Semua Bab Bound by blood and lies: Bab 151 - Bab 160

Matteo's povIt was far too quiet in Luca’s room.And knowing my partner as I did, that silence only meant one thing.I grinned to myself as I padded barefoot down the hall, hair still wild from sleep, loose sweatpants hanging low on my hips. The guards posted nearby tried hard not to meet my eyes, pretending they couldn’t hear the soft moans and whispers that had slipped from this room all night.I reached the door.“Enough bonding time, fratello,” I muttered, cracking my knuckles. “Time for me to have some fun.”I shoved the door open with a loud crash.Luca, shirtless and disheveled, was stretched across the bed, his arm draped possessively over Eli’s waist. Eli lay curled against him, soft golden hair mussed, the sheet tangled low around their waists, revealing bare skin, flushed and marked from the night before. Love bites, no doubt.Both their heads jerked up in surprise.“Matteo!” Luca snapped, sitting upright.Eli squeaked, scrambling to clutch the sheet higher over his chest,

matteo's POV The dungeon had never been quiet. Even when no one screamed, even when no iron doors groaned or chains rattled, the place breathed darkness. A living, festering thing. And right now, I was going to bleed that darkness dry. I stood in the small stone corridor, staring down at the two guards who had been on shift the night Marcelo died. Their faces were pale, their backs pressed against the cold wall, eyes darting like rats in a trap. My knuckles ached from the last punch I’d delivered, the coppery scent of blood thick in the air. “Last chance,” I said softly, cracking the joints in my fingers, stepping closer. “Tell me again who came down here last night. No lies this time... or you’ll both be feeding the rats with your tongues cut out.” The younger one, Paolo, whimpered. The other, a big bastard named Rocco swallowed hard, eyes fixed on my shoulder. “Signore... we didn’t see nothing... we—” My fist slammed into his gut, driving the air from his lungs. He gasped, do

Luca's povIt had been years since I asked my father to have dinner with me.Not a business dinner. Not a famiglia meeting. Just... dinner. Like we used to when I was a boy before the burdens of the Rossi name settled on both our shoulders.And when I made the offer this morning, his surprise was obvious.“Dinner?” Emilio had blinked at me, caught off guard for once. “No guards? No capos? Just us? Not to talk about the war?”I smiled, forcing warmth into my voice.“Just us, Papa. Like old times.”He stared at me for a long, quiet moment. Searching. Measuring.But he couldn’t see what I was hiding. He never could when I smiled the right way.At last, he grunted and clapped my shoulder.“Fine, figlio mio. Tonight, then. I’ll have the kitchen make something special.”I grinned. “No. Let me handle it.”His brows rose higher.“You? Cook?”“Hey,” I chuckled, “I remember a few things from Nonna and… there's a lot that has changed over the years. You'd be surprised by how much I can be domest

Luca's povThe night air bit into my skin as I hurried across the courtyard, the folder pressed tight against my chest like it might burn a hole straight through me.I couldn’t think.Could barely breathe.Silas… my brother.Evangeline, alive, possibly. Watching. Waiting.And Eli… Eli was the key to everything.I couldn’t go to him.Not yet.I needed someone who could help me carry this weight before it crushed me.I needed Matteo.****I found him where I knew he’d be, leaning against the balcony rail outside the east wing, cigarette in hand, gaze lost in the city lights below.When he heard my footsteps, he turned, dark eyes narrowing.“Luca,” he greeted cautiously, flicking the cigarette away. “Where the hell have you been?”I didn’t answer. I shoved the folder into his chest.“Read.”He caught it, frowning, flipping the twine loose with practiced fingers. As he read, page by page, his face changed.From confusion.To shock.To horror.His throat worked as he swallowed hard, snappi

Eli's povI followed him.I didn’t have a choice.Emilio walked ahead of me, slow and steady, like a man thinking hard.Maybe he was plotting my death and funeral. How to paint it like an accident.I swallowed at the thought.He looked like someone with a storm brewing behind his eyes. His back was straight, his shoulders tight, his fingers flexing open and closed as we made our way down the long hallway to his private study.The door creaked as he pushed it open.“In,” he said without turning.I stepped inside, my nerves rattling in my chest. The air was thick here, smelling of leather, old cigars, and gun oil. The door clicked shut behind me. Locked.“Sit.”I sank into the chair by the desk, my throat dry as dust. Emilio moved to the window, looking out over the courtyard. Silent. Brooding.He said nothing for a long time.The silence stretched, choking, until finally—“Where is she?”His voice sliced the quiet cleanly, like an extremely sharp sword. It was deadly.“Who?” I asked ca