A MAFIAS BETRAYAL| 18+

Matteo pov

Two months later

Time is money.

That was always my motto.

That was the philosophy I built this empire on. It was a rule I demanded everyone else follow.

But right now, the phrase felt like a bitter, exhausting joke as I stood by the armored SUV, waiting for my brothers to finally drag themselves outside.

"Tell them to hurry the fuck up," I snapped at Lorenzo, leaning against the sleek, dark hood of the car.

He stood beside me in a dark marine blue suit, sunglasses on his nose, as each time the wind blew his strong cologne caught my nose.

The humid Italian evening air was doing nothing to ease the violent tension coiled in my spine.

Lorenzo slipped his phone into his pocket, completely unbothered by my venom. "They're already here."

I looked up.

Two tall, imposing silhouettes emerged from the double doors of the main estate.

The first was Sandro, his face a mask of clinical apathy, clad in a perfect tailored black suit that seemed to blend into the shadows. His dark hair was perfectly styled.

Right beside him was Ricco, rolling his broad shoulders, walking with the predatory gait of a caged animal always looking for its next fight.

His strong, inked arms were covered in the dark fabric.

I watched my younger brothers approach, my jaw locking so hard my teeth ached.

Two months.

Sixty agonizing, suffocating fucking days had passed since they had unexpectedly walked into that dining room and cornered Leyana.

Two months since I had stood at the head of the mahogany table, looked my two most volatile brothers dead in the eye— who just came out of prison , and lied through my fucking teeth.

I had to tell them she meant nothing to me.

I had to look at Sandro's calculating green eyes and Ricco's loaded gun, and I had to call the woman I loved a debt.

A liability.

A treacherous piece of collateral damage that I was only keeping alive to extract Vadim's remaining financial codes.

I had to look at Leyana—the woman who had completely ruined me on that kitchen counter, the woman whose taste I was still hopelessly addicted to and systematically strip her of every single ounce of importance, just to keep my brothers from putting a bullet in her head.

That lie had been the final break.

The end of whatever had been building between us.

I had saved her life, but in the process, I had murdered her soul.

I hadn't touched her, spoken to her alone, or even looked her in the eyes since that night in the dining room.

I had locked the Cold Don into place and swallowed the key.

"Took you long enough," I growled as Ricco and Sandro finally reached the gravel driveway.

"Relax, Matteo," Ricco smirked, adjusting the silver watch on his wrist. "Some of us have lives outside of spreadsheets and executions."

Sandro didn't smile.

His pale eyes scanned my face, always dissecting, always looking for the cracks in my armor. "Abbiamo dovuto mettere in sicurezza il perimetro (We had to secure the perimeter)," Sandro said smoothly. "Vadim's men have been quiet. Too quiet. I don't like leaving the estate exposed."

"The estate is heavily fortified," I replied, my voice turning to ice as I pushed myself off the hood of the car. "E le risorse all'interno sono bloccate. Niente entra, e assolutamente niente esce. ( And the assets inside are locked down. Nothing gets in, and absolutely nothing gets out.)"

I opened the heavy door of the SUV and slid into the back seat, staring straight ahead into the dark glass.

I was the Don.

I was in control of my empire, my brothers, and my enemies.

But as the engine roared to life and we drove away from the villa, the only thing I could feel was the silence of the woman I had left trapped inside it.

︽︾︽︽︾︾︽︽

The meeting with Masquez went sideways the moment we walked in.

I pushed through the doors of the private VIP lounge, expecting a standard negotiation over shipping routes.

Instead, I walked into a Mexican standoff.

Zion and Adina,Sandros toxic headache of an ex-girlfriend were already there.

Adina was sitting on the edge of Zioms leather sofa, her legs crossed, wearing a dark suite and a smile that could start a world war.

Sandro was standing ten feet away from her, his posture completely rigid, looking like a coiled spring ready to snap.

The second my shoeshit the floor, Masquez's guards panicked at the sudden influx of Delvecchi blood.

Weapons were drawn.

The sharp, metallic clicks of safeties being switched off echoed across the room.

Ricco immediately pulled his gun, aiming it dead at Zions head.

"Drop them," Ricco growled, his eyes lighting up with the violent thrill of a gunfight.

