RUTHLESS TIES

Coming back to New York was like being caught in a trap. The ride itself was suffocating enough; worse still, the taxi ride stood outside the grand cathedral as I wrestled the urge inside me screaming to turn around. But this was for Silas-my brother, my best friend. I reached out, and Callum took tiny fingers wrapped tight in mine. He stared back up at me-large brown eyes, Matteo's eyes, curious, not afraid. He had no idea about today or why I'd brought him here. Another adventure.  "You ready, sweetheart?" I whispered. My voice shook, my words betraying me in their hesitation.  Callum nodded, his ringlets bouncing. "Are we going to see Uncle Silas now? I forced a smile as I knelt to adjust his little bow tie. "Yes, baby, after the ceremony." It was enough to make my stomach turn at the very thought. Before me now, the spires of stone cut into the bright blue of the sky, looming over the cathedral. It ought to have been a place of solace, of rejoicing. It was cold, uninviting. Every step I took toward those heavy oak doors felt heavier than the one that came before, each dragging me closer to the life I'd spent years running from. Incense and whispers thickened the air inside. Faces I knew far too well lined the pews, yet none dared glance my way. They knew who I was-the Genovese daughter who had vanished into thin air. Now I was back with a child at my side and secrets binding me like weighted chains. I trailed behind, grasping Callum's hand as I searched out an unoccupied pew-what felt like miles, miles away from my father's hulking form up front. He was one of those men who could dominate a space even from across the room. Alessio Genovese, head of the mob, patriarch and lord over every facet of my upbringing. His sharp features were carved into a stony mask, but I caught the barest flicker of surprise when his eyes finally landed on me. "Momma, who's that?" Callum whispered, pointing toward the altar where Silas stood beside Matteo. I gasped the moment he came into view, and there, right in front of my eyes, stood Matteo: tall and broad, handsome enough to make my heart sing. His black hair was slicked back, making the sharpness of his jawline razor-sharp enough to cut glass. And in a flash, as I took him in, this onslaught of memories cascaded in that I was not prepared for: memories of that one night we'd spent together, memories of me running. "That's Uncle Silas," I whispered, doing absolutely my best to ignore the tension spiraling in my chest. "And. a friend."  Callum's brow furrowed as he stared up at Matteo. "He looks grumpy." I had to have a quiet, reassuring chuckle, patting a hand through Callum's curls. "He's just serious, baby. That's how grown-ups are sometimes." As the bride-to-be, to the heralding of certain lugubrious chords from the organ, walked slowly down the aisle, the ceremony began. A tall and stately Russian girl paced deliberately to Silas. Beautiful, yes, but something chilling, premeditated in the strut of her gait. Silas smiled at her, a rare softness on his face, and my chest ached with it. He was happy. For all this-despite the arranged nature of this marriage-he'd found something real. I wanted to be happy for him, but the pit in my stomach said something wasn't quite right. Then the vows started, and I knew Callum was getting restless beside me. Reaching into my bag, I handed him a small toy and was grateful for the distraction. As the priest continued his drone, my attention wandered once more this time, my gaze locking onto Matteo. He wasn't looking at the ceremony. His eyes were darker than anything I'd ever seen, piercing as his gaze cut around the room. It was a predator's gaze, just waiting for that perfect moment to strike. A shiver went down my spine.  And then it happened.  The bride pulled a gun from under her bouquet-the metallic glint catching the light just before she raised it. "No!" I screamed, rising instinctively and hauling Callum behind me. The shot boomed in the cathedral against a background of mayhem. Silas slumped to the floor, blood spraying across his pristine white suit, as the bride whirled and fired again toward my father. The second shot sounded and Alessio Genovese fell to the ground. I froze. My breath caught in my throat as screams erupted around me. Callum clung to my leg, his small body shaking. He whimpered, "Momma?" in a voice that didn't carry over the noise. "It's all right, baby," I lied, hunkering down over him. "I've got you. Stay with me. I watched in horror as Matteo waded through a fog of panic-too fast, too quick-whipping out his own gun and firing back into the attackers. The bride fell, her lifeless body hitting the marble floor with a sickening thud. But more men poured in, their guns trained on the remaining guests. I didn't think, didn't hesitate. I grabbed Callum and took off for the side door, my heart pounding inside my chest. My legs were heavy, as if there were lead weights inside of them, but it was fear that propelled me forward. "Lilianna!" Matteo's voice, commanding, urgent, cut through the chaos. I turned, my eyes locking onto his as he fought his way through the attackers. He was covered in blood, his movements precise and lethal. He gestured for me to stay low, his expression fierce. “I’ve got you!” he shouted, firing at another man who tried to block his path. I cowered behind the pew, holding Callum tight as Matteo closed the gap between us. He grasped my arm-his grip firm but soft-and tugged us in the direction of the door.  "Stay close," he said; no room for discussion. We spill into the hall, Matteo at the forefront of our small group, each step honed for efficiency, allowing little doubt that he was born for this-a product of the same violence and chaos that shaped our world. Cool air smacked me right in the face. Matteo didn't stop but propelled us forward toward a waiting car, shoved us inside, and slammed the door shut behind us. Callum clung to me, his small body shaking. Drive," Matteo growled at the driver, his voice icy and commanding. The car surged forward, away from the scene of chaos and carnage inside the cathedral. I was shaking, clutching Callum tightly in my arms, my head reeling at what had just happened. My brother was dead. My father was dead. And I was back in this world where I'd given my lifeblood to get free of.  Are you all right?" Matteo asked then, soft, his dark eyes scanning for injuries. "I-I don't know," I said then, my voice no more than a whisper. He nodded, seeming to understand precisely what was going through my mind. "You're safe now." Safe. The word sounded hollow to me, an empty shell of a meaning. How could that possibly be after what I'd just seen? "Who were they?" I asked then, shaking. "Russians," Matteo growled, his jaw firm. "They've been making their moves for months. This was their statement." A statement. That was all this was to them—a flexing of muscles, a way to send a message. The lives of my family meant nothing to these people.  "What do they want?"  "They want control," Matteo said simply. "And they'll kill everyone that gets in the way.  Anger simmering just below the surface, I glared at him. "They killed my brother-my father. They took everything from me." "I know," Matteo said softly. "And they'll pay for it." There was a promise in his tone, a deadly surety that ran a shiver down my spine. I didn't know if I could trust him didn't know if I had any choice but to try. Callum stirred in my arms and his soft voice cut through the tension. "Momma, I'm scared." I pulled him closer, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "I know, baby. I know. But I'm here, okay? I won't let anything happen to you." Matteo's eyes gentled as he looked at Callum, something unreadable flickering in his face. For a second, I thought he saw it-that he was looking at and recognizing just how much Callum resembled him. But he turned back to the window without a word. The car had flown across town down dark New York streets. It hit me hard, the feeling of it all. My brother was gone. My father was gone. And I stood in the wreckage of their lives trying to protect the only thing in my life that truly mattered-my son.  But I wasn't alone. Not anymore. For better or worse, Matteo was here. And together, we were going to make them pay.