24 • single • mafia leader • dead parents • only child • pretty • Vanilla • Black heels • Nice •
DOVES BACKSTORY: Dove never had a normal life, she was born into the mafia world and was constantly put in danger or dangerous situations. When she was nineteen her parents died in an attack. Shortly after her parents passed she took on the family business. Now she's twenty four and the same people that killed her parents are comming after her.
INTRODUCING.....MAFIA!MATT
26 • quiet • the city • Mac Miller • Mafia leader • Big ego • Calm • Triplet • Black cars • alone •
MATTS BACKSTORY: Matt knew at a young age that he would be the one to take over the family business. And he did. When Matt was seventeen he took over and had became one of the most feared men in the city.
Hopefully I'm not too late! Congrats on 4k and I hope you're doing better! Can I get mafia!Matt Murdock x reader?
come celebrate 4k with me!
--
When bullets had rained through the bank, you were certain you were already dead. Every deafening bang spiked your fear even higher, until you were sure it was leaping out of your chest and pooling on the floor, much like the blood of the victims.
But you didn't feel pain.
Well, you felt your head aching. You'd knocked it hard on the edge of a table while diving for cover. But your clothes weren't stained crimson, there was no blood seeping out of your mouth, and nowhere else on your body hurt.
Apparently, they just hadn't found you yet. You felt a rough grip on your arm, a desperate cry for help escaping your lips as one of the attackers hauled you up off of the ground. He shouted a gruff, 'Missed one,' but before he could fire the gun that was dug into your stomach, his hand was smacked away from you, your limp, terror-ridden form dropped once more to the floor.
"Not her!" Your savior hissed, "Don't you look at their faces before you kill them?"
"No.." Your attacker muttered, "What's the point when their heads are gonna roll no matter what?"
"The point is, I just stopped your head from rolling. What are you gonna say when the boss finds out you almost killed Y/N Y/L/N?"
You couldn't bring your gaze up from the floor, too terrified to see the faces that had just threatened and then saved your life, but your foggy head tried comprehending how they'd known your name. Had one grabbed your ID out of your purse when you weren't looking?
"Y/N Y/L/N-?! Shit," The gruff voice hissed, "Nevermind sweets, do me a favor and don't tell Matty?"
"She doesn't know!" The second voice shouted, "God, how stupid can you be?"
I know, no one asked for this. But if anyone was wondering a little bit about Matt’s backstory in NN (which no one was) and how he met his wife, here you go. Smut warning ~
x x
“So...”
Along with the words, he could feel the dark pair of eyes on him, from the corner of his eye, and despite everything, it was soothing rather than challenging.
“'ow's it feel?”
He let his gaze wander before he offered a response, took in the dim lights that illuminated the inside of the club's darkness here and there, the silhouettes spinning around the shiny poles that the lights bounced off of, reflecting back to the glass-lined wall, the air thick with the smell of whisky bitterness and heavy perfume. He nodded slowly, licking his lips and taking a sip from his drink before looking back at the man to his left. “'s liberatin'...” He inhaled deeply. “'onestleh can't fank yeh enouf, Mr Turner.” He swallowed, diverted his gaze when he did too, another sip that burned down on his tongue, down the heat of his throat. He'd missed the taste, had sworn to himself between the exercise, the focus, the challenges he'd faced that he would never take his freedom for granted again, especially now that the man next to him had made a whole different life possible, the opportunities endless, and he would not waste a single one. He breathed out with content.
“Exquisite, innit?” He raised an eyebrow at the taller man to his right, nodding down to the glass in his hand.
“Bloodeh gorgeous,” he nodded. “What fookin' thrill.” He tilted his head to the side. “'n the view too.”
Turner chuckled. “Aneh of 'em tha' yeh fanceh, amico mio?” He scratched at his jaw as he looked out at the women across the club, dancing, illuminated on the stages. “Yeh pick one. I'll free a private room for yeh in the back, eh? Me treat.”
“Mr Turner...” He swallowed, though couldn't resist the undeniable temptation of the offer.
“Oh,” Turner waved it off, shaking his head. “Yeh work for meh now. Alexander t'yeh.”
He smiled, knew how lucky he could count himself due to the respect he'd earned himself from the most powerful man in the city. “Rehyt. Alexander.” He bit his lip, worried he'd overstep a boundary, but the look in the other man's dark eyes was genuine.
Turner chuckled, gesturing vaguely with his hand before his fingers closed around his glass again. “None of 'em are off limits.”
He swallowed again, looked around, his gaze having wandered, though continuously returned to the same light in the darkness, not too far from them, over and over again, the curves, moves familiar and he nodded towards the tall brunette. “'er.”
Turner followed his gaze, the indicating nod. “I mean, tha's not realleh... 'er line of work. Sheh usualleh joost dances.”
He scratched at his chin, nodding slowly, had already expected the response. “Yeh said none were off limits,” he chuckled, though let his gaze wander to find an alternative.
“Mm.” Turner hummed. “Tha's rehyt, Maffew.” He nodded. “I'll see wha' I can do.” He waved over one of the other security men, stating his command when the man leaned in to await instructions.
“Yeh said sheh dun't-...”
Turner waved it off. “Nobodeh says no teh Alexander Turner.”
He chuckled, pursing his lips, watching as the man wearing a suit identical to his own made his way over to the light Matthew hadn't been able to take his eyes off of, waited until the woman faced him, then beckoning for her to come down, and Matthew eyed the way her hips swayed, the way she shook her hair back as she was led off her stage by the hand and mere moments later stood right in front of them, the other member of security stepping into the back again.
“Mr Turner...” The woman smiled, taking a step towards him.
“'ello, darlin'...” Turner drawled, eyeing the strappy silver dress that clung to her body, accentuated her curves with cut out panels that left little to the imagination, her hair falling in loose waves over her shoulders. “Y'look luvleh...” There was a smile tugging on the corners of his lips. “'avin' a good night?”
“Always,” she smiled, tilting her head as she looked back at him, held his gaze when it met hers again.
“Look, doll,” he hummed. “Dun't wanna aneh pressure on yeh or nofin'...” He placed his hand on her lower back, leaning in as he angled her slightly to face Matthew. “But this is me good friend, Maffew...” He nodded over at him. “He likes yeh, why dun't yeh spend the night wif 'im? Mm?” He reached to stroke his thumb across her cheek. “I need yeh teh show 'im a good time.”
Her gaze wandered over to the man in question and she stepped away from Turner and closer to him instead, placing her hand on his shoulder as she looked him up at down, then back at Turner who raised an eyebrow at her questioningly, making her nod in response. “Hi, Matthew,” she smiled, the tone in her voice melodic.
“'ello...” He swallowed. “Y'look stunnin'. Nice t'meet yeh.”
“And you,” she said, her fingers moving through his hair at the back of his head as she came closer. “I'm Sapphire.”
“Got the room readeh for yeh, take 'im away, eh? Yeh'll beh compensated generousleh,” Turner promised.
She smiled back at him, had expected the reassurance, though would not have insisted on it, given the attraction to her employer's friend, the familiarity. “Thank you, Mr Turner,” she responded, before turning to the man who's hand was now resting on her lower back. “I'm happy to be of service.” She smirked, then walked ahead to lead the way, could feel both their gazes on her as her hips swayed, though before she could open the door, Matthew had caught up with her, his hand pushing down on the handle, then waiting for her to walk through, instantly following and they were shielded from the rest of the club.
She watched as he slowly crossed the room to sit and sink into the plush of dark velvet that lined the wall while her heels clicked on the floor on her way to the pole in the middle of the room, though she held his gaze when he looked back at her, gave a nod when she reached to wrap her fingers around the pole.
