Marked By The Mafia – Episode 35&36

              ✮{…HELLO, BROTHER…}✮

NIGHT AT THE CLIFF*

The night air was sharp at the cliffside, the wind carrying the smell of the sea below. Bianca stood there already, her hair whipping against her face, a faint smile tugging at her lips when she spotted Matteo approaching.

“You’re late” she teased lightly.

But his expression was carved in stone. No warmth, no even playfulness, just cold fire.

“I found out where the killer of my mother is” Matteo said straight up, as though each word weighed a thousand pounds.

Bianca’s smile faltered. She knew the story,how his mother had been gunned down in cold blood, how Matteo had spent years hunting shadows for a name, a face. She also knew the rage he carried like a second skin. He told her years back at the club.

Matteo’s jaw tightened as his gaze drifted over the endless dark horizon. “I’ve been waiting for this day for years. Paris is where it ends”

Paris, of course it would be there. 

“You’ve been hunting him for years,” she said carefully. “What makes now different?”

Matteo’s jaw clenched, his fists flexing at his sides. 

“Because he’s finally left a crack in his armor. The bastard is looking for a wife for his son. That’s how we’ll get close enough. That’s how I’ll bury him”

Her brows drew together, a bitter laugh catching in her throat. “So… you’re implying?”

Silence.

Matteo stepped closer, his eyes sharp enough to slice through her soul.

“You know what I mean, Bianca” he said slowly, each word deliberate, dragging with heavy implication.

Her lips parted, but no words came out. She could feel her pulse in her throat, her chest rising and falling unevenly. She wasn’t a fool, she understood what he was saying without him spelling it out. He wanted her to be the pawn, the bait, the woman who would slip into the lion’s den dressed as a bride.

“I will do it, anything for you, Matty” she said all smiles.

Matteo’s face didn’t soften. If anything, his eyes hardened further. 

“Not like you have a choice”

He slipped a hand into his pocket, pulling out his phone as though ready to make a call, already moving past her answer.

She stepped closer, desperate to pull his gaze back to her. 

“Is that really why you wanted to see me?” she asked, her voice cracking between hurt and hope. “I actually thought… you wanted us to continue what was brewing between us”

Matteo froze for half a heartbeat, then turned his head toward her, his smirk as cruel as it was dismissive.

“Nothing was brewing between us,” he said flatly, his tone dripping with disdain. “Stop being delusional”

Bianca’s smile faltered once again, her chest aching like he’d ripped it open with bare hands. But she forced herself to recover, tilting her head with a sly edge to mask the sting.

“I heard you’re married,” she said, testing the waters with venom disguised as curiosity. “Who’s the lucky girl?”

He didn’t answer, simply smirked one corner of his mouth lifting in a way that made it impossible to tell if it was mockery or warning and then turned on his heel, walking away without another word.

The waves roared beneath the cliff, but to Bianca, it was the silence he left behind that thundered loudest.

For a long beat she stayed rooted to the cliff’s edge, the ocean thundering below like a pulse in her ears.

She closed her eyes, swallowed the salt and the sting of his words, then let a slow, bitter smile spread across her face.

“Well…” she murmured to the emptiness. “This will get me closer to him. I feel sorry for his wife because Matty and I have unfinished business”

She ran a hand over the infinity ink above her heart as if that tiny symbol could anchor her to the promise she’d just made.

She would play the part. She would step into the lion’s den. If this was war, she would learn the weapons and she would not leave until Matteo remembered what, and who, he had thrown away.

•••

MATTEO’S MANSION*

Matteo’s car rolled into the driveway of the mansion, the headlights slicing through the dark before dimming to nothing. He stepped out, his coat still heavy with the night air, his expression unreadable as always. Without pause, he pushed open the front doors and strode inside.

The scent of food hit him first, and his eyes swept to the dining room.

Aurora sat at the long table, head bowed slightly as she ate. Plates upon plates covered the surface… soups, bread, fruits, even meat that looked untouched on one side while another dish was half-finished. It was the table of someone whose appetite warred with her body, not of choice but necessity.

Matteo froze for a beat in the doorway, his gaze hardening.

“She’s truly pregnant” he muttered under his breath, almost as though the admission was for him alone.

Aurora’s fork clinked softly against the plate, but she didn’t look at him, didn’t speak. It was as though he wasn’t even there.

And Matteo… he didn’t push or said nothing either. He simply watched for a moment longer, then turned and climbed the stairs without another word.