He would pull the trigger.

I didn't draw my weapon.

I just stood there, the exhaustion of the last two months weighing heavily on my bones.

I didn't have the energy for a bloodbath today.

My mind was consumed by the ghost of a blonde woman sitting in my estate, and I wasn't going to let Masquez's nervous guards ruin my schedule.

"Put the guns away," I commanded. My voice wasn't a yell, it was a flat, freezing blade of pure authority. "All of you."

"Matteo, they drew first—" Ricco started.

"I said put them away, Ricco," I snapped, my dead eyes locking onto Masquez. "I am not dealing with this stress today. We came here to talk numbers, not to paint the walls. Lower the weapons, or I walk out that door and burn your entire supply chain to the ground by midnight."

Zion swallowed hard.

He gave a sharp nod to his men, and they slowly lowered their gun.

Ricco scoffed, shoving his gun back into his holster.

The suffocating tension in the room dialed back from a slaughterhouse to a heavy, uncomfortable truce.

"Boring," Adina sighed dramatic from the couch. She's been always like that.

She stood up, smoothing down her suit with her perfectly manicured hands.

She didn't look like a woman standing in a room full of lethal cartel members and mafia bosses.

She looked like she owned the place.

"If the boys are just going to talk about boring numbers and play nice, I think I'll excuse myself," Adina purred, picking up her designer clutch.

She walked lazily toward the exit.

But to get to the door, she had to pass directly by Sandro.

Sandro didn't move.

His pale green eyes were locked onto her devoid of their usual clinical calculation.

They were burning with a dark, messy, and deeply violent history that they both refused to let go of.

Adina stopped right in front of him.

The height difference was staggering, but she didn't flinch.

She smiled that wicked, toxic smile unfazed by the lethal aura rolling off my brother.

She leaned in, her red lips brushing agonizingly slow against his cheek.

"Ciao, amore," she whispered softly, leaving a faint trace of red lipstick on his skin.

That's how Sandro had always called her when they were together.

She pulled back, gave him a final, mocking wink, and walked out the door, the click of her heels echoing down the hall.

The room went dead silent.

I watched Sandro.

The man who had shot two wardens point blank without blinking, the man who calculated every single breath he took, looked like he was about to tear the room apart with his bare hands.

His jaw clenched so hard I thought the bone might shatter.

His hands, hanging at his sides, curled into tight, white knuckled fists.

The unfiltered rage radiating off him was blinding.

Ricco let out a low, amused whistle, leaning against the wall. "She's going to end up putting a bullet in your head one day, Sandro."

"Shut the fuck up, Ricco," Sandro snarled, his voice a low, terrifying vibration as he wiped the red lipstick with a total force, off his cheek with the back of his hand.

Sandro had to handle Adina.

He told me he had everything under control, but he fell back under her fucking crazy spell.

Maybe because he was in jail for almost a year and hadn't felt the touch of a woman.

And they had kissed.

They fucking did, and all the warnings I gave her made me look like a fool.

Sandro said it was only a kiss, but this situation looks like more than just a kiss.

It looked like something had erupted between them, or something dark and ugly had changed.

I looked away, stepping up to the negotiation table, but my chest tightened painfull.

Seeing the untouchable Sandro completely unraveled by a woman was a brutal mirror held up to my own face.

The Delvecchi brothers were supposed to be monsters.

But apparently, we were all just men entirely at the mercy of the women who ruined us.

I dragged my focus away from Sandro's barely contained fury and looked directly at Zion.

"Sit down," I commanded, pulling out the heavy leather chair at the head of the table.

Zion hesitated for a fraction of a second before taking the seat opposite me.

His lieutenants remained standing, hovering nervous by the walls, aware that Ricco's hand was still resting near his holster.

"Let's get straight to the point," I said, leaning forward, lacing my fingers together on the polished wood. "The Swiss infrastructure. The Commission is getting impatient. We lost weeks of operational time during the lockdown. I want the new routing hubs online by Friday."

Zion shifted uncomfortable, wiping a thin bead of sweat from his forehead.