He smoothed his hands down his thighs as he leaned back and shifted to get comfortable, unable to take his eyes off her as she started to move, swaying slowly at first, but soon transitioning into the moves he still found somewhat familiar, getting lost in the way she ran her fingers through her hair, her eyes locked on his while she wrapped her leg around the pole, dipped her chest, her movements slow, seductive, capturing his full attention with ease, had his gaze trailing her curves, his fingers twitching.
He cleared his throat. “C'mere,” he hummed, undeniably impatient, moving his legs apart slightly as he watched her follow his command instantly, slow, her hips swaying as she approached him, came to stop once she stood between his legs, where she resumed her dance, teasing him purposefully with her every move, so close that he saw no reason to not touch her, his reaction instinctive as his hands found her hips, though surprised when she shifted into his lap without difficulty, straddling him, her hands on his shoulders.
“Is this what you want?” she hummed, adjusting herself in his lap, grinding, felt him squeeze her hips. She tilted her head to the side. “I haven't seen you here in a while...”
He swallowed, surprised she'd even noticed him before, raising an eyebrow at her.
She pursed her lips. “Where have you been?” she asked quietly, her tone inquisitive.
“Well...” He licked his lips, the innocence in her voice not escaping him, persuasive. “Were caught doin' summat I shouldn't 'ave done...” He cleared his throat again. “Got a year, but... Turner got me out earleh... I work for 'is securiteh now... joost came back...”
She nodded slowly. “Mm,” she hummed. “So you're going to be around more?”
“Definiteleh.”
Her movements had not quite ceased while she spoke, her awareness of the music somewhere in the distance ever-present, the way her hips were slowly working into his, seemingly unaware, but he was sure she knew – it was fuelling a fire within him.
“So how long's it been?” she breathed, leaning closer, her fingers brushing back his hair.
“I mean...” He pursed his lips. “Couple o' monfs...”
She pushed her bottom lip forward in a sultry pout, her eyes wide. “Oh, no...” She blinked back at him. “No one been taking care of you..”
His grip tightened impulsively when he sensed her intention of getting up, but he was soon eased when she attempted to push his knees apart, allowed her to sink down to her knees between his legs.
“This okay, Sir?”
The corners of his lips tugged upwards and he gave a slight shake of his head. “Nah, no need for tha', darlin'...” he drawled. “Joost Maffew.” He cleared his throat. “But... yeah...”
She sat up to busy herself undoing his belt buckle, unzipping the trousers of his black suit trousers. “Alright...” she hummed, lifting her gaze to his again, while slowly freeing him from the restriction of his underwear, wrapping her fingers around his already hard length, eliciting a sigh from him. She licked her lips, tilting her head to the side, a smile playing around her lips. “Matthew.”
“Oh, fook...” He swallowed, his adam's apple prominent, his neck tense. “Darlin'... wha's yehr real name, eh?”
She didn't hesitate, looked back at him fearlessly. “Fiorentina.”
He watched closely as she held his gaze while parting her lips, slowly pursing her lips around him and taking him into her mouth, making him throw his head back, his hand instantly grabbing a hold of the back of her head, fingers knotted into her hair. “Fookin'ell...” he sighed through gritted teeth.
She hummed with her lips wrapped around him tightly, stroking the base of his cock until she took all of him into her mouth, guiding him into the back of her throat and swallowing around his tip, making his hips buck up, her eyes sparkling with satisfaction.
“Oh, doll...” he drawled, pulling lightly on her hair to lift her off his cock for a moment, to gather himself, knew he wouldn't last long if he got carried away, it'd been too long.
“I'll go slow...” she promised, breathing out shakily, raising an eyebrow and taking him into her mouth again once he nodded, her tongue pressed to the underside of his cock as she slowly started bobbing her head, her gaze fixated on his, the depth of his eyes dark, wild.
His chest was heaving, his breathing irregular, her efforts leaving him unable to compose himself, torn between slowing her, pulling her hair, and grabbing the back of her head to fuck her mouth relentlessly, so eager to take more, to give her more, the way she stared back at him weakening his control.
There was a knock on the door that snapped him out of the trance she'd eased him into, the blur of pleasure and ease lifting as he gaze rose to the girl that opened the door, a tray with two glasses and a dark bottle in her hand. He nearly lost himself when the girl between his knees continued without missing a beat, didn't flinch, instead took him deeper into her mouth, once again swallowing around his tip, his eyes threatening to roll back into his head, but he tried to collect himself, clearing his throat before going to address the girl that placed the tray on the table, but she beat him to it.
“Don't let me distract you,” she smiled. “Complimentary drinks from Mr Turner.” She gave him a wink, then was out the door again a moment later.
“He's nice, isn't he?” Fiorentina hummed as she slowly came up to take a breath. “Mr Turner.”
Matthew swallowed, nodding slowly, unsure what fuelled him to tighten his grip on the back of her head, to push her right down on his cock again, would have been regretful had the purr that escaped her not almost pushed him over the edge, though he only slowed for a moment, then rising from his seat, pleased with the way she inched back slightly on her knees in an instant, gave him the room he needed and relaxing to allow him complete control of her, moaning around him as he picked up his pace as he fucked her mouth shamelessly, lost in the heat of the moment and grunting above her until he came too close when she swallowed around him again, tears in the corners of her eyes, the tightness of her throat, her lips, the friction her tongue offered too overwhelming and he pulled her back by her hair forcefully. “Fooook...” he rasped shakily.
She hummed, licking her lips, her eyes wide as she watched him sit back down, one quick nod from him and she shifted into his lap again, angling herself to line herself up with his cock once she'd pushed her thong to the side, and she could hardly catch her breath when he'd already grabbed the base of his cock and positioned her, his other hand on her hip, the second following, her head spinning when he forced her down on him and she mewled from the sudden sensation, the friction as he stretched her mercilessly, overwhelmingly intense. “O-Oh...”
He chuckled shakily, though the moment she attempted to lift her hips forcing her down again, reveling in the way she tightened around him to accommodate to his size, her eyes rolling back, her fingernails digging into his shoulders. “Yeees, doll...” he groaned appreciatively, taking a moment longer to gather himself, to enjoy filling her completely before he loosened his grip as a sign for her to start moving, patting her ass when she didn't straight away. “C'mon, luv...”
She giggled, then slowly lifted herself up to start working her hips into his, her hands in a tight grip on his shoulders, gasping when he bucked up his hips to meet her, encouraged her with his hand still on her hip, guiding her, his grunts, the way he moved her demanding a faster pace until she was bouncing in his lap to the sound of his deep groans, let him push and bend her however he pleased. She was aware of his need, his instinctive reactions and the way he'd lost all control of himself while he seemed in a complete blur of lust, of taking more, his head thrown back until she rolled her hips into his at a particular angle that didn't only make her see stars. His head snapped up and his wild gaze was fixated on her, his grip tighter on her in a silent demand.
“Do tha' again,” he rasped.
The urgency in his voice, the insistence left no room for her to stall or disobey and she repeated the movement, her own eyes threatening to roll back in her head at the way he stretched her, the friction as delicious as it was overwhelming and she whined as his hand came down flat on the small of her back to guide her, arch her, taking complete control of her body, the wild gaze in his eyes weakening her whenever she met them.
He was drunk on the way she moved, followed his every verbal and physical demand, was under a spell watching her, the curves of her body, couldn't hold back from grabbing, moving, bending, taking and craving more the more she gave him, getting lost in her so quickly that he barely knew what he was doing and could hardly handle the way he slowed the pace himself, his grip clamping down on her hips to still her movements, a guttural groan escaping him when her eyes met his, innocent, questioning momentarily why he'd stopped her before she tilted her head and nodded slowly.
“You feel good, Matthew?” she coaxed. “Because you're...” She leaned in, pecking his lips and running her fingers through his short hair, rolling her hips slowly into his, felt him pulsing inside her. “You're making me feel so good...” Her voice trailed off, gasping as his hand came up to wrap around her throat, angling her head as his thumb dug into her skin just below her chin, forced her eyes to stay on his.
