Page 4 of Matteo (The 4 Seats #1)

I watch Spike shadow him, lean from gliding silent and deadly. Spike may look like a breeze could take him, but he's a hurricane in a fight, knives dancing like extensions of his twisted soul.

"Keep an eye on that slimy fuck," I murmur under my breath, knowing Spike's already ten steps ahead. The door clicks shut, sealing off Enzo's presence, but the stench of his ambition still fouls the air.

I turn back to the desk, the USB glaring up at me. It promises answers, but at what cost? Power plays, dirty trades – this game's rigged, but I'm not folding. Not when Eleanor's face might be waiting on the other side of whatever digital hell Enzo's offering.

I slam my fist on the desk, the sound echoing through the thick silence of my office. It's a futile gesture, an attempt to release some of the fury boiling in my veins. Enzo's twisted games play out in my head, scenes of violence and depravity that have left a stain on Sydney's underbelly.

"Jesus Christ," I mutter, dragging a hand down my face. The images won't fade – women broken and discarded, the ones who make it out forever haunted in their eyes. They're scars on my conscience, even if not my doing.

Enzo's got them all thinking he's just another power- hungry bastard, but he's worse. Way fucking worse. He's chaos with a goddamn smile, leaving nothing but wreckage in his wake. And he thinks he can drag me into this cesspool of human misery? Not a chance in hell.

I let out a harsh breath, my gaze fixed on the USB.

It's a small thing, innocent-looking, but it's heavy with the weight of a decade.

Eleanor's face flashes before my eyes – her sharp wit, her laughter, how she could cut a man down to size with nothing but a look.

She was fire and ice, a contradiction that set my world spinning.

"Fuck it all," I growl, snatching up the drive. My fingers close around it so tight I half expect it to shatter. But it's resilient, like her. Like us.

I can't let Enzo's lunacy derail me. There's a line, and trafficking girls is miles past it. I deal in other shadows, other sins, but not that. Never that. Because what separates men from monsters if not our choices?

The USB is cold against my palm, a beacon of hope and a possible dead end wrapped into one. Do I have it to chase her shadow across the globe again? To sift through lies and false leads, to risk everything on a whisper of maybe?

"Damn you, Eleanor," I say, the words barely louder than a sigh. "You've got me chasing ghosts."

I flick the USB between my fingers, its weight a constant reminder of what's at stake. As the door swings open, I lean back in my chair, muscles tense.

"Boss?" Angel strides in, his steps measured, eyes scanning the room before they land on me. He eases into the chair across from mine, the quiet creak of leather filling the silence between us.

"You right, Boss?"

His voice is steady, but there's an edge to it—a readiness for whatever shitstorm might be brewing. In this business, concerns are as daily as bullets to the brain.

I let out a humorless chuckle, tossing the USB onto the desk with a clatter. "It's just...that man makes Katherine Knight look sane." The words come out like gravel, and I can feel the darkness that always lurks in my chest tighten its grip.

Angel gives a short nod, his expression grim. He knows the score, knows the kind of madness we're up against. Enzo Morelli's brand of crazy doesn't have a limit; he doesn't play by any rules but his twisted own.

"Katherine Knight butchered her lover, served him up as dinner," Angel says, his tone even, matter-of-fact. "But she never had ambitions to break a whole city."

"Exactly." My jaw clenches as I stand, towering over the desk. "Enzo wants to rip the soul outta Sydney