"Well, well," Matteo drawled as he stepped inside. "You look like hell, brother."
Marco didn't answer right away.
He stood near the window, one hand resting on the frame, his posture stiff like every muscle in his body had suddenly tightened.
The city lights outside reflected faintly across his face, but his expression remained unreadable.
Finally he spoke.
"Matteo."
His voice was flat. Careful.
"What are you doing here?"
Matteo shut the door behind him with a quiet click and took his time looking around the apartment.
His gaze drifted across the furniture, the kitchen counter, the stack of medical supplies still sitting beside the sink.
"I came to see the angel who saved your life," he said lightly.
Marco's jaw tightened.
Matteo continued strolling through the room like a man inspecting property he already owned.
"Rumor says she's pretty," he added. "Rumor also says you've been hiding in this little hole for over a week."
"I've been healing," Marco replied.
Matteo let out a quiet laugh.
"You've been hiding," he corrected gently. "There's a difference."
Inside the bedroom, Lena pressed her ear against the door.
Her heart pounded so loudly she was sure they could hear it through the wood.
She could hear Matteo moving around outside drawers sliding open, objects shifting across the table.
"Three bullets," Matteo said conversationally. "Most men die from that."
Something metallic clinked softly.
"But you…"
A pause stretched through the room.
"…you crawl into the middle of nowhere and somehow find a girl willing to stitch you back together like a wounded stray."
Another pause.
"Fascinating."
"She's not part of this," Marco said quietly.
"Oh, she absolutely is now."
Matteo's footsteps grew closer.
"Everyone is looking for you," he continued calmly.
"You disappeared with half the city hunting your head, and suddenly you think a random waitress in a small apartment is invisible?"
Silence filled the room.
Then Marco spoke again.
"They won't find her."
Matteo stopped walking.
"Because you're going to make sure they don't."
Another long pause followed.
"That's why you're here."
Matteo chuckled softly.
"Still sharp, even after nearly dying. I'm impressed."
He moved away again, pacing slowly across the room.
"I'm here because Mother is worried," he continued. "You vanish for a week, rumors spread, people panic. The family needs you."
His voice lost a little of its playfulness.
"If you don't come back soon, Marco, there won't be much of a throne left to return to."
Marco said nothing.
Matteo's tone shifted again, lighter.
"But yes," he added. "I'm also here because of the girl."
"She doesn't need help," Marco said.
"She needs to be left alone."
"That's not how this works."
Matteo stopped directly outside the bedroom door.
"And you know it."
Inside the room, Lena felt the tension snap tight.
She could stay hidden.
Marco clearly wanted that.
But something in Matteo's voice told her hiding wouldn't solve anything.
She took a slow breath, turned the handle, and opened the door.
Both men looked at her.
Marco stood by the window, shoulders tense, his expression dark with warning.
The other man stood near the hallway.
Younger.
But only slightly.
He had the same dark hair, the same sharp bone structure, the same quiet confidence that filled the room without effort.
But his eyes were different.
Marco's held caution.
Matteo's held curiosity.
And something colder underneath.
He looked at her slowly, like he was studying a puzzle piece he hadn't expected to find.
"Ah," he said softly.
A faint smile curved across his mouth.
"The angel herself."
Lena straightened slightly.
"I'm Lena."
"I know."
His gaze moved over her face, her posture, the way she held herself.
"Prettier than I expected."
"Matteo," Marco said sharply.
"What?" Matteo raised an eyebrow. "I'm being polite."
He looked back at her.
"Thank you for saving my brother," he said. "Truly. That couldn't have been easy."
Lena shrugged a little.
"He needed help."
"Yes," Matteo said thoughtfully. "But many people see a bleeding stranger and decide it's safer to walk away."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"You didn't."
"No," she said simply.
"Why?"
The question came out softer than she expected.
Lena hesitated.
Then she glanced briefly toward Marco.
"Because he was dying," she said. "And no one deserves to die alone on the side of a road."
