CHAPTER THREE : WHERE IS THE GIRL?

Matteo's POV

I let out a distressed groan, my eyelids fluttering open. They immediately meet bright lights, and I raise my hand, shielding them.

"Where the hell am I?" I mumble unhappily, my body aching in ten different places. I blow out an annoyed breath, the familiar sounds of beeping surrounding me.

"A hospital? Are you kidding me?" I muttered, reaching up to rub my eyes. "You're one lucky son of a bitch, do you know that?"

I turn my head slowly, ignoring the painful flare running through my body. As soon as my eyes land on him, I groan again. He sat in the hospital chair next to me, leaning backwards with one foot rested on the other leg. He doesn't look happy. The eyes of Mr. Lambardi, a mafia gang leader and my only father.

"Father." I mutter, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. He hates it when I call him that; I always do it on purpose. Papa lets out an annoyed huff at my tone of voice, and I know if I wasn't lying in a hospital bed, he'd slap me over the head for it.

"Watch your tone. You were stupid tonight, Rhett; even you should realize that." He snaps, raising his hands as he speaks. He's the type of person to talk with his hands; it's beyond irritating.

"I didn't know he was going to stab me, did I? Otherwise I never would have agreed to meet him in the first place! This has been going on for years now, Dad; it needs to end." I snap back, unable to believe he's pissed off at me. Not the other guys, me.

"Don't act like you don't want revenge just as much as I do. Don't you remember what they did to us, what this entire town did to us?"

His questions are rhetorical, aimed to remind me of the reason behind our actions. I tense my jaw up, the anger inside my stomach bubbling away, beginning to rise to the surface.

"We will continue to stay on top, Rhett. We have worked too damn hard for us to give it all away now!"

Even though I don't like the way he's speaking to me, I know he's right. I simply nod, turning to face away from him. I don't want to see the fire in his eyes; I don't want to accidentally look closer and see the pain behind that fire.

It scares me because he's made me see myself in his eyes. "I know, Papa, I'm sorry."

He paused, knowing my apologies are rare. A comfortable silence falls upon us, and he sighs heavily, leaning back in his chair. He looks tired, the creases around his eyes deepening further than usual. I reach over, wincing from the pain in my stomach. My hand wraps around a spare hospital blanket, and I pass it over to him silently.

"Thank you, Matteo."

I don't reply and instead sink further into my covers, staring aimlessly up at the ceiling. Flashbacks of my lying on the floor enter my mind, and I sit up straighter, glancing out of the hospital room window. There's no one there.

"The girl is gone." He said,

Disappointment settles inside me, and I push it further away, making myself emotionless. Why do I care if she left? I barely remember her anyway.

The truth is, I'm lying. If I close my eyes, I can see every beautiful feature. Her dark hair fell around her shoulders, falling in loose curls. Her heart-shaped face, complete with a set of grey eyes and long, flirty lashes.

I remember gazing at her lips, in awe of how plump and full they were. The kind of kiosk where if you press against it, it feels like you're sinking further and further. The corners of my lips tug upwards as I remember how she threatened to stab me with a friggin house key. A key.

The fear in her eyes didn't last long, and I knew behind the innocent freckles scattered across her cheeks, she was strong.

"Did she say anything to you?" I ask, making my words sound emotionless. I silently pray he doesn't hear the enthusiasm behind my voice. I couldn't help it; I'm intrigued. I want to know more about her.

"She said her name was Rosa!" He replied swiftly.

"Rosa?" I asked. "Sweet but feisty—it suits her perfectly."

"What did she tell the police?" I ask, changing the subject. I push Rosa's face to the back of my mind, focusing on my main goal instead. First of all, it's going to take weeks to recover my strength and muscle. After that, I need to get revenge. My hands curl up into tight fists as I begin to plot my vengeance.

"I have no idea. I do not know how much she saw. Let's hope it wasn't much; we don't need the feds sniffing around us."

Even though Papa is partially sleeping, his words are still pronounced perfectly, dropping from his tongue in a smooth voice. I remember spending endless days listening to him talk before he finally began to teach me English. A few months later, I was fluent.

"Blake mentioned something to me earlier on in the day. He said you were planning to go back to Monterey. Is this true?"

My voice is emotionless, my words blunt. Inside, I'm hurting. Monterey is our hometown in Mexico; we left when I was five.

"Blake never should have told you that. That's all he could say to me."

"You promised me, Papa! You promised me that we would both go back after we seek revenge. You're breaking your promise."

The five-year-old little boy inside of me begins to break down, his voice broken.

Papa doesn't flinch, his features cold and distant. It's who he is; his cold heart is what makes him the man he is today.

Moments of silence pass between us, and I scoff, turning to face away from him. I can't bear to look at him, the disgust and disappointment overtaking my expression. I remind myself of who I am and remind myself of my own strength. I don't need him. I can do this myself.

"I won't be gone for long." Mr Lambardi said,

"Whatever, Papa, whatever." I snap, my jaw clenched tightly as I stare up at the ceiling…