Upstairs, the sharp lines of his suit vanished piece by piece until he stood bare-chested in front of the mirror. His reflection was carved in tension, muscles tight, veins raised. He dragged on a black singlet and sweatpants, the casual fabric clinging to his frame in ways that only sharpened his edge. 

When he came back downstairs, Aurora had just risen from the table. She was balancing a half-empty plate in one hand, clearly making her way toward the kitchen. Her steps were steady, but the robe sleeve slipped slightly, the fatigue in her face betraying her.

And then her foot slipped.

It happened fast, the plate wobbling as her balance gave way. But to Matteo, the moment stretched thin, like the world itself slowed just for him. In a blur, he was there, his arm sliding around her waist before she could crash to the floor.

Aurora gasped, eyes wide, the plate clattering harmlessly on the table’s edge. Her body pressed against his chest, caught in the solid heat of him, and for one breathless second, the house fell silent except for the echo of their mingled breathing.

His grip was firm, protective… too protective.

She blinked up at him, stunned, while Matteo’s jaw flexed, his eyes unreadable as they locked on hers.

Aurora’s pulse thudded against her throat, her eyes instinctively scanning the lines of him up close. the way his muscles flexed beneath the black singlet, the veins etched along his arms, the solid strength of his chest as he held her like she weighed nothing at all.

For a dangerous second, she forgot herself. She was staring.

Matteo noticed.

He snapped her out of it by releasing her but not gently, not slowly, but quicker than the way he’d caught her, almost as though he regretted holding her at all. She stumbled slightly as her feet hit the ground, steadying herself with the table’s edge.

Aurora’s lips parted, words threatening to slip out, but he gave her nothing. No look, no sound either. He simply turned, his expression shuttered, and dropped on the couch across the room.

Phone in hand, head bowed slightly, he looked every bit the picture of indifference. His fingers scrolled, his jaw set tight, his eyes never straying from the glowing screen.

But he wasn’t reading a thing.

Behind the façade, Matteo’s gaze flicked up, following the way Aurora moved toward the kitchen. Every step she took, every slight waver of her balance, he tracked it like a shadow. His muscles coiled unconsciously, ready to spring again if she faltered.

And then realization hit him like a curse.

He was watching her, guarding her, protecting her from something as simple as slipping.

His jaw tightened.

No.

He wasn’t supposed to care.

He wasn’t some lovesick fool, wasn’t a man who wasted time babysitting. He was Matteo Moretti,the ruthless son of Don Salvatore Moretti, the man who built empires out of blood and fire. Caring was weakness, and weakness got you killed.

He forced his eyes back to the phone, his fingers tightening around it like a vice.

This couldn’t happen.

She couldn’t happen.

Matteo shifted on the couch, his jaw locked tight, but his body betrayed him. Heat surged low, hard, undeniable, pressing against the fabric of his sweatpants. With a low curse, he stood abruptly, phone tossed aside, and walked toward the kitchen.

Aurora was at the sink, rinsing a plate, unaware until she felt him behind her.

In one swift move, his hands wrapped around her waist, dragging her back against him.

She gasped, her chest tightening, her body responding in ways she hated herself for. His heat pressed against her spine, his breath brushing her ear. For one fleeting moment, she almost melted.

But then reality cut deep, the memory of his cold words, of him telling her to abort their baby.

Her hands shoved against his hold, breaking free from his grip. She spun around, fire blazing in her eyes.

“What’s wrong with you? I want in!” he snapped, his tone low, dark, demanding.

“And I don’t want you in me,” she shot back, venom lacing every syllable. “F+k yourself”

Matteo’s gaze darkened. For half a second, silence crackled between them, heavy and dangerous. Then his lips curved into a cold, humorless smirk.

Not a word more.

He turned on his heel, climbed the stairs, and moments later reappeared but this time shrugging into a black leather jacket, the silver zipper glinting under the chandelier.

Keys in hand, he didn’t look at her again. He pushed through the front doors, the slam echoing through the mansion like a final strike.

Aurora stood frozen, her chest heaving, her fingers trembling on the edge of the sink. Fury burned inside her, but so did the ache… the one she could never seem to kill, no matter how hard she tried.

Matteo got to his car outside and he drove out, he has somewhere in mind. A club downtown.

The bass of the music hit him before he even stepped inside. Neon lights painted the walls in shades of red and blue, bodies grinding on the dancefloor like there was no tomorrow. Matteo slipped through the entrance, dark eyes scanning the room like he owned it. He wasn’t here for business, no crew trailing behind him, no deals to be struck, just him, his demons, and the need to drown out the face of one woman.