"Friday? matteo, that's impossible. The federal heat in Geneva has tripled since the bombing incident at your safehouse. Our inside men at the banks are terrified. They won't authorize the shell transfers until the dust completely settles."

"The dust is settled," I lied smoothly.

My voice was flat, devoid of any doubt, projecting the illusion of a king who still held his entire kingdom in the palm of his hand.

"The Swiss banks will authorize the transfers because I am telling them to," I continued, my gaze turning to glacial ice. "You tell your inside men that they have two choices: they open the new infrastructure by Friday, or they answer to my brothers. I'm sure Sandro would love a reason to visit Geneva."

With each of these two options I held my finger up.

Sandro, still standing by the door, let out a dark, humorless chuckle that made Zion flinch.

"Friday," Zion swallowed hard, leaning back. "We will make it happen. But there is another problem, Matteo."

"There is always another problem," Ricco muttered from the corner, checking his silver watch again.

"It's the Dyshekovs," Zion said, dropping his voice lower as if Vadim's spies were hiding in the vents. "Vadim is making moves on the southern ports. He's bypassing the Commission's embargoes. He's been moving heavy artillery through the Mediterranean, and rumor has it... he's looking for the missing piece of the code."

The air in the room suddenly grew very thin.

My heart gave a violent, heavy thud against my ribs, but my face remained an impenetrable mask of stone.

"The missing piece," I repeated neutrall.

"The master routing numbers for your offshore accounts," Zion confirmed, looking a little bit nervous as he knew more but wanted to hide it from me. "The word on the street is that Vadim managed to secure the backdoor access during the Swiss hit, but he only got half the ledger. The system locked him out before the transfer finished. He is actively hunting for the person who holds the rest of it."

Lorenzo, who had been silent until now, stepped out of the shadows.

His dark eyes locked onto mine an unspoken warning passing between us.

He's hunting for Leyana.

The digital trap she had set had failed halfway through, and now Vadim Dyshekov, the most ruthless Russian bratva boss in Europe, was hunting the woman currently locked inside my room.

This word has spread like a wildfire.

"Let Vadim hunt," I said cold, leaning back in my chair. "He's chasing ghosts. The master codes are encrypted and safely locked inside my personal vault. The Dyshekovs will never touch them."

"He's desperate, Matteo," Zion warned, his voice thick with dread. Did this bastard do something? "A desperate Russian is a reckless one. He's bleeding money, and if he thinks he can find the architect who designed that backdoor... he will burn Italy to the ground to get to them."

I looked at Zion, and he looked at me, wearing a dead serious mask on that punchable face of his.

"If Vadim steps one foot onto Italian soil," I replied, my voice dropping to a terrifying, lethal whisper."I will personally mount his head on the gates of my estate. Tell your men to keep their eyes on the ports. If the Russians move, I want to know before they even take a breath."

"Yes," Zion just said , eager to be done with the conversation.

I stood up, signaling the end of the meeting.

Ricco pushed off the wall, and Sandro turned toward the door, eager to put distance between himself and the room where Adina had just humiliated him.

We walked out of the lounge in silence, the doors shutting behind us.

As we walked down the corridor toward the waiting SUVs, Lorenzo fell into step right beside me.

"He's coming for her, Matteo," Lorenzo murmured quietly, making sure Sandro and Ricco were far enough ahead not to hear. "If Vadim finds out she's locked in the estate ...".

"He won't," I interrupted, my jaw tight.

"You can't protect a traitor forever," Lorenzo pressed, his voice strained. "The Commission is already asking questions about why you haven't disposed of her yet. If they find out Vadim is invading our ports to get to a woman you're hiding in your own house... it's a death sentence for all of us."

She's not a fucking traitor.

"I said, he won't find out," I snarled softly, my eyes flashing with a dangerous, protective darkness that I couldn't completely bury.

I stopped walking, grabbing Lorenzo by the arm and pulling him close.

"Double the guards on the estate tonight. No one goes in, and no one comes out. Not even the maids," I ordered, the exhaustion bleeding into my voice. "If Vadim wants a war, he'll get one. But he is not touching her."

︽︾︽︽︾︾︽︽

After two exhausting, violent days away securing the southern ports, we arrived back at the main estate in Lake como.

