CHAPTER 92

A few days had passed, though time felt like a cruel joke now—stretching and shrinking in ways I couldn’t control. Matteo’s death wasn’t just a secret I carried anymore; it was everywhere, splashed across every screen, whispered in every corner. Matteo De Luca was dead. Those words repeated themselves like a mantra I couldn’t escape.

The headlines twisted the truth, painting a picture far from reality. They said it was an illness, a sudden, tragic sickness that claimed him. But I knew better. His people wanted to bury the real story, to hide the poison, the violence, the betrayal. What really happened—the night Aleksandr fell, the plug pulled, the hours Matteo spent clinging to life by the thinnest thread—that wasn’t for the world to know. And maybe it was better that way.