For a moment Matteo didn't respond.
Then he nodded once.
"Hm."
Something flickered behind his expression.
"I see why you stayed," he murmured toward Marco.
Marco ignored him.
They talked for nearly an hour.
Lena sat on the couch with a textbook open on her lap, pretending to read.
But the conversation drifting through the apartment kept pulling her attention back.
Territory disputes.
Broken alliances.
Someone named Salvatore.
A shipment that had disappeared somewhere along the coast.
Matteo talked quickly, pacing the room as he explained things.
His hands moved constantly, cutting through the air as though he was shaping the conversation itself.
Marco barely moved.
He leaned back in his chair, listening, occasionally asking a short question or giving a quiet answer.
Once, Matteo's eyes drifted toward her.
Their gazes met.
His smile returned.
It was small.
Knowing.
Lena looked down at her book again.
Eventually Matteo checked his watch and stood.
"Well," he said. "I suppose I've delivered the family lecture."
He walked toward the door.
Then he paused and looked back.
"Lena."
She glanced up.
"You've done my family a great service," he said slowly. "That means something to us."
His hand rested on the door handle.
"If you ever need anything"
"She won't," Marco interrupted.
Matteo's smile widened slightly.
"I wasn't asking you."
His gaze returned to Lena.
"Think about it," he said quietly.
Then he opened the door and left.
The apartment fell silent.
For a long moment neither of them spoke.
Lena sat on the couch, unsure how to break the strange tension lingering in the air.
Marco remained by the door, staring at the place where his brother had stood.
His breathing was slow.
Measured.
Almost deliberate.
Finally she spoke.
"Your brother…"
"Yes."
She hesitated.
"He's… intense."
Marco let out a quiet breath.
"That's one word for it."
She waited.
He rubbed his hands together slowly before speaking again.
"He's dangerous," Marco said. "More than me, maybe."
The words hung between them.
"He seemed nice enough," Lena said cautiously.
Marco gave a short humorless laugh.
"That's what makes him dangerous."
He moved across the room and sat on the edge of the couch.
After a moment he spoke again.
"He's also right."
"About what?"
"About you being in danger."
Lena closed her textbook.
"I'm not in danger."
"They will find you," Marco said quietly.
"When I go back, people will start asking questions. They'll trace where I was, who saw me, who helped me."
He looked up at her.
"And eventually they'll find you."
"Then don't go back," she said.
Marco held her gaze.
For a moment something softer appeared in his expression.
"I don't have that choice."
"My family needs me.
My mother… my brother… the people who work for us."
He shook his head slightly.
"The life I built doesn't disappear just because I want it to."
Lena nodded slowly.
"I understand."
"I don't want to put you in danger," he said quietly.
"I know."
Silence settled again.
Then Marco spoke.
Softly.
"Come with me."
Lena blinked.
"What?"
"When I go back," he said, "come with me. I have safe houses. Places no one knows about."
"You could stay there until everything settles."
She stared at him.
"Until what?" she asked.
"Until your enemies forget about me? Until someone decides I'm a good way to get to you?"
"I would protect you."
"You can't protect me from your world."
She stood and walked to the window.
"I'm a diner waitress, Marco. I study sociology.
My biggest problem two weeks ago was whether I'd pass my midterms."
She turned toward him.
"I don't belong in your life."
"I'm not asking you to belong to it," he said quietly.
"I'm asking you to trust me."
"And then what?" she whispered.
"After you go back to being whoever you are… what happens to us?"
Marco didn't answer.
The silence was enough.
Lena turned back toward the window.
Outside, the street looked normal.
A car passed.
Somewhere a dog barked.
Life went on like nothing had changed.
She thought about Matteo's sharp eyes.
The way he had studied her.
Then she thought about Marco's hand against her cheek the night before.
The warmth of it.
She could leave.
Pack a bag.
Take the little money she had and disappear.
But she was still standing at the window.
And behind her Marco hadn't moved.