My shoes echoed on the pristine marble floors as I pushed open the front doors, expecting the usual quiet of the villa.

Instead, the big entrance hall was complete flooded.

Towering stacks of sleek black boxes, designer garment bags, and velvet wrapped packages were piled everywhere, practically taking up half the foyer in a massive, chaotic mountain of luxury.

Ricco, walking in right behind me, stopped dead in his tracks.

He stared at the towering pile of deliveries, taking in the gold embossed logos of Prada, Gucci, Hermes and Tom Ford.

Then, he slowly turned his head to look at me, a knowing, highly mocking eyebrow raised.

"Is this really what you wanted, Matteo?", Ricco drawled, his dark eyes laughing at me.

My jaw clenched so hard my teeth ached.

I wanted to tell him to shut the fuck up.

The truth was that four days ago, right before I left, I had walked past the Villa where I held her sisters „captive" , I told myself I just wanted to make sure they didn't get any bad ideas, like planning to run away—but the truth was, I couldn't bear to be apart from Leyana and not feel her presence.

I overheard Leyana quietly tell her sister that she missed the smell of her favorite French perfume.

So, I had called my fixers and ordered the perfume.

And then I bought the entire damn store.

And the designer boutique next to it.

And the luxury jeweler across the street.

I wanted to drown her in it.

I wanted to bury her in things that proved she was mine, even if I couldn't touch her.

But I would rather swallow broken glass than admit that kind of pathetic weakness to my brothers.

I locked my facial muscles, keeping my expression deadpan.

I stepped past Ricco who had his shirt rolled up so his his tinted arms were shown , walking past the towering pile of luxury boxes as if it was normal.

"She needed clothes," I lied smoothly, my voice dripping with freezing indifference. "Anyone living under the Delvecchi roof represents the family. I won't have her walking around my estate looking like a stray."

Ricco scoffed loudly, crossing his thick arms over his chest. "Right. Half a million euros in limited edition bags and diamonds for a stray. You expect me to believe that?".

I stopped walking.

I didn't turn around, but the temperature in the foyer seemed to drop ten degrees.

The exhaustion of the last two days bled into a sudden, lethal warning.

When I spoke, my tone carried the unforgiving authority of the Don.

"She is a debt owed to this family," I reminded him softly, my voice echoing off the marble. "More importantly, she is my financial architect. If she is going to be handling Delvecchi money, rebuilding our offshore accounts, and standing in rooms with our most dangerous associates... she will look like the part."

I slowly turned my head, locking my dead grey eyes onto his.

"It's a business expense, Ricco," I stated, staring him down until his mocking smile faded. "An investment in our infrastructure. Nothing more."

I didn't wait for his response. I turned my back on him and walked away, heading straight for my office.

I left him standing in the foyer, staring at the undeniable mountain of my obsession, while my heart pounded a violent rhythm against my ribs that called me a fucking liar with every single beat.

︽︾︽︽︾︾︽︽

I didn't go straight to my desk.

I walked down the dimly lit corridor toward my private study, the exhaustion of the last two days settling deep into my bones.

The villa was quiet when I got out , but as I approached the doors of my other office, I noticed they were left open just a fraction.

A sliver of warm, amber light spilled out onto the marble floor.

And then, I heard the voices.

My brothers were already inside.

I stopped in the shadows, my hand hovering inches from the brass handle.

I held my breath, the silence of the hallway amplifying their conversation.

"Did you see the fucking foyer?," Ricco's voice drifted through the crack in the door, thick with bitter amusement. I could hear the clink of crystal as he poured himself a drink. "Sembra che un grande magazzino parigino si sia buttato nel nostro ingresso. Mezzo milione di euro in seta e diamanti, e mi ha guardato negli occhi e l'ha chiamata una spesa aziendale (It looks like a Parisian department store threw up in our entrance. Half a million euros in silk and diamonds, and he looked me dead in the eye and called it a business expense.)"

"Lascia stare, Ricco (Leave it alone, Ricco)," Lorenzo sighed. The squeak of leather told me Lorenzo was sitting in the armchair by the window, sounding just as exhausted as I felt.