“Yeh?”
“I've watched you when you were watching me...” she whispered, biting her bottom lip.
“'ave yeh now?”
She nodded to the best of her ability with his grip on her, whimpering as he stroked his thumb over her throat. “I'm glad you're back... Turner's lucky to have you for security...”
The corner of his mouth tugged upwards and he couldn't suppress the way she made him feel, his eyes widening when she moved her hips, had him to mesmerised on her face. “Fookin'ell...” he groaned, swallowing hard.
His grip tightened automatically on her throat, his rings digging into her skin and she gasped, only for him to loosen his grip with genuine concern. “How about a drink?” she whispered.
Matthew tried to collect himself, nodding slowly. “Mmm...” he nodded. “Get off meh.”
She needed no telling twice, grateful for the way he steadied her until she'd slid off him and regained her balance, her heels clicking on the ground as she made her way over to the table.
He watched her hips sway as she walked, her ass bouncing, her skin shiny with sweat, her silhouette a vision in the dark. His fingers twitched with an impulsive need to force her down the moment she bent forward slightly to pick up the bottle and unscrew the top. “Fook...” he sighed as he slowly rose from his seat and made his way over. “I'm gunna make yeh scream me name, darlin'...”
She turned to look at him over her shoulder, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Yeah?”
He pursed his lips, taking the bottle from her. “Mmm,” he nodded. “Wha's yehr limit, doll?”
The way his eyes were locked on hers as he without sparing the glasses she handed him poured the drink and did not spill a drop had her knees weakening. She shook her head as if in a trance. “No limits, Sir.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Matthew.”
The way her lips formed his name was almost too much and he tried to focus on the way their glasses met between them, though she still did not break his gaze, tempted him further as her eyes closed for a moment to savour the luxurious liquor. “Magnificent.”
He swallowed, could not stand waiting a moment longer. “Bend over the table,” he stated dryly, with all the control he had left put into his voice to steady his command. “'m gunna ruin yeh.”
She breathed out shakily, took another sip, then placed her glass down and followed his instructions without missing another beat, turning to look at him over her shoulder, but his hand was at the back of her neck in an instant, his palm hot against her skin from the glass.
“Down.”
She swallowed, her cheek pressed to the surface of the table, could feel him shuffling so opened her legs for him to step in between, earning herself an appreciative groan.
“Good girl.” His fingers were instantly between her thighs, though not teasing long before he was lined up with her again and filled her, too eager to build the pace slowly, too desperate for a warning and he held her where she was with his hand on her hip as she jerked forward, her body tense before she relaxed under his touch. “Shhh...” He smoothed his hand down her back, reveled in the way she adjusted, squirmed for a moment before she melted around him. “Thaa's a good girl...”
She whimpered, tried to brace herself for him really taking control.
“Are yeh alreyht, doll?” He leaned forward, shuffling to adjust himself so he had the leverage he needed.
As he filled her completely, pushed her onto the table, her heels slid off the ground, left her with absolutely no leverage and she turned around to look at him once his hand was no longer holding her down, instead taking hold of both her wrists behind her back. “Please...” she whispered with a nod.
He chuckled darkly before he drew back, then bucked his hips to fill her again, another two drawn out thrusts before he was bent over her and letting himself go, completely overwhelmed by the way she clung to him, clenched around him, the friction blissful, allowing him at least momentarily to forget the past few months and they were worth what his life was becoming now, how it was starting right then and there as the pace increased with every moment of the past he now wanted to let go, all his pent up frustration now coming to the surface as the girl in front of him begged for more, begged him to take it all out on her.
She could barely breathe, every push of his hips practically knocking the air from her lungs as he ruined her, fucked her down and coming true on his promise that he really would ruin her, proving her right that he had so much more to give, so much strength to demonstrate as she had no other choice but to take it all, asking for more although she had nowhere to go, nothing to hold onto, whining when he let go of her wrists to grip her hips and go even faster, the pace more punishing and she struggled to hold on, gripping the edge of the table and in the rush, the desperation knocking the half-full glasses to the ground, but he didn't miss a beat, she could merely hear a low chuckle, a squeeze of her hips and he fucked her faster, and she could feel him throbbing inside her, making sure she would feel him for the next few days in a way she hadn't for way too long and just as she thought he would fall over the edge, he slowed, though the anticipated moment to catch her breath was cut short when he leaned forward and reached to cup her throat, his other hand pressed flat to her abdomen as he pulled her up, stayed buried deep inside her as he held her with a tension in his arms, though nothing else to suggest that he couldn't maintain the same pace as before despite him being the only thing able to support her and he thrust up hard, making her whine loudly. “F-Fuck...”
“Mmm, tha's reyht, darlin'...” he hummed, his thumb dragging across her bottom lip before two of his fingers pushed inside her mouth, the way she sucked on them instantly making him tremble.
She was surprised by his voice, loved that he was more physical, actually gave what he promised rather than talking her through it. She could his heart pounding strongly against her back, her own not quite in sync. Her hair was stuck to her forehead, her dress bunched up, her breasts spilling out and she arched into him desperately as his hand closed over one of her breasts, squeezing, holding on while she had absolutely no way of keeping herself steady. She was completely at his mercy, had given everything up to him and it was only now that her eyes opened for a moment when he angled her head slightly and she met her own gaze in the mirror across the room, though her attention was quickly drawn to the expression on his face, somewhat gentle just for the moment, but she knew that any moment, he would completely ruin her.
“Look at yehrself, Fiorentina...” he drawled. “Absoluteleh stunnin'...”
She sighed, sucking harder on his fingers when his hips pushed up into hers again.
“Gorgeous, aren't yeh?” He slapped his hand across her chest lightly, watching her breasts bounce. “Mmm, luvleh tits...” he drawled. “Keep those pretteh eyes on meh, will yeh?”
She struggled to lift her gaze, keep it there, knew her eyes would roll back the moment he'd start fucking her again, that they'd close, that he was too much.
“Y'kno'... yehr cunt's real good...” Another buck of his hips that made her gasp. “Real fookin' tight... fits meh perfectleh...”
She swallowed, tears pearling down her cheeks at the intensity of him, the way he was so overpowering, and yet held her with complete security, tensing as his hand dragged flat down her body before her clit was pinched between his fingertips.
“Yeh got meh so close, if I'm honest...” he told her. “'n I want yeh teh let go wif meh, yeh? Please try 'n look at meh though, wanna see yehr face when yehr cunt melts on me cock...”
She could barely nod, could barely promise she could do what he asked.
“Been so long, doll, 'n yeh're an absolute dream, alreyht?”
“Matthew, mmm...” she mumbled, could hardly speak with his fingers in her mouth.
He nodded, gave a hum of satisfaction before his hips bucked into hers again, the way he picked up the pace almost impossible to adjust to, his fingertips now toying with her clit to the point where she could no longer focus on anything but the pleasure he promised, her mind so drunk on him, on lust and the desire to let go, knew that she could completely let herself go, but she tried precisely for that reason to fulfill his request, to force her eyes open when she sensed his punishing thrusts were nearing the final one and as her body tensed ultimately and he twitched inside her, she caught his gaze in the mirror and it intensified the pleasure that ripped through her to a high she hadn't quite felt the same way before, all of her tense, the pleasure precise to every nerve in her body it seemed until she fell limp in his arms and all of her relaxed as the heat of his release filled her.
For a moment, nothing but his heavy breathing behind her was audible, despite the way he'd let go, so hard, had gripped her so tightly, he'd held her securely while she'd lost all sense of where she was and as she managed to catch her breath, he still held her up safely until she managed to stand herself, his arms unwinding slowly from around her as he stepped back, though the moment he saw her tumble, his arm instantly looped around her waist again and she was pulled flush against him.
“Careful.”
