The club doors locked with a resounding click.
Valeria's fingers put at her side, itching for the knife Matteo had insisted she always carry.
Across from them, Luca Moretti sipped his drink lazily, amusement dancing in his cold, calculating eyes. His men shifted, closing in, their movements slow but deliberate. A trap.
Matteo leaned back in his seat, not moved by fear, as if he had expected this. As if he had planned for it.
"Bold move, Moretti," he said, voice smooth. "Do you always greet your guests with locked doors and armed men? Or is this just your way of compensating for something?"
Luca smirked, setting his glass down with an audible clink. "I don't believe in unnecessary pleasantries, DeLuca. You, of all people, should understand that."
Matteo's expression remained unreadable, but Valeria didn't miss the slight twitch of his jaw.
This wasn't a meeting.
It was a test.
And Moretti was waiting to see if they would pass—or if they would fall.
Valeria straightened, meeting Luca's eyes with the same cool detachment Matteo had perfected. "If you wanted to play games, you should have chosen a different opponent," she said.
Luca chuckled, slow and deliberate, before his eyes moved to Matteo. "She's got a sharp tongue. Is that why you keep her around?"
Matteo's smile returned, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Among other things."
The tension in the room coiled tighter.
And then, Luca moved forward, his expression shifting from amusement to something far more dangerous. "Tell me, DeLuca, do you know why I invited you here tonight?"
Matteo breathes out, as if already bored. "Enlighten me."
Luca's smile deepened. "Because you have something I want."
The words were simple, but the weight behind them sent a chill down Valeria's spine.
Matteo didn't blink. "That's unfortunate. Because I don't share."
"Ah, but this isn't about sharing," Luca mused, his ryes sliding back to Valeria. "It's about taking."
She stiffened.
Matteo's hand shifted slightly on the table—not a blink, not a sign of weakness, but a movement Valeria recognized. A warning.
Luca leaned back, eyes shining "Relax, DeLuca. I'm not here to steal your little apprentice. Not yet, anyway."
Valeria's fingers twitched again. He was playing with them. Testing them.
Matteo's lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Then what do you want, Moretti?"
Luca finally dropped the pretense of amusement. "I want to know where you stand when the war begins."
Silence.
A slow, suffocating silence that pressed against Valeria's chest.
Matteo move his head slightly. "And what war would that be?"
Luca's smile was sharp enough to cut. "Come now, DeLuca. Don't insult my intelligence. You and I both know the families are shifting. Old alliances are crumbling. The council is weak."
Matteo said nothing, but Valeria could practically feel the gears turning in his mind.
Moretti's eyes moved between them, studying, calculating. "You're dangerous, Matteo. A wild card. And in a war, a wild card can tip the balance."
The club was silent, save for the distant hum of music filtering through the walls.
Then Matteo chuckled.
The sound was low, dark, utterly unbothered. "You really think I'd align myself with you?"
Luca smirked. "I think you'll do whatever benefits you the most."
Matteo exhaled sharply, as if the conversation had finally begun to bore him. "And if I say I'm not interested?"
Luca's smirk widened. "Then I suppose I'll have to find other ways to persuade you."
Valeria felt the shift before she saw it.
Moretti gave a barely perceptible nod—a signal.
The men around them moved.
Fast.
Too fast.
One moment, they were standing. The next, they were lunging.
Valeria didn't think—she reacted.
Her knife was in her hand in a flash, slicing through the air as she twisted, ducking the first attack. A man reached for her, and she drove her knee into his stomach before slamming her elbow into his face.
The crunch of bone filled the air.
Beside her, Matteo was a blur of movement. He grabbed the nearest attacker and slammed his head against the table, the sickening thud drowned out by the chaos erupting around them.
Another man lunged, and Matteo sidestepped effortlessly before shoving a knife into his side, twisting just enough to make it hurt.
The man crumpled.
Moretti didn't move.
He only watched.
Valeria's breath was sharp and uneven, adrenaline surging through her veins. They were outnumbered.
Matteo knew it too.
With a quick glance, he grabbed Valeria's wrist.
"Time to go, princess."
She didn't argue.
Matteo yanked her forward, cutting through the chaos with brutal efficiency. A man tried to block their way, but Matteo shot him in the leg without hesitation.
A scream echoed through the club.
Moretti remained seated, unfazed, watching as they fought their way toward the exit.
Just before they reached the door, his voice cut through the violence.
"Consider my invitation, DeLuca."
Matteo didn't stop. Didn't look back.
And then, they were gone.
The Getaway
They didn't stop running until they reached the car.
Matteo threw the door open and shoved Valeria inside before sliding into the driver's seat.
The engine roared to life, and within seconds, they were tearing through the streets, putting as much distance between them and the club as possible.
Valeria exhaled sharply, pressing a hand against her racing heart.
Matteo didn't speak.
Didn't even look at her.
His grip on the steering wheel was tight, his jaw clenched so hard it looked like it might crack.
She didn't have to ask what he was thinking.
She already knew.
Moretti had drawn a line.
And Matteo had a choice to make.
But deep down, Valeria already knew the truth.
War was coming.
And Matteo DeLuca?
He had never been the kind of man to sit on the sidelines.