"Lascialo stare? (Leave it alone?)," Sandro's voice cut in. It wasn't loud, but it was sharp. "Non sono solo le scatole, Lorenzo. È tutto. (It's not just the boxes, Lorenzo. It's everything.)"

I froze in the dark.

"You saw him with Masquez today," Sandro continued, his tone cold and calculating. "Due anni fa, se le guardie di un topo cartello disegnassero le armi sulla famiglia Delvecchi, Matteo avrebbe dipinto la lounge VIP con il loro cervello. Non avrebbe nemmeno battuto le palpebre. Oggi? Ci ha ordinato di stare in piedi. Ha detto che non aveva l'energia per un bagno di sangue. (Two years ago, if a cartel rat's guards drew weapons on the Delvecchi family, Matteo would have painted the VIP lounge with their brains. He wouldn't have even blinked. Today? He ordered us to stand down. He said he didn't have the energy for a bloodbath.)"

"Si concentra sull'infrastruttura svizzera (He's focused on the Swiss infrastructure)," Lorenzo argued, playing the loyal peacemaker, though his voice lacked conviction. "We need Masquez alive to push the routing hubs."

"Bullshit," Sandro snapped. I heard the rhythmic thud of Sandro pacing the Persian rug. "He's not focused. He's compromised. Completamente e totalmente compromesso. L'uomo che siamo usciti di prigione per trovare non è il fratello che ci ha messi lì. Il Don è crack (Completely compromised. The man we walked out of prison to find isn't the brother who put us there. The Don is cracking.)"

"He's handling it," Lorenzo insisted. "He's keeping the girl isolated to extract the rest of Vadim's codes."

Ricco let out a dark, mocking laugh. "By buying her a mountain of designer dresses and custom perfume? Come on, Lorenzo. You're the smartest guy in the room, don't play stupid. He's not interrogating her. He's keeping her like a fucking pet because he doesn't have the spine to put her down."

Pet.

My hands curled into fists at my sides.

My fingernails dug so violent into my palms that they almost drew blood.

"Se la Commissione scopre che sta riparando il topo che ha dato a Vadim le coordinate al nostro rifugio e che sta attivamente comprando i suoi gioielli invece di torturarla, chiederanno la sua testa (If the Commission finds out he's sheltering the rat who gave Vadim the coordinates to our safehouse and that he's buying her jewelry instead of torturing her—they will demand his head,)" Sandro said, his voice dropping into a chilling whisper. "And they'll demand ours right along with it."

"So what are you saying, Sandro?," Lorenzo asked, the tension in the room spiking. "You want to move against our own brother?".

The silence that followed was final, It stretched for three seconds.

"I'm saying," Sandro finally replied, his voice devoid of any emotion. "that Matteo is letting a woman blind him to the knife she's actively pressing against his throat. E se non gestisce presto la situazione di Leyana... Lo gestirò per lui. (And if he doesn't handle the Leyana situation soon... I will handle it for him.)"

I closed my eyes, leaning my head back against the cool plaster of the hallway wall.

They saw right through me.

Every single one of them.

The "Cold Don" routine, the dismissive cruelty, the lies about business expenses—it was all falling apart.

My brothers, my most lethal weapons, were looking at me and seeing exactly what I was.

A weak, obsessed man who was at the mercy of a woman he was supposed to kill.

I took a slow, silent breath, forcing the violent, possessive monster back behind the ice.

I reached out, grabbed the brass handle, and pushed the heavy oak doors open.

The conversation died.

Ricco froze with his glass halfway to his mouth. Sandro stopped pacing, his pale green eyes locking onto mine. Lorenzo sat up straight in his chair.

I walked into the room, my face a flawless, impenetrable mask of stone, ignoring the words I had just overheard.

"Lorenzo," I commanded, walking straight to my desk and pouring my own glass of bourbon. "Draft the contracts for the Masquez. Ricco, get the men ready for the southern ports. If Vadim moves, we strike. Tell angelo to come back from the western ports , silent ."

I took a sip of the burning liquor, turning around to face the three most dangerous men in Italy.

"And if any of you have something to say about how I run my house, or the assets inside it," I said, my eyes which turned dark , sweeping over Sandro. "I suggest you keep it to yourselves. Because the next man who questions my authority won't be walking out of this room."