His voice was low, but much quieter, much more in control. “Sorry,” she said quietly, a small smile playing around her lips and she moved to adjust her dress, could feel herself leaking already and hoped she would get a moment to clean herself up before getting back out.
“Yeh're alrehyt, yeh?” he asked once he was sure she could stand on her own.
She nodded slowly. “'course,” she said, blinking back at him and licking her lips. “You're... um...” She took a breath, her gaze wandering up and down his body, now redressed impeccably in his suit. He made it work better than any other member of security of Turner's she'd seen. “Strong.”
He raised his eyebrows, shaking his head slowly, unable to keep himself from laughing quietly. He scratched at his chin, knew she would walk out the door soon, had done what was expected of her, but he hated the thought of it. “Didn't get t'finish our drinks, did weh?”
She smiled. “Not entirely my fault.”
He chuckled. “Quite reyht,” he agreed. “So I'll get yeh a new one. Sit wif meh at the bar, will yeh, doll?”
“Will I?”
“'ope so,” he drawled. “I mean... I'd beh lyin' if I said I were readeh for yeh teh not beh mine anymore alreadeh...”
“I'm still here.”
“Fink I want yeh all night. Turner might not beh tha' generous so I'll pay wha' it takes.”
She took a hold of his wrist for a moment, looking at his watch. “Technically, my shift ends in a few minutes.”
He met her gaze, waiting for her to continue and enlighten what was unpredictable to him now.
“But I'll stay with you after hours.”
He opened his mouth, but she beat him to it, her hands smoothing down his chest.
“No money involved.” She leaned into him as soon as she felt his hands on her hips to guide her towards the door. “Just you and me, Matthew.”
Warnings: cursing, alcohol, Mafia, mentions of death and weapons, drug mentions,
The first thing Dove noticed when she walked into the ballroom was that nothing had changed.
Which was ironic, considering everything had.
The same towering chandeliers hung from the ceiling like dripping gold. The same string quartet played soft music in the corner while men who ordered executions laughed over whiskey older than most marriages. Women in silk dresses leaned against marble pillars wearing diamonds that could pay for entire funerals.
And the same familiar mafia families filled the room.
Vietta.
Sturniolo.
Moretti.
Barone.
Names that once meant childhood dinners and expensive vacations now meant alliances, power, bloodshed, and buried bodies.
Dove adjusted the black gloves covering her hands as she stepped farther into the event, heels clicking quietly against polished marble. Her dress was elegant dark green satin hugging her waist and falling smoothly to the floor, the slit exposing flashes of her leg when she walked. Gold jewelry rested against her collarbones, delicate compared to the gun strapped beneath her thigh holster.
Because in rooms like these, nobody came unarmed.
The scent of expensive liquor and cigar smoke filled the air.
Somewhere nearby, someone laughed too loudly.
Somewhere else, someone was probably being threatened quietly behind a smile.
Dove kept her expression soft anyway.
That was the trick her mother taught her years ago. Smile sweetly enough and people underestimated you. Men especially.
Poor idiots.
“Dove?”
Her stomach tightened instantly.
Not fear.
Recognition.
She turned slowly toward the voice and there he was.
Matt Sturniolo.
For a second, it felt like getting hit in the chest.
He stood near the bar dressed entirely in black, one hand wrapped around a glass of whiskey. His suit jacket fit broad shoulders that hadn’t existed the last time she’d really seen him. His dark hair was shorter now, cleaner. Tattoos disappeared beneath the sleeves of his dress shirt and expensive watch.
But his eyes were the same.
Dark.
Quiet.
Observant.
The kind of dangerous that didn’t need to announce itself.
Growing up, Matt had always been quieter than the others. While the adults negotiated shipments and territory lines, while Chris started fights and Nick ran his mouth, Matt sat back and watched everything.
People underestimated him too.
They don't anymore.
Word traveled fast in their world. Everybody knew Matteo Sturniolo had taken over operations three years ago after his uncle got arrested. Everybody knew he handled problems personally now.
Everybody knew people disappeared when Matt got involved.
Dove swallowed carefully.
He looked at her for another moment before speaking again.
“Holy shit. It really is you.”
A soft laugh escaped her before she could stop it. “is that a bad thing?”
“No.” His eyes dragged over her face like he was trying to convince himself she was real. “Just didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”
Neither did she.
Not after the funeral.
Not after blood stained the marble floors of her childhood home.
Not after she spent years disappearing from city to city while people whispered about what happened to the Rossi family.
Dove walked closer slowly, heart beating harder the nearer she got to him.
It was strange.
Matt used to be the boy who silently handed her snacks under dinner tables when she complained she was hungry. The boy who let her sit beside him during boring meetings because she hated loud conversations. The boy who always looked vaguely annoyed but still walked her home after parties.
Now he looked like someone capable of murder without blinking.
Maybe he was. A lot has changed.
“You clean up nice,” she teased softly.
Matt huffed a quiet laugh through his nose. “You’re still annoying.”
“There he is.”
Something warmer flickered briefly in his expression.
Gone a second later.
“You disappeared,” he said finally.
Straight to the point.
Very Matt.
Dove leaned lightly against the bar beside him. “You noticed?”
“Everybody noticed.”
The bartender approached immediately, nervous the second he recognized her.
“Whiskey,” Dove ordered.
Matt glanced sideways at her. “You hate whiskey.”
“I developed issues.”
The bartender nearly tripped over himself making the drink.
Neither of them spoke for a moment after that.
The music swelled softly around them while conversations blurred into background noise. Across the room, familiar faces moved through the crowd—people they grew up around, people who once pinched Dove’s cheeks when she was little now discussing weapons trafficking over champagne.
God.
What a fucked up childhood.
“You look different,” Matt said quietly.
Dove smiled faintly. “That usually happens when your parents get murdered and you go through years of trauma.”
Instant regret crossed his face.
“There it is,” she murmured softly. “The pity look.”
Matt’s jaw tightened. “Wasn’t pity.”
“No?”
“No.”
He took a sip of whiskey, eyes still on her.
“It was anger.”
That surprised her enough to silence her for a second.
Matt wasn’t expressive. Never had been. Even as kids, getting emotions out of him was like pulling teeth. But she could see it now in the tightness of his shoulders.
Anger.
Not for himself.
For her.
Dove looked away first.
“So,” Matt said after a moment. “Why are you here?”
There it was.
The real question.
Not how are you.
Not where have you been.
Why are you here?
Because nobody returned to this world without a reason.
Dove disappeared for years. She ran the family business but never attended any events and no has seen her until tonight.
Dove wrapped both hands around her whiskey glass, staring at the amber liquid.
Then quietly—
“I’m looking for information.”
Matt didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
“About?”
Her throat tightened despite herself.
“The people who killed my parents.”
The air between them shifted instantly.
Sharp.
Heavy.
Matt set his glass down slowly. “You found something?”
“No.” She exhaled shakily through her nose. “But someone found me.”
That got his attention.
His eyes snapped fully to hers now, cold and alert in a way that made it obvious why people feared him.
“What do you mean?”
Dove lowered her voice.
“For the past month someone’s been following me. Watching me.” She paused. “Two nights ago my estate got broken into.”
“They didn’t take anything,” she continued quietly. “They just wanted me to know they were there.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah.”
Her fingers tightened around the glass.
“I think whoever came after my parents is coming after me now. They left a job unfinished and now there here to finish it. ”
The words settled heavily between them.
Across the ballroom, laughter erupted from a nearby table.
It sounded grotesque suddenly.
Matt stared at her for several long seconds, processing.
“Who knows you’re back?” he asked.
“Only a few people.”
“Names.”
She listed them carefully.
Matt listened silently, expression unreadable the entire time.
That somehow made it worse.
“You think it’s someone here?” he asked finally.
Dove looked around the ballroom slowly.
At the familiar faces.
