Page 14 of Fire and Silk
Rehab.
Now—three jobs, late rent, tip jars, wine stains, and wasted potential.
I skim until the end, tapping my finger against the screen before handing it back.
“Rough life,” I say, chuckling. “Jesus.”
Matteo doesn’t respond immediately, just watches her the way one might watch a ticking clock.
“Watch,” I say, eyes narrowing slightly as I step back from the bed. “Watch as she becomes mine.”
Matteo takes the device and bows.
I turn from the room without a second look—until I pause in the threshold. Just a flick of my gaze back to her sleeping form. Still unmoving. Still unaware.
Then the subject changes like a flipped coin in my mouth.
“What meetings do I have today?” I ask casually, walking ahead.
Matteo falls into step behind me. “There’s a sit-down with Don Galluzzi at ten.”
I let out a low laugh. “Galluzzi. Isn’t he the one who swore at my father’s funeral?”
“He called him a parasite in a linen suit.”
“Which is generous,” I murmur. “And what does he want now?”
“Territory clarification. He thinks you’ve stepped into Sydney with too much force.”
“Well,” I hum, stepping into the main corridor that leads toward the eastern receiving hall, “he’ll be pleased to learn I amnothinglike my father.”
Marble floors gleam beneath our feet. A row of glass panels to the left looks down over the garden where two guards sweep silently past like shadows on a schedule. The chandeliers above buzz faintly with filtered light, and everything smells like control.
Matteo continues with the briefing, voice clipped: Galluzzi wants numbers. The Spanish want neutrality. The embassy’s mole confirmed three shipments cleared—
Bang.
The main doors burst open.
The sound echoes loudly and final—before a single figure storms into the living hall like a gust of winter wind.
Maksim, my half-brother.
Dressed in black from coat to boots, smooth lines and polished buttons, every inch of him tense. His jaw is locked. His eyes cut toward me the second he enters.
I spread my arms, a lazy smile curling at my mouth.
“Brother,” I say warmly, “how lovely to meet you this fine morning.”
Maksim doesn’t return the smile. His glare is molten.
“My shipments,” he growls. “You stalled them.”
I gasp, pressing a hand to my chest like he’s just insulted my honor at a dinner party. “I would never do that, brother. Is that how you see me?”
He steps forward, shoulders squared. His eyes flick down to my half-buttoned shirt, still wrinkled from earlier. I know how that looks. I know exactly how much it bothers him.
Matteo is immediately between us, not tense, but immovable.
