Matteo's POV
I stepped out of the car and walked toward the bar, the street lights brightening the busy night street. People came and went, their laughter filling the air.
I adjusted my sunglasses, letting my gaze sweep over the entrance. That's when I saw him—Greg. He hadn't changed much, except for the streaks of grey threading through his otherwise black hair.
I made my way to his table and sat across from him.
"Sorry I'm late," I said, taking off my sunglasses and placing them on the table.
"Matteo," he said slowly, staring at me like I was a ghost. "You've grown…"
"It's been years, Greg," I replied.
"That's true. You're a man now," he said, pouring whiskey into two glasses and sliding one toward me.
"How's Livia?" he asked.
"She's doing great. Thanks to what you did for us back then."
"I only did what I had to. But did you really have to come back?"
"Yes," I said. "I've always planned to reclaim what's mine."
Greg's eyes darkened. "You don't know the half of it. Rosella's more dangerous than ever. And I'm her right-hand man now. Helping you—it puts my life at risk."
My eyes narrowed as he mentioned her name, Rosella–my step mother.
"I've accounted for everything. But that's not why I'm here. I hadn't planned on seeing you today, but something came up, and you're the only one who can help."
He took a slow sip from his glass. "What do you need?"
I reached into my jacket, pulled out a folded photo, and slid it across the table.
He picked it up—and froze. His eyes widened as he stared at the picture.
"Matteo… what the hell do you have to do with her?" he asked, voice low.
My brow arched. "You know her?"
"I can't help you with this," he said, pushing the photo back like it was something cursed. "Whatever's going on between you two—end it. This isn't advice. It's a warning."
I almost laughed. Stay away from Alessia? As if she were some kind of succubus sent to devour me whole.
But this was Alessia. And I was already in too deep.
I would've waved it off, assumed Greg was just looking for an excuse not to help me.
But there was something about the way he reacted—something that scratched at my own growing doubts about Alessia's story. It wasn't just hesitation. It was alarm. Real, flashing-warning-light kind of alarm.
I leaned back in my chair, eyes fixed on Greg. His usual composed demeanor had cracked—he looked unsettled.
If just seeing her photo could rattle him this much, then I wasn't just curious anymore. I needed answers.
"You keep telling me to run, to stay away from things. I'm not a coward, Greg," I said, letting my voice sharpen just enough to sting. "Stop being one, and do this for me."
I was baiting him—and it worked.
"This isn't about being a coward," he snapped. "It's about keeping you alive."
"Yeah, right," I scoffed, not letting it show how much that actually unnerved me.
Then he asked, "How do you know her?"
"She's a friend," I said, casually.
Greg let out a humorless laugh. "You're friends with a Rossi? That's... interesting."
I frowned. "What are you talking about?"
Greg leaned in slightly, eyes steady. "You really don't know, do you?"
"What are you even saying?" I asked, my frustration rising. I needed a straight answer, not riddles.
Greg's jaw tightened. "I'm glad to inform you—you've been dining with the devil," he said coldly. Then, after a beat, he added, "She-devil, since she's a woman."
I stared at him, my brows pulling together in disbelief. "What the hell are you talking about?"
He exhaled slowly, like the truth weighed heavily on his tongue. "That woman… she's the only daughter of Vincenzo Rossi."
"And?" I challenged, still not understanding the gravity.
Greg leaned forward, his voice almost like a whisper. "Vincenzo Rossi."
He said it like a curse. Like speaking the name too loud might summon something dark.
My pulse quickened.
"He's a mafia lord," Greg continued. "The most ruthless, most feared figure in the entire underground world. Even those who run the shadows run from him."
I blinked. "What?"
But, her surname wasn't Rossi... Alas! Anyone could fake a name.
My mind stalled, trying to process it. Alessia? That Alessia?
She was warm. Fierce. Mysterious, yes—but never once did I imagine her as… that.
A mafia princess.
I'd heard stories. The kind whispered over drinks, about blood-stained empires and untouchable families. But they always felt like fiction.
I never thought someone like that would be this close. In my world.
And now, I'd gone and tangled myself with her. Even fallen for her.
Silence.
The kind that fills churches before a procession, that sacred one.
Only this silence wasn't holy.
My mind spun. Could Greg be lying?
No. He couldn't have made this up. Not with the way his voice trembled, not with how his whole body seemed to tighten under the weight of her name.
"But why does she want to run away?" I asked, my voice quieter than I expected. Out of the thousand questions I could have chosen, that was the one that escaped.
Greg shrugged. "I wouldn't know."
I reached into my pocket, pulled out my phone, and scrolled until I found the photo. I turned the screen toward him.
"What about him?" I asked.
Greg squinted, then let out a dry sound. "A Bianchi," he said. "Rival mafia family. But I don't know much about him. Irrelevant, I guess."
I stared at the photo a second longer, but Greg's words echoed louder.
Irrelevant?
That man—Derek—was the one Alessia was supposed to marry.
And if she was really a Rossi…
This wasn't just a runaway romance.
"What exactly do you have with these people?" Greg asked, his eyes still with fear.
I didn't answer.
How the hell was I supposed to explain any of this in a way that made sense? That I'd stumbled into something I didn't fully understand? That Alessia wasn't just someone—I was involved now, whether I liked it or not.
So I said nothing.
Greg took my silence as confirmation.
"If this is why you came to me," he said, rising from his seat, "then I'm sorry. I can't help you. And for your own sake, you need to drop this. Walk away before it swallows you whole."
"Are you sure about what you're saying?" I asked, still holding out some shred of hope.
He adjusted his hat.
"I know these things, Matteo. Trust me."
"It was nice seeing you again, Matteo," Greg said as he turned to leave. "Stay away from trouble. That's what your father would've wanted."
I watched his back as he walked away, vanishing slowly into the crowd, then through the door.
My gaze dropped to the drink I hadn't touched. My throat was parched, but the thought of taking a sip made me sick.
A mafia heiress. In my house.
Alessia?
It sounded ridiculous. Unreal. But Greg wasn't the kind of man to spin tales—especially not with that kind of fear in his eyes.
So this is what she was hiding. And damn, she hid it well.
But I still had questions. Too many.
I stood up, sliding my hands into my pockets.
I needed answers.
And Alessia was the only one who could give them to me.