The Hitman's Secret

Ch. 10: Reckless

MATTEO

"Matteo! P-please– It's... me," a voice rasped, echoing through the convoluted haze between dream and reality.

He'd learned to sleep lightly from a young age. Even before Leonardo inducted him into the Romano famiglia, Matteo never allowed himself to fully submit to the oblivion of deep sleep. His mother taught him about the dangers of their world, and, without a father figure in his life, Matteo shouldered the burden himself.

Now, years later, he still slept with one eye open. Ready for moments like this.

Adrenaline pumped hot through his veins, and he seethed, shadows edging his vision.

Someone had finally come for him. An assassin sent to dispose of the Hollowman's most beloved weapon. A jealous soldier eager to climb through the famiglia's ranks. It didn't matter. Matteo would kill the man either way.

His grip tightened around the intruder's pretty little neck, and he prepared to snuff the life from–

Wait.

He stopped. Blinked once.

The blood roaring in his ears dimmed, and the darkness clouding his sight cleared. Slowly, Matteo returned to his body.

He'd pinned the intruder to the mattress with a single hand wrapped around their slender neck. He hovered over their lithe form, his hips weighing down their flailing legs. The intruder's chest was soft against his own. Their scent was sweet, like vanilla, and their pleading hazel eyes, although bulging from a lack of oxygen, searched his own.

Hazel eyes. Fucking beautiful. Beautiful and familiar and...

"Fuck!" Matteo hissed, releasing Val's neck like her bare skin had burned him. He immediately scrambled away, nearly falling off of the bed in the process.

She gasped, sputtering on the breath that she desperately pulled back into her lungs. She pushed up onto an elbow and coughed, messy brown hair curtaining her near-purple cheeks.

"Val?" he rasped, horror sinking its talons deep into his chest. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he slowly shifted closer. "Principessa?"

Another cough and deep inhale. "I-I'm alright," she whispered, one hand rising to touch her neck.

Matteo's stomach twisted at the thought of his hand's imprint on her delicate skin, and, for a moment, he thought he might get sick.

He could've killed her. It would've been easy. Like snapping the neck of a kitten.

He immediately pushed off of the bed, ready to make a dash for the bathroom if the nausea threatened to rise. He needed space. Didn't entirely trust himself after what had happened.

He didn't share a bed with the women he fucked, and this was why. He didn't even sleep in the same room as them because his mind liked to play tricks in the dark. And Val...

"What are you doing here?" he demanded, raking a hand through his hair. He paced the length of the bed, the adrenaline still retreating from his blood. No matter that he only wore a pair of boxers.

She still rubbed at her neck, nursing the undoubtedly tender flesh, but had regained her breath. She turned to watch him, the sleeve of her silk robe falling down her shoulder in the process. "I- I wanted to talk."

She wanted to talk? In the middle of the goddamn night?

Memories of Matteo's hellish day came flooding back to him, and he suddenly remembered why he'd gone to bed without seeking Valentina. Finding her at the training center against his express orders. The sight of her mere seconds after being wrapped against Bastian's front. Ezra McLeod's surprise visit and the threats he'd leveled at Lara and the unborn Romano baby. The tension-filled meeting with Leonardo afterward...