Chapter 4 Underworld Introductions

• Matteo’s POV
• The private villa wasn’t marked on any map. If you drove past it on the coast road near Posillipo, it looked like a silent ruin hidden behind layers of trees and stone. But inside, it was very much alive.
• The Romano estate had always been two things: a fortress and a lie. To the world, it was abandoned forgotten by the sea, covered in salt and ivy. To those who knew better, it was a heart. A cold, beating one.
• I arrived just before sundown. The black Maserati rolled smoothly down the gravel drive, tires crunching softly as the heavy iron gates closed behind me. Two guards nodded as I passed, they were men I trusted with my life. Men who would end another’s without blinking.
• Inside, the air was warm with the scent of leather, cologne, and old wood. The marble floors echoed under my boots. A crystal chandelier glittered faintly in the main hall, but I ignored it. Beauty meant nothing here. Power was what mattered.
• My office was at the end of the west corridor. Heavy oak doors. Dim lighting. The hum of silence. The desk was clean, except for one item: her file.
• Isabella Esposito.
• Twenty-three, a freelance photojournalist. Family: minimal contact. Parents deceased. One younger sister in Florence. Apartment on Via dei Tribunali. No known relationships. One ex-boyfriend from university, left after six months. No close friends. Introvert. Curious. Too curious.
• I studied the photo clipped to the top of her profile. Not one she took but one I had taken of her. Her eyes were wide, lashes long, her mouth caught mid-thought. She looked like she didn’t know she was beautiful. That made her more dangerous.
• Luca entered without knocking. He never knocked.
• He was tall, built like a boxer, but sharper. Black leather jacket, dark jeans, a scar just under his left cheekbone. My second-in-command. My right hand. My friend if that word still meant anything in our world.
• “She came?” he asked, nodding toward the file.
• “She did,” I answered.
• He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. “And?”
• “She didn’t run.”
• Luca let out a soft, low whistle. “She’s either braver than we thought or stupider.”
• “Both,” I said. “But she listens. She feels the weight of silence. She sees more than she says.”
• He studied me. “You like her.”
• I looked up slowly. “I don’t like anyone, Luca.”
• “Sure,” he said, with a half-smirk. “That’s why you had someone shadow her all night and had her building bugged before she even left the theater.”
• I didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. Luca had known me too long.
• “Do you think she’ll hold up?” he asked after a moment. “Or will she crack like the others?”
• “She won’t crack,” I said. “But she might bleed.”
• Luca pushed off the wall. “We’ve got a situation. Pietro says the drop tonight might not be clean. He got a whisper from one of the Brambilla rats that someone might intercept it.”
• I clenched my jaw. The Brambilla clan had been poking at us for months, testing, pressing, trying to slip in through cracks that didn’t exist. Old blood, dying pride. Their last mistake had cost them two men and a warehouse.
• “Double security,” I said. “But don’t stop the drop. I want Bella there.”
• “Is that wise?” he asked. “If it goes south, she could get caught in the middle.”
• “She needs to see it, nderstand it, or she’ll always think this is something she can walk away from.”
• Luca didn’t argue. He just nodded and left.
• I stayed alone for another moment. The sun had fallen below the water now, and the lights of Naples were beginning to flicker in the distance. I stepped to the window, watching the sea.
• I could still smell her perfume. Light. Barely there. Something like vanilla and rain.
• She didn’t belong in this world.
• But she was mine now.
• And nothing that was mine got to leave.
• Bella’s POV
• That Evening
• The address he gave me was vague. An old alley near the train yard. Industrial. Empty. The kind of place you didn’t walk through alone unless you were out of your mind or already too far gone to care.
• I stood by the cracked wall of a warehouse, camera bag slung over one shoulder, heart pounding like a drum. My breath fogged the cold air in front of me. A thin mist clung to the ground, making the place feel even more like a movie set gone wrong.
• I kept checking the time. 8:45 p.m.
• He’d said 9 sharp.
• Every car that passed made me flinch. Every sound made me grip my phone tighter in my pocket.
• And then I heard it—a low hum. Not a car. A voice.
• Two voices.
• I ducked behind a stack of crates and raised my camera.
• There were two men near the far end of the lot. One wore a long brown coat, the other a leather jacket. They were speaking fast in Italian, their words sharp and clipped. I zoomed in.
• A black SUV pulled up. Sleek. Expensive.
• Matteo stepped out.
• The moment he appeared, the mood shifted. The men quieted. One even backed up half a step. His presence filled the air like a storm.
• He didn’t look at them. He didn’t speak. He handed something, maybe an envelope? to one of the men beside him and gave a subtle nod.
• The air thickened.
• I raised the camera and clicked twice.
• Then I saw him, the man beside Matteo. Not as tall. Bulkier. A scar under his eye. Black jacket, low voice. He glanced around as if he could smell danger.
