SIN
The air in the room didn't just turn cold; it turned lethal. The smell of expensive wood and gunpowder seemed to thicken, coating the back of my throat like a layer of oil.
Matteo's gaze drifted from Alessandro to me, then back again, his lips curling into a look of pure, clinical disgust. "You've fucked her," he stated. It wasn't a question. It was a flat, ugly fact thrown onto the table like a piece of raw meat.
Luca choked on his wine, a spray of red staining the white linen as he erupted into a jagged laugh. Marco just shook his head, a dark, knowing chuckle vibrating in his chest. "Fuck's sake…"
My smirk didn't just fade; it died. My blood boiled…a hot, viscous rage simmering under my skin. I looked at Matteo and didn't see a Don; I saw my father. The same dismissive arrogance, the same way of talking about a woman as if she were a disposable piece of upholstery. I wanted to grab his slick, dark hair and smash his face into the mahogany until the table cracked.
"Fucking what?" Alessandro's voice was a low growl, his frame vibrating with a violence he was barely keeping leashed.
Matteo let out a dry, mocking snort. "You only ever get protective of the ones you've buried your dick in, Alessandro. Which number is this one? The ninth this year? Tenth?" He glanced at Luca, who was nodding through his grin. "One good ride and you think you're in fucking La-La Land."
He leaned forward, his eyes boring into mine, dripping with malice. "What happened to the others, sweetheart? Oh, that's right. A few are rotting six feet under, and the lucky ones ran before he could finish the job."
I didn't flinch. If anything, the idea of Alessandro as a killer of lovers made my pulse quicken. It made the game more dangerous. More real. I turned my head slowly toward Alessandro, watching the hatred bleed into his features.
Matteo stood up, the screech of his chair against the marble floor sounding like a scream. "What? Did I spoil the mood?" He took a step toward me, leaning down to whisper, though he ensured every man in the room could hear his breathy, toxic words. "Your new owner has a habit of breaking his toys. You might want to run while you still have legs, you little slut."
"Okay, everyone just fucking relax," Marco interjected, standing up.
They were positioned like points on a compass…Alessandro and Matteo at North and South, Marco and Luca at East and West. The tension between the two brothers was a physical wire, stretched so tight it was humming. This wasn't about me anymore. It was about who had the biggest set of balls in the room.
"Alessandro, let her go wait in the hall," Marco suggested, his voice tight. "Settle the business, then you can go back to fucking her. Simple."
"She's not leaving," Alessandro said, his voice a glacier. His eyes were locked on Matteo's, a silent promise of murder passing between them.
"Then I guess we're fucking done here," Matteo said, turning his back with a dismissive wave. He started walking toward the massive oak doors, his footsteps heavy and deliberate. "I'm walking out that door, and there isn't a goddamn soul in this room who can stop me."
He was halfway there when the sound cut through the silence.
Click.
The metallic snap of a hammer being pulled back echoed like a thunderclap. Matteo froze mid-step. I looked to my side. Alessandro wasn't just angry anymore—he was gone. He had his Beretta leveled at the back of his brother's skull.
"You'll sit down when I fucking tell you to sit down," Alessandro hissed.
The tension snapped like a dry bone. Instead of flinching, Matteo spun on his heel, his boots thundering against the marble as he stormed back toward the table. He didn't stop until the cold steel of the barrel was buried in the flesh of his forehead.
"Pull it!" Matteo roared, a jagged, manic laugh ripping from his throat. He looked possessed. "Do it, you pussy! Paint the fucking wall with me!"
"Matteo, shut the fuck up!" Luca hissed, scrambling to catch Alessandro's wrist.
Alessandro's knuckles were white, his grip on the Beretta so tight the metal groaned. His eyes were bloodshot, shimmering with a primal, murderous heat. I could practically smell the ozone in the air—the pure, uncut desire to watch Matteo's head cave in.
"Shoot, big brother! Fucking shoot!" Matteo screamed, reaching up and grabbing Alessandro's hand, guiding the muzzle deeper into his own skull. He wasn't fighting for the gun; he was helping him.
The insanity of it was breathtaking. Matteo had this sickening, arrogant smirk plastered to his face, and Christ, I felt a wet, pulsing heat throb between my thighs. Seeing that kind of death-wish up close was the most effective aphrodisiac I'd ever encountered.
For a heartbeat, the world stopped. Then, with a guttural roar of pure frustration, Alessandro ripped the gun away. He stumbled back, turning his back on them and screaming into the empty air…a raw, animalistic sound of a man losing his goddamn mind.
Personally, I would have just pulled the trigger. Screaming was for the weak.
Matteo just smoothed his hair back, chuckling darkly. "Well. That was a fucking rush."
Matteo ignored his brothers' bickering. His gaze slid across the room, cutting through the lingering chaos until it landed directly on me. He caught me staring…not with fear, but with a slow, appreciative smirk. I let my eyes trail down his body and back up, my expression a deliberate challenge.
He thinks he's the monster in the room. They all do.
I looked at the four of them…the protector, the maniac, the peacemaker, and the jester…and felt a wicked, cold predatory instinct bloom in my chest. I wasn't going to just survive them. I was going to ruin them. I was going to play them against each other until they were begging for the very bullets they just avoided.
I'm going to have a hell of a time watching every single one of them suffer before I let them perish.