Aurora.

He didn’t want to remember how soft her waist had felt under his palm. He needed a distraction, fast.

Matteo slid past the sea of swaying bodies and headed for the back of the club, where the lights dimmed and the noise throbbed like a pulse in the walls. A private corner, dark enough to disappear, high enough to see everything.

He dropped into the leather booth, stretching out with that effortless dominance that made people instinctively give him space. His jaw was tight, eyes hooded, a glass of whiskey set in front of him by a trembling waiter who didn’t even dare to ask if he wanted ice.

It wasn’t long before a group of women noticed him. The kind who were drawn to danger like moths to flame. Glossy lips, too-short skirts, perfume clouding the air as they sauntered over with giggles and shameless intentions.

One leaned across the table, her manicured fingers brushing against his wrist. “Hey, handsome, want some company?” she purred.

Matteo’s gaze snapped up, cold and sharp, his lips curling into something that wasn’t quite a smile.

“Leave. Now”

The way he said it wasn’t loud, It wasn’t even a shout. But it was deadly, the kind of tone that sent a chill straight to the bone.

The girls froze. For a heartbeat, one of them dared to hold his gaze, searching for playfulness that wasn’t there. But all she found was a man carved from steel, eyes black enough to swallow light.

They scattered like birds shot at with a gun.

Matteo leaned back, sipping his whiskey, his expression unreadable. To anyone watching, he was just a man sitting in silence, but beneath the mask his mind was anything but quiet. No matter the noise, no matter the lights, one face lingered… Aurora’s.

Until…

“Look who we have here”

A voice rang out. A slow clap followed, cutting through the music.

Matteo’s gaze lifted, his jaw tightening when he saw her.

Valentina.

“Matteo Moretti himself” she said mockingly, her lips curling as she clapped again.

“What do you want?”

“Spear me that shit,” she spat, leaning forward against the table. “The least you could do is acknowledge me as your real bride. We are supposed to be the married ones, you know?”

The corner of Matteo’s mouth lifted, not in amusement but in cruelty. He swirled the untouched drink slowly.

“Nah,” he said coldly. “Never saw you as my wife for once.”

Her brow furrowed, confusion flashing before fury. But he wasn’t finished. He leaned forward slightly, his words a dagger whispered against the pounding music.

“The wedding? That shooting? All my doing. Shame Ace didn’t kill you properly”

For a moment, Valentina went utterly still, her breath catching in her throat. Shock splintered across her face, draining her of color but only for a beat. Then her lips parted, and she let out a laugh. Not one of amusement, but with disbelief.

“I should have known, you’re full of surprises Matteo Moretti” she whispered, shaking her head with an incredulous grin.

Matteo leaned back again, smirk never leaving his face.

“I know” he said simply, his tone deadly calm. 

Then…

A sharp bang ripped through the club.

Chaos erupted instantly. Screams pierced the thumping bass, chairs clattering to the floor, bodies scrambling for the exits. Glass shattered somewhere in the distance.

But Matteo? He didn’t flinch. Valentina? Neither did she. They simply stood there, two predators amid the panic, their eyes locked, unshaken by the madness around them.

Matteo rose slowly from his seat. He walked past the scattering crowd, past the screaming and the falling bottles, as if the chaos didn’t exist. The night swallowed the noise behind him.

Outside, the cool night air hit Matteo sharply, a welcome contrast to the chaos inside the club.

He sensed it before he saw it… a presence behind him, moving too silently.

Without hesitation, he spun, his leg snapping out in a precise arc. The gun he hadn’t even realized was aimed at him flew from the stranger’s hand, clattering to the ground.

A familiar voice broke the silence.

“Hello, brother” Axel said, stepping into the dim light, a grin playing on his lips.

Matteo’s eyes narrowed as recognition hit.

“Just wanted to test your skill,” Axel continued, his grin widening. “Still got it in you, I see”

“Axel” Matteo called and Axel flashed a grin.

“Glad you still remember me, brother” he pats Matteo’s back.

In the next thirty minutes, Matteo was back at the mansion. 

Aurora lay sprawled on the couch, her breathing deep and even, lost in sleep. Matteo approached slowly, the cold fire in his eyes softening for just a fraction as he crouched beside her.

His fingers lifted gently, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. He traced the line of her jaw with careful reverence, letting his thumb ghost over her cheek.

She stirred slightly but didn’t wake. 

For a moment, he just watched her for as long as he remembered…

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TBC😈

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