• That’s not Matteo, I realized. That’s someone else.
• And I didn’t know his name.
• Then came the second one who has a sharper face, lighter build, wearing a grey hoodie under his coat. He stayed close to the cars, talking quickly into a headset.
• I was snapping pictures of people I couldn’t even name.
• I didn’t know them.
• I didn’t know who was friend or enemy.
• The exchange was fast. Two briefcases. A nod. A tense silence. I clicked the shutter three times. Fast. Precise.
• Then another car screeched into the lot.
• And then the noise shattered everything.
• Not part of the plan.
• Gunshots which sounded so loud and close.
• I ducked. My body reacted before my brain did. I dropped the camera, flinched behind the crate, heart slamming against my ribs like a trapped bird.
• “Move!” a voice hissed in my ear.
• Strong fingers grabbed my arm and yanked me hard behind a stack of metal barrels.
• I didn’t even have time to scream.
• He was in front of me before I could think. His chest brushed mine as we crouched low behind the steel. Gunfire echoed in the air, the sharp pop-pop-pop of handguns slicing through the night.
• Matteo.
• He smelled like smoke and something expensive. His voice was calm.
• “Stay down,” he whispered.
• I nodded, shaking, eyes wide.
• He drew his weapon in one swift move and leaned out. Two shots, very clean, fast.
• Then yelling in Italian with his heavy boots on gravel.
• Someone screamed.
• I covered my ears and squeezed my eyes shut.
• And then… silence.
• “Clear!” a man’s voice shouted.
• I didn’t move.
• Matteo stood slowly and turned back to me.
• “You alright?”
• I wanted to nod. I wanted to lie.
• But my body betrayed me.
• My knees gave out. I staggered forward, one hand catching myself on a barrel. My breathing was uneven. I was sweating, trembling. Tears welled up, hot and fast, and spilled before I could stop them.
• “I… I thought I was going to die,” I whispered.
• Matteo’s jaw tightened. “You didn’t.”
• He stepped closer, hesitated for half a second and then pulled me into a hug.
• It wasn’t the soft kind. It was firm. Protective. His arms wrapped around my back like a shield.
• My face pressed into his chest, and for a moment I just let go. Let myself cry. Let myself breathe.
• “I shouldn’t be here,” I whispered.
• “No,” he agreed. “You shouldn’t.”
• I expected him to push me away.
• But he didn’t.
• His hand brushed gently over the back of my head, fingertips light in my hair.
• And for that one small moment, the world went still.
• Matteo’s POV
• She shook like a leaf in the wind.
• I held her because I had to.
• Not for her sake but for mine.
• She looked so small in that moment she was wrapped in her own fear, chest heaving, arms clinging to me like I was something solid. Something safe. The irony almost made me laugh.
• I wasn’t safe.
• I was the reason she was here. The reason she’d almost been shot. The reason her face was wet with tears.
• And still… she smelled like rain.
• Soft. Clean. Something real in a world full of smoke and death.
• When she broke down, I felt something shift. Not pity. Not guilt.
• Something worse.
• Possession.
• She was mine now. Mine to protect. Mine to use. Mine to fix if she shattered.
• “Get Pietro,” I said over my shoulder. “And Luca.”
• Pietro arrived first. He was shorter, muscular and has a tight jaw. He eyed Bella carefully but said nothing.
• She looked up at him with glassy eyes. She didn’t know his name. I hadn’t introduced them yet.
• Luca came next, blood on his boot, one sleeve torn.
• “All clear. Two shooters. Brambilla. They ran like rats.”
• Bella blinked. “Who are they?” She asked referring to the two guards he had summoned.
• Luca tilted his head. “You didn’t tell her?”
• “Wasn’t time.”
• “Now’s not great either,” Luca muttered, looking around.
• I turned to Bella.
• “These are my men,” I said. “That’s Luca. He keeps me from doing stupid things.”
• Luca gave her a small, two-finger salute.
• “And that’s Pietro. He kills the people I don’t like.”
• Pietro raised an eyebrow but didn’t speak.
• Bella swallowed. “Okay.”
• “You’re not hurt,” I said, scanning her again. “Just shaken.”
• “That’s putting it lightly,” she muttered.
• I almost smiled.
• “Take her back to the car,” I told Luca. “Use the back route. No lights.”
• “What about you?” Luca asked.
• “I’ll clean up.”
• Bella stepped forward. “Wait. What was this drop?”
• “You don’t need to know yet,” I said.
• She frowned. “But I—”
• “You don’t need to know,” I repeated, sharper. “Not tonight.”
• She flinched.
• Then she nodded. Quietly.
• She followed Luca into the shadows.
• And I stayed behind, listening to the sound of her footsteps disappear into the night.