At the families.
At the people who hugged her as a child.
“Honestly?” she whispered. “I think it’s someone in this room.”
In the mafia, enemies rarely came from strangers.
They came from people sitting at your dinner table.
“You shouldn’t be here alone,” Matt said flatly.
Dove gave him a small smile. “You offering to babysit me?”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
She took a sip of whiskey despite hating the burn.
“I can handle myself now, Matt.”
“I know you can.”
The answer came too quickly.
Too confidently.
Like he never doubted it for a second.
Dove looked at him carefully then.
At the shadows beneath his eyes.
At the scar near his jaw she didn’t remember him having before.
At the tension permanently living in his shoulders now.
This world had changed him too.
“You really became one of them,” she said softly.
Matt’s expression hardened slightly. “We were always one of them. We were born into this.”
Maybe.
But when they were younger, she used to think Matt still had softness left in him.
Now she wasn’t so sure.
A group of men approached the bar then, loud and drunk.
One of them looked at Dove too long.
Matt noticed instantly.
The shift in him was immediate.
He straightened slightly, eyes turning cold enough that the man quickly looked away.
Dove blinked.
Oh, that was new.
Matt looked back at her like nothing happened.
“When did you get so scary?” she murmured.
“You first.”
A laugh escaped her before she could stop it.
God.
There he was again.
The boy she remembered buried somewhere beneath all this violence.
For the first time all night, Dove felt herself relax slightly.
Just slightly.
Then Matt spoke again.
“Stay with me tonight.”
Her eyebrows lifted immediately.
“That sounded less dirty in my head,” he muttered.
She laughed softly into her drink.
Matt continued before she could tease him.
“If someone’s watching you, you don’t leave this place alone.”
“I’ve survived this long.”
“And now you’re back in a room full of people who’d kill for power.”
“Well when you say it like that—”
“I’m serious, Dove.”
His voice lowered slightly.
Dangerously calm.
“You said yourself somebody in this room might’ve killed your parents.” His eyes locked onto hers. “Which means there’s a chance somebody in this room is planning to kill you too.”
Silence.
The music continued softly around them.
Dove stared at him.
And Matt realized something he probably should’ve the second he saw her walk into the ballroom.
He wasn’t going to let that happen.
Didn’t matter how messy it got.
Didn’t matter what family politics got involved.
Didn’t matter that helping her could start a war.
Because the second Dove Rossi walked back into his life wearing that soft smile and carrying grief in her eyes he knew he would have to help her.
Warnings: cursing, mafia, mentions of death, alcohol, blood,
The first time Matt thought about calling Dove, it was two in the morning with whiskey burning down his throat and blood drying on his knuckles.
The second time was in the middle of a meeting while Luca talked about shipments and territory lines like the world wasn’t constantly threatening to split open beneath their feet.
The third time, he actually picked up the phone.
And still didn’t call.
Because this was dangerous.
Not the mafia shit. Not the threats. Not the possibility that whoever murdered Dove’s parents was now hunting her.
Dove herself was dangerous.
Or maybe the way she made him feel was.
Matt leaned back in his office chair with a curse under his breath, rubbing a hand over his jaw. The room smelled like smoke, whiskey, and exhaustion. Dim amber light spilled across stacks of paperwork littering his desk—ledgers, shipment manifests, reports from men stationed at the docks.
None of it was helping.
Usually work drowned things out.
Usually if he buried himself deep enough in numbers and violence and responsibility, his brain shut the fuck up.
But not tonight.
Tonight all he could think about was her.
The way she looked standing across that ballroom a few nights ago like she’d stepped straight out of one of his memories and become something sharper.
Still soft, though.
That was the problem.
Dove still had those big brown eyes that looked at people too carefully. Still bit her lip when she got nervous. Still smelled faintly like vanilla when she walked past him.
And she was still trying to carry the world on her shoulders alone.
Matt grabbed the glass beside him and took another drink.
Ice clinked softly.
He remembered the exact moment she’d told him someone was coming after her.
Not dramatic. Not emotional.
Just matter-of-fact.
Like she’d already accepted the possibility of dying.
That part pissed him off most.
His jaw tightened.
“Boss?”
Matt glanced up. One of his men stood in the doorway.
“Shipment’s handled.”
“Good.”
The guy hesitated. “You heading home?”
Matt looked back down at the papers scattered across his desk.
Home.
Right.
His penthouse that felt cold and empty lately.
His apartment where silence sat too heavily.
His apartment where he’d probably pour another drink and think about Dove until sunrise.
“Yeah,” he muttered eventually. “Go home.”
The man nodded quickly and disappeared.
Matt stayed seated another twenty minutes.
Then finally he muttered, “Fuck this,” grabbed his phone, and hit call before he could change his mind.
The line rang once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then—
“Hello?”
Her voice hit him harder than expected.
Soft. Sleepy. Cautious.
Matt leaned back in his chair again, staring up at the dark ceiling. “you always answer calls from unknown numbers or am i lucky?”
A small pause.
Then quieter, “Matt?”
Something twisted in his chest hearing her say his name like that.
“Yeah.”
Another pause stretched between them. He could hear faint movement on the other end, sheets rustling.
“You okay?” she asked carefully.
The question almost made him laugh.
Nobody asked him that.
Nobody fucking cared enough to ask him that.
“I’m fine.”
“You sound irritated.”
“I am irritated.”
A soft exhale left her, almost amused. “Well, that sounds more like the Matt I remember.”
His mouth twitched despite himself.
Dangerous.
That’s what this was.
Because somehow she could still get reactions out of him no one else could.
Matt rolled the whiskey glass between his fingers. “You busy?”
“It’s midnight.”
“Right.”
“You called me.”
“Yeah, I noticed.”
A tiny laugh escaped her this time.
Fuck.
He forgot she laughed like that.
Soft enough you almost missed it.
Matt closed his eyes briefly before forcing himself back on track. “You serious about doing this alone?”
Silence.
Immediately heavier now.
When Dove answered, her voice was quieter.
“I have to.”
“No, you don’t.”
“You don’t even know what you’re offering.”
“I know enough.”
“You don’t,” she said firmly. “Matt, whoever killed my parents is connected. Careful. Patient. If they’re coming after me now, getting involved could—”
“Could what?” he interrupted sharply. “Put me in danger?”
“That’s not what I was gonna say.”
“Good. Because I’ve been in danger since I was born.”
Silence again.
Matt stood from his chair, pacing slowly across the office floor.
“I keep thinking about that night,” he admitted finally, voice rougher now. “About you sitting there telling me you’re gonna handle this yourself.”
Dove didn’t respond.
“I know you,” he continued. “You’re stubborn as hell. You’ll run yourself into the ground before asking for help.”
“That’s rich coming from you.”
Fair.
Matt ignored it.
“You shouldn’t be alone in this.”
Her voice softened slightly. “Why do you care so much?”
There it was.
The question he’d been avoiding since the second he saw her again.
Why did he care?
Why had seeing her after all these years felt like someone cracked something open inside him?
Why did the thought of her getting hurt make him feel borderline homicidal?
Matt stared out the massive office windows at the city lights below.
“Because,” he said slowly, “when we were kids, your dad used to tell mine you were too soft for this life.”
Dove went quiet.
“And every time,” Matt continued, “you’d hear him and get pissed off. Then spend the next week trying to prove everybody wrong.”
A faint breath of laughter came through the phone.
“He wasn’t wrong.”
“No,” Matt said. “He was.”
The silence after that felt different.
Not awkward.
Just full.
Heavy in a way neither of them quite knew what to do with.
Matt lowered his voice. “Being soft doesn’t make you weak, love.”
Another pause.
Then quietly, almost vulnerable, “You really believe that?”
“Yeah.”
He heard her inhale shakily.
That alone nearly made him get in the fucking car right then.
