Page 33 of Bound to the Enforcer

Matteo zips up his jacket, the sound sharp in the otherwise quiet room. The three of us stand near the front door of the safe house, our makeshift war room reduced to nothingness. Alessio hasn't stopped pacing, his movements deliberate as he checks his weapons, every click and snap making the knot in my stomach twist tighter.

Matteo smirks faintly as he slings his bag over his shoulder. "Look, I am sure I don't need to tell you guys this, but no dying on me, okay?"

"No funerals, no mourning," Alessio replies, the words crisp, his eyes finally lifting to Matteo's.

The phrase hangs in the air like an unspoken agreement—one only men like them could live by. I look between them, both calm on the surface but steeled for something worse beneath. This life leaves no room for goodbyes, no space for grief, and yet it still feels like Matteo is walking into the unknown.

"Don't get yourself killed," Alessio remarks.

Matteo grins like he hasn't just been handed the weight of the world. "Don't worry. I've got a habit of staying alive. I'm a cockroach like that." He flicks his eyes to me. "Keep him in line, will you?"

I force a small smile, though it feels hollow. "Try not to get into trouble, Matteo."

"Trouble's what I do best." He gives a lazy two-finger salute, then steps out the door without another word, leaving a heavy stillness in his wake.

The quiet stretches after Matteo's departure, filled with things neither of us wants to say. Alessio stands near the door, his hands resting on his belt. He doesn't look at me, but I can feel his attention on me anyway, like a tether that hasn't been broken since we left the cabin.

"You'll be careful?" I ask softly.

He exhales, finally meeting my stare. "You don't have to worry about me."

"You always say that," I murmur, stepping closer. "And it never stops me from worrying."

He's quiet for a beat, watching me with something unreadable in his expression. "It's not my safety that matters here, Sophia. It's yours."

"Stop," I say, sharper than I mean to. "I am a big girl, Alessio. I can take care of myself. You don't have to be looking over your shoulder every second to check if I'm still breathing. I have my gun, and I know the rules. Stay close to you at all times."

"This isn't about you being a burden or a distraction for me, you know?" he says, his tone low. "It's about what happens to me if something happens to you."

The words stop me cold. He looks away, his mask slipping just enough for me to see the truth behind it—his fear, his frustration, and something deeper he refuses to say.

I swallow, the ache in my chest impossible to ignore. "And what happens to me if I lose you?"

He doesn't answer. Instead, he steps forward and lifts a hand to brush a strand of hair from my face. The touch is brief but electric, and I hate how much it makes me want to lean closer.

"Just… stay sharp tonight." He speaks like he hasn't said this a thousand times to me before. "Don't do anything reckless."

The moment passes too quickly, and he pulls away, retreating into himself again. I nod, biting back the words I want to say—Stay safe, I need you.Instead, I watch as he picks up his bag, his expression unreadable once more.

"Let's move," the switch in his stance to business clear.

The city disappears behind us, swallowed by the blackness of the industrial district. I sit still in the passenger seat, my fingers curled tightly around the cold steel of the gun resting in my lap. Alessio drives, his focus locked on the empty road ahead. The hum of the car's engine is loud in a way that feels wrong.

"We're close," Alessio mutters, breaking the quiet.

I look ahead, and there it is—the warehouse. Its hulking shape rises against the night sky, silent and still. A single light flickers above the main entrance, weak and yellow, like it's about to burn out. Everything about this place feels wrong, even though nothing looks out of place.

"Do you see anyone?" I ask, squinting into the darkness.

Alessio slows the car to a stop a short distance away, killing the headlights. He peers through the windshield, his sharp eyes scanning the perimeter. "No guards at the gate," he says, his tone carefully neutral.

"Maybe they're inside," I suggest, though the words sound more like a question.

"Maybe," he mutters. His expression doesn't change, but I see the way his fingers tighten slightly on the steering wheel.

He cuts the engine. The absence of sound makes everything worse—the shadows seem darker, the stillness heavier. I grip the handle of my gun, steadying my nerves as Alessio turns to look at me.

"Stay close," he says firmly.

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