Her voice softened slightly. "But every time you look at me, something stops you."

My chest tightened violently. She was getting too close. Too observant. Too dangerous.

I grabbed her wrist suddenly and pulled her against me. Her breath caught sharply. One hand pressed against my chest instinctively. And there it was again. That heat. That unbearable awareness.

"You should stop trying to understand me," I said darkly.

"Why?"

"Because people who understand me don't survive long."

Her lips parted slightly. God. I couldn't stop staring at her mouth lately. It was becoming a problem. A serious one.

But instead of fear, Lena tilted her head slightly and whispered, "You're lonely."

The words hit harder than bullets. I released her immediately like she burned me.

"What do you know about loneliness?"

Something painful flickered across her face.

"You kidnapped me from my own wedding," she said quietly. "My brothers are dead. My family would trade my life for power without hesitation."

Her eyes locked onto mine. "I know exactly what loneliness feels like.

The room suddenly felt too small. Too warm. Too dangerous.

I needed distance from her before I did something reckless. Like kiss her. Or confess things buried for years. Or drag her into my arms and never let go. Weakness. All of it weakness.

I turned away sharply.

Then Lena spoke again. "One more thing."

I stopped near the door. "What?"

Her voice lowered. Careful. Measured.

"The night your family died…"

I slowly looked back at her. And for the first time since entering the room, I saw fear in her eyes. Real fear. Not for herself. For what she was about to say.

"My father had a visitor," she whispered.

Every instinct inside me sharpened instantly. "Who?"

Lena swallowed hard.

Then she said the one name I never expected.

"Your uncle."

My uncle. What was my uncle doing at the Moretti compound because he hated them even before the massacre.

I don't take her word for it. She was also a kid when that happened. She must be mistaken.