Because Dove hated sounding vulnerable.
He remembered that too.
“I just…” she started softly. “I don’t know who to trust anymore.”
“You trust me?”
The question came out before he could stop it.
Silence.
Long enough that Matt’s chest tightened.
Then—
“Yes.”
Immediate.
Certain.
No hesitation.
Something dark and possessive settled heavily in his chest at that single word.
Matt rubbed a hand over his mouth.
“Then let me help you.”
Another long silence.
He could practically hear her thinking.
Finally she sighed softly. “Okay.”
Matt froze.
“Okay?”
“You’re really annoying, you know that?”
A quiet smirk pulled at his mouth. “Been told that before.”
“You’re not gonna back off until I agree.”
“Nope.”
“And if I say no?”
“I show up anyway.”
This time her laugh was real.
Tired, but real.
Matt leaned against the desk, feeling some of the tension in his shoulders loosen for the first time in days.
“So what happens now?” she asked.
His expression darkened slightly.
Now came the dangerous part.
“Now,” he said calmly, “you tell me everything you know.”
“And then?”
Matt’s grip tightened slightly around the glass.
Then they hunt.
Then they figure out who’s threatening her.
Then he makes sure nobody ever touches her again.
But he didn’t say any of that aloud.
Instead he looked out across the city lights and said quietly—
“Then we find out who made the mistake of coming after you.”
☆; did anyone notice how he called her love at one point 🤭
Warnings: Cursing, Mentions of blood and death, grief, mafia,
Dove had been in Matt's estate for exactly three hours and forty-two minutes.
Not that she was counting.
Okay, she was counting.
The place was enormous. Every hallway seemed to lead to another hallway. Every room looked like something out of a magazine. Dark wood, expensive furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking acres of land.
It was beautiful.
And intimidating as hell.
Dove stood in the guest room, staring at the last of her belongings she'd unpacked.
Some clothes
Her favorite sweater.
A framed photograph.
A necklace that had belonged to her mother.
That was all she'd brought.
The realization settled heavily in her chest.
This wasn't a visit.
She was hiding.
Living out of a guest room while trying to figure out who murdered her parents.
Years ago she'd had a home.
A family.
Now she had questions.
And grief.
Lots of fucking grief.
A knock sounded against the open guest room door.
She looked up.
Matt stood there.
Black dress shirt.
Sleeves rolled up.
One hand resting against the doorframe.
"You settled in?"
"As settled as someone can be when they're living in a mansion."
His mouth twitched.
"It's not a mansion."
Dove laughed.
"You're insane."
"It's an estate."
"It's a mansion."
"It's an estate."
"Its twice the size of my estate."
That earned the smallest smile.
Matt glanced toward her unpacked bag.
"You need anything?"
"I'm good."
He nodded.
"I'll be in my office."
"Working?"
"When am I not?"
Fair point.
Matt started walking away before pausing.
"If you need anything, come find me."
Dove crossed her arms.
"Anything?"
"Anything."
"What if I get lost?"
A rare amusement flashed across his face.
"Then definitely come find me."
She smiled despite herself.
Then he disappeared down the hallway.
---
After twenty minutes of staring at the walls, Dove decided she couldn't sit still anymore.
She wandered.
And wandered.
And wandered some more.
The estate seemed endless.
She found a sitting room.
A music room.
A balcony overlooking the property.
A dining room that could seat twenty people.
Who the hell needed a table that big?
Eventually she found herself standing in front of a pair of massive wooden doors.
One was slightly open.
The library.
"Oh my God."
The words escaped before she could stop them.
Shelves stretched from floor to ceiling.
Ladders.
Leather-bound books.
New books.
Old books.
Hundreds.
Maybe thousands.
It reminded her of the library in the beauty and the beast.
Without thinking she stepped inside.
The smell hit her immediately.
Paper.
Wood.
Coffee.
Comfort.
For the first time all day, she felt herself relax.
Maybe because books had always been her safe place.
Even after her parents died.
Especially after.
She wandered slowly through the shelves.
Running her fingers across spines.
Fantasy.
History.
Politics.
Business.
Psychology.
Everything.
Apparently Matt collected books like she did.
Which felt strangely personal.
Most people saw the blood.
The power.
The money.
They didn't imagine him spending evenings reading.
But here was proof.
A smile tugged at her lips.
Who are you, Matt?
Her attention landed on a title near the top shelf.
One she'd been looking for for months.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me."
Of course it was on the highest shelf imaginable.
Dove stretched upward.
Nothing.
She stood on her tiptoes.
Still nothing.
She reached again.
A little higher.
Almost—
A hand appeared beside hers.
Large.
Tanned.
Strong.
The book slid effortlessly from the shelf.
Dove froze.
Her heart nearly launched itself out of her chest.
Before she could react, the person behind her stepped closer.
Close enough that she caught the familiar scent of cedar and expensive cologne.
Matt.
Slowly she turned.
And suddenly there was almost no space between them.
The breath caught in her throat.
Blue eyes.
That was her first coherent thought.
She'd forgotten how blue they were.
The kind that had probably been the last thing plenty of men saw before they died.
Matt was looking down at her.
The book still in his hand.
Neither of them spoke.
Dove became painfully aware of everything.
How close he was.
How broad his shoulders were.
The warmth radiating from him.
The way her pulse had completely lost its mind.
For a second she thought he looked just as caught off guard as she felt.
Then his gaze dropped briefly to her lips.
Shit.
The realization hit like a truck.
Tension filled the space between them.
Thick.
Heavy.
Dangerous.
And neither of them moved.
A heartbeat.
Two.
Three.
Matt cleared his throat.
The sound seemed to break whatever had settled between them.
His jaw tightened slightly.
Then he held out the book.
"You looked like you were struggling."
Dove accepted it.
Trying very hard not to notice their fingers brushing.
"I had it handled."
"You absolutely did not."
She rolled her eyes.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
The corner of his mouth lifted.
Just barely.
And somehow that was worse than if he'd smiled fully.
Because it felt rare.
Like something only a few people ever got to see.
---
They spent the next hour talking in the library.
Not about her parents.
Not about death.
Not about investigations.
Just talking.
Books.
Childhood memories.
Things they'd missed while growing up apart.
Dove learned Matt read constantly.
Matt learned Dove could spend an entire day inside a bookstore.
At one point she caught herself laughing.
A real laugh.
The kind she hadn't heard from herself in weeks.
Then guilt slammed into her immediately.
Her smile faded.
Matt noticed.
Of course he noticed.
Nothing seemed to escape him.
"You okay?"
Dove stared down at the book in her lap.
No.
Not even remotely.
Her parents were dead.
Someone had murdered them.
She still woke up expecting to hear her mother's voice.
She still reached for her phone wanting to call her father.
Every day felt like she was drowning.
It didn't matter how long ago they had died. She was convinced dove would always feel like this. Grief doesn't go away it just gets better.
But saying that out loud felt impossible.
So she nodded.
"I'm fine."
Matt didn't call her out on the lie.
Which somehow made it worse.
Because she knew he knew.
The silence stretched.
Then quietly he said,
"You don't have to pretend with me."
Dove swallowed.
Hard.
Her throat suddenly felt tight.
Matt looked away first.
Giving her an escape.
Giving her room to breathe.
A gentleman.
Always a gentleman.
Even with blood on his hands.
Even with bodies buried somewhere in his past.
The contradiction made her head spin.
How could someone be both?
How could someone be dangerous enough to make grown men terrified...
And kind enough to make sure she felt safe?
The answer scared her.
Because she was starting to care.
And caring got people hurt.
---
Later that evening Matt was called away for business.
Dove heard fragments while passing his office.
Raised voices.
Discussions about shipments.
Territory.
Money.
The kinds of conversations that reminded her exactly who he was.
A mafia boss.
A dangerous man.
A man capable of ordering deaths.
