MATTEO'S POV
A FEW HOURS AGO
I sat on the edge of the kitchen counter, a half-smoked cigarette burning between my fingers, untouched. The scent of coffee and concrete filled the air, the cheap kind of blend that always reminded me of stakeouts and long nights in Moscow. The Volkov bratva’s territory had a chill to it—even indoors, the cold crept under your skin like a warning.
I stared at the wall. Not seeing it, just... thinking. Or trying not to.
Sophia’s face kept haunting me. Her lips. Her eyes. That kiss.
That fucking kiss.
Aleksandr had sent that photo like it was a goddamn trophy. Him and Sophia. In the pool. His mouth on hers. Her arms wrapped around his neck. She wasn’t pulling away. She looked like she wanted it. Like she meant it.
I’d shattered a glass in my hand that night. Blood, crystal, rage.