And yet when she walked past the office doorway, Matt looked up from his desk immediately.
His expression softened the second he saw her.
"You need something?"
The question came instantly.
As if whatever criminal empire he was running could wait.
Dove smiled.
"No."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"You got lost again."
"Maybe."
A rare laugh escaped him.
Low and warm.
God help her.
She liked that sound.
Far too much.
And as she walked away, heading back toward the guest room, one terrifying thought followed her the entire way.
For the first time since her parents died...
She felt safe.
But she wouldn't allow herself to feel that way for long. Feeling safe means being vulnerable. Dove learned early in life that in the world she lived in vulnerability would get her killed.
Warnings: Cursing, trauma, mentions of death, nightmares,
A week.
I'd been living in Matt's estate for exactly one week.
It was strange how quickly a place could stop feeling unfamiliar.
The first night I'd slept with one eye open, a knife tucked beneath my pillow out of instinct more than necessity. Every creak of the old house had made my heart race.
Now...
Now I could breathe.
Not completely. I didn't think I'd ever breathe completely again.
But the crushing pressure on my chest had eased just enough that I noticed its absence.
I felt...
Safe.
The realization hit me one afternoon and I immediately shoved it away.
Safe wasn't a word people like me got to use.
Still, the feeling lingered.
Every day, if neither of us was buried under work, Matt and I would spread everything across the dining room table. Old case files. Police reports. Family records. Photographs with curled edges. Financial documents. Newspaper clippings.
Anything that might tell us who was hunting me or who killed my parents.
Or why.
"You've somehow managed to make one investigation look like three separate crimes," Matt said dryly.
I looked up from the mountain of folders surrounding me.
"What?"
He gestured to my side of the table.
Papers were stacked in crooked piles. Sticky notes covered almost every available surface. I'd somehow misplaced my pen twice in the last ten minutes.
His side...
Was irritatingly perfect.
Folders lined up in neat rows.
Different colored tabs.
Blue.
Green.
Red.
Yellow.
Everything sat exactly where it belonged.
I narrowed my eyes.
"You color-code your murder investigations?"
"They're not color-coded."
"They literally are."
"They're prioritized."
"...With colors."
He didn't even look embarrassed.
"It works."
I snorted.
"It makes you look insane."
"It makes me efficient."
"It makes you terrifying."
A ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"I've been called worse."
I rolled my eyes before going back to reading another report.
Ten seconds later—
"Where's the witness statement?"
"...Which one?"
"The one you had."
"I have several."
"The one you were reading."
I looked around my disaster of a workspace.
"...Shit."
Matt leaned back in his chair, folding his arms.
"You lost it."
"I didn't lose it."
"You misplaced it."
"Temporarily."
"Dove."
"I'll find it."
He watched silently as I dug through increasingly chaotic stacks of paper.
"...Found it."
"It was upside down."
"I knew where it was."
"Hm."
I threw the file at him.
He caught it without looking.
Asshole.
For some reason...
He laughed.
Not loudly.
Just a quiet breath of amusement that made something warm settle in my chest.
...
Hours passed.
Sunlight shifted across the hardwood floors while we worked in comfortable silence.
Eventually I looked up.
Matt was already looking at me.
Not in the distracted way people usually did.
Not because I was talking.
He was simply...
Looking.
His blue eyes were fixed on mine.
There was something almost unreadable in them.
Soft.
Too soft.
For a second it was like the rest of the room disappeared.
Like neither of us remembered the papers scattered between us.
Then—
His gaze dropped.
To my lips.
Only for a heartbeat.
Maybe two.
My breath caught before I could stop it.
He blinked, almost like he'd just realized what he'd done, and looked away first.
"...What?" I asked.
He cleared his throat.
"Nothing."
I stared another second before looking back down at my files.
Weird.
Probably nothing.
...
That night the estate was silent.
I couldn't sleep.
It happened sometimes.
The quiet gave my thoughts too much room.
Around two in the morning I gave up, climbed out of bed, and wandered downstairs for water.
When I headed back toward my room, something stopped me.
A sound.
Faint.
Almost like—
"No..."
Another muffled voice.
Then a sharp inhale.
I frowned.
The sound was coming from Matt's room.
I hesitated outside his door.
What if I was imagining it?
Another strained breath.
Then—
"Don't—"
My stomach dropped.
Without thinking, I pushed the door open.
The room was almost completely dark.
Moonlight spilled through the windows.
Matt was tangled in his blankets, breathing hard, his face twisted in pain.
"No..."
His voice cracked.
I crossed the room immediately.
"Matt."
Nothing.
I sat carefully beside him.
"Matt."
His breathing became faster.
Sweat covered his forehead.
"Matt."
I reached out and gently shook his shoulder.
"Hey."
His entire body tensed.
"Matt, wake up."
His eyes flew open.
For one terrifying second...
He looked ready to fight.
His chest heaved.
His eyes searched the room wildly.
Then they landed on me.
He didn't say anything.
Just...
Looked.
I kept my voice quiet.
"It was a dream."
His breathing slowly started to even out.
"You're okay."
Silence.
"I'm here."
Another long moment passed before the tension finally left his shoulders.
Like he'd only just realized where he was.
Who I was.
His eyes softened.
I smiled just a little.
"Welcome back."
He let out a shaky breath.
Only then did I glance down.
And immediately wished I hadn't.
He wasn't wearing a shirt.
I quickly looked away.
Heat crept into my face.
Right.
Normal people usually slept without one.
Get it together, Dove.
"You okay?" I asked, keeping my eyes firmly on the wall behind him.
"...Yeah."
His voice was rough from sleep.
"I'm okay."
"You sure?"
He nodded once.
"...Thank you."
I stood.
"You should try to get some rest."
I took one step toward the door.
Something brushed against my wrist.
I looked down.
Matt's hand.
His fingers rested lightly around my wrist, careful enough that I could've pulled away whenever I wanted.
He looked strangely vulnerable.
Not like the feared mafia boss everyone whispered about.
Just...
Tired.
His voice was barely above a whisper.
"...Stay?"
My heart squeezed.
Nobody had ever asked me that before.
Not because they needed something.
Not because they wanted information.
Just...
Stay.
I looked at him for a long second.
Then, without saying a word, I slipped my hand free only long enough to walk around the bed.
I climbed in beside him, leaving enough space between us that our shoulders didn't touch.
The mattress dipped beneath my weight.
Neither of us spoke.
The room settled into silence again.
After a minute...
I felt him relax.
Completely.
Like my being there had convinced whatever demons haunted his sleep that they weren't welcome tonight.
I stared at the ceiling.
Funny.
I'd spent years believing safety was a myth.
Yet somehow...
In the middle of a mafia estate.
Lying beside one of the most dangerous men I'd ever met.
Warnings: cursing, trauma mentions, hurt with comfort, yearning,
An: also a little reminder English isnt my first language so if there's any typos i apologize!
Matt:
There were too many files.
That was the first thing Matt thought as he sat across from Dove at the large desk in his office, another stack of documents spread between them.
They had been doing this for hours.
Old photographs. Police reports. Financial records. Names. Dates. Anything that might connect Dove's parents to the people who were after her now.
And yet, they had found nothing.
Nothing useful.
Nothing that explained why, after all these years, someone had suddenly decided to come after Dove.
Matt leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his jaw as he watched Dove turn another page.
She hadn't complained once.
Not about the hours.
Not about the lack of answers.
Not even about the fact that her entire life seemed to be unraveling all over again.
Dove simply kept searching.
Her dark hair had fallen over her shoulder, a few loose strands framing her face. She tucked them behind her ear without thinking, her eyes moving carefully over every word.
Matt stared for half a second too long.
He looked away.
He shouldn't be doing that.
Shouldn't be watching her like this.
But it was becoming increasingly difficult not to.
Especially when she was sitting only a few feet away from him, looking exactly like the girl he'd known all those years ago.
Only older now.
More guarded.
More beautiful.
God.
He was fucked.
"Matt."
His eyes snapped back to her.
Dove was holding a file.
"Look at this."
He immediately leaned forward.
The file was old. The edges were worn, the papers inside yellowed with age. Matt watched as Dove opened it.
Then she stopped.
Her expression changed.
Barely.
But he noticed.
Of course he noticed.
"What is it?"
She didn't answer.
Matt reached across the desk and gently took the file from her hands.
His eyes fell to the photographs.
His stomach twisted.
It was the scene from the night her parents had died.
Or what was left of it.
The photographs were difficult to look at.
Matt had seen worse. Far worse.
But these weren't just photographs of dead bodies.
They were photographs of her parents.
Dove's parents.
He glanced at her.
She was staring at the table.
"Don't."
Her eyes lifted.
"Don't look at those."
"I'm not—"
"Dove."
His voice softened.
"You don't need to see this."
For once, she didn't argue.
Matt looked back down at the photographs.
There was her father.
But then he noticed something.
His eyes narrowed.
There were several photographs of her father's body.
None of her mother.
Not one.
He flipped through the pages again.
Nothing.
Maybe the damage had been too severe.
Maybe there had been nothing left to photograph.
Or maybe the photographs had simply been lost over the years.
Matt closed the file.
He didn't tell Dove.
Not yet.
He didn't want to her to try and find the photos and see things no one should ever have to see.
"You okay?" he asked.
Dove shrugged.
"I'm fine."
He almost laughed.
Of course she was.
Dove could be standing in the middle of a burning building and somehow convince everyone around her that she was perfectly fine.
Matt watched her for another moment.
He remembered her when they were kids.
The way she'd used to smile at him.
The way she'd follow him around when they were teenagers, pretending she wasn't.
And the way he'd looked at her.
He'd loved her then.
He knew that.
He'd been young, but he knew.
And sometimes, when he looked at her now, he wondered if he'd ever actually stopped.
Matt immediately pushed the thought away.
That wasn't important.
Not now.
Right now, she was in danger.
And he would do anything to keep her safe.
Anything.
Even if it killed him.
Especially if it killed him.
"Matt?"
He looked at her again.
Dove was staring at the closed file.
"I think..." She paused.
Then she swallowed.
"Everyone around me dies."
The words were so quiet Matt almost missed them.
His chest tightened.
Dove didn't look at him.
She stared down at her hands instead, her expression completely blank.
Like she hadn't just said something that made his heart break.
"First my parents."
Her voice was steady.
Too steady.
"Then everyone else."
"Dove."
"I'm serious."
"I know."
She finally looked at him.
There was nothing visibly broken in her expression.
No tears.
No trembling lips.
Nothing.
But Matt could see it anyway.
The pain she kept buried underneath everything else.
The guilt.
The part of her that wondered if maybe everyone she loved was destined to disappear.
"It's not your fault."
Something flickered in her eyes.
Gone almost immediately.
"You don't know that."
"I do."
"You can't."
Matt stood.
He walked around the desk slowly, stopping in front of her.
Dove looked up at him.
"You were a kid," he said. "You couldn't have stopped what happened to your parents."
She looked away.
"And everyone else?"
"Still not your fault."
"You don't know what I've done."
"No," Matt said quietly. "But I know you."
That made her look at him.
He reached down and gently tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.
His fingers lingered for the briefest moment.
Dove froze.
Matt's heart nearly stopped.
He should have moved away.
He didn't.
"You know," he murmured, his eyes fixed on hers, "if you keep looking at me like that, Dove, I'm going to start thinking you actually missed me."
Her lips parted.
For the first time that night, he saw something other than pain in her eyes.
Surprise.
Maybe even a little amusement.
A tiny smile tugged at her lips.
And God, Matt wanted to memorize it.
He wanted to be the reason she smiled like that again.
Every day.
The thought came so easily that it terrified him.
Because suddenly he knew something with absolute certainty.
He would do anything for her.
Anything.
And maybe that was the problem.
Because he'd thought he'd stopped loving her a long time ago.
But sitting here, watching her pretend she wasn't hurting, Matt wasn't so sure anymore.
Maybe he'd never stopped.
Maybe he'd just gotten really good at pretending.
"Get some sleep," he finally said.
Dove raised an eyebrow.
"Are you ordering me to bed?"
"I'm suggesting it."
"You're terrible at suggestions."
"Go to bed, Dove."
"Fine....goodnight, Matt."
He watched her walk away.
And for the first time in years, Matt was afraid.
He was afraid of what Dove had become to him.
Because if someone wanted to hurt her, they'd have to go through him first.
And Matt knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he would gladly burn the entire world down if that's what it took to keep her alive.
---
Dove
Dove couldn't sleep.
Of course she couldn't.
She lay in the guest room for nearly an hour, staring at the ceiling.
Matt's words kept replaying in her head.
It's not your fault.
She hated that they had affected her.
Hated the way her chest had tightened when he'd said them.
And she hated even more the way his fingers had brushed her hair away from her face.
Dove pressed her lips together.
It meant nothing.
It couldn't mean anything.
She wouldn't let it.
Eventually, she gave up.
She slipped out of bed and walked downstairs, heading toward the kitchen for a glass of water.
The estate was quiet.
Almost too quiet.
Dove filled a glass and turned toward the hallway.
That's when she saw it.
A shadow.
Outside.
Her entire body went still.
It had moved.
Dove stared toward the front door.
Her heartbeat didn't speed up.
She wasn't afraid.
Not for herself.
Slowly, she set her glass down.
She walked toward the door.
One step.
Then another.
She hesitated with her hand on the handle.
Something was wrong.
She knew it.
But she opened the door anyway.
Cold air brushed against her skin.
Dove looked left.
Nothing.
Right.
Nothing.
The driveway was empty.
The gates were closed.
No cars.
No people.
Nothing.
She stepped outside.
And then she looked down.
A single black envelope rested on the ground.
Beside it was a dead rose.
Dove's expression didn't change but her heart dropped.
She bent down slowly.
Picked up the envelope.
There was no name.
No address.
Nothing.
She opened it.
Inside was a single piece of paper.
Four words.
Some things are better left buried.
Dove stared at it.
Her fingers tightened around the paper.
Then her eyes dropped to the handwriting.
Her breath caught.
No.
She knew that handwriting.
She'd spent her entire childhood looking at it.
She'd seen it on birthday cards.
Notes left on the kitchen counter.
Letters.
Grocery lists.
She knew every curve.
Every sharp line.
Every little detail.
There was no possible way.
No.
Her eyes moved over the words again.
Some things are better left buried.
The paper trembled slightly between her fingers.
Not because she was afraid.
Dove wasn't afraid of what they could do to her.
She was afraid of what they'd do to Matt.
Because whoever had sent this knew where she was.
They knew she'd gone to Matt.
They knew exactly where to find her.
And that meant that they knew matt was with her. They could target him next and that scared her more than anything else.
Dove looked at the handwriting one more time.
Her mother's handwriting.
It couldn't be.
Her mother was dead.
She had watched them bury her.
She had mourned her.
She had spent years believing she was gone.
But Dove knew that handwriting.
She would know it anywhere.
Her mother's handwriting.
Dove's face went completely still.
And for the first time that night, she felt something cold settle in her chest.
There was no possible way it could be her mother. Her mother is dead. She was killed dove watched her casket get lowered into the ground.
But there was no denying that this is her mom's handwriting.
Dove looked back down at the rose. The same roses she's been getting sent to her for months now. Red roses were her mother's favorite.
Then a voice broke through the silence
"Dove?"
She turned around quickly to see Matt looking at her confused and worried
"Whats wrong?" His voiced suddenly filled with panic seeing the scared expression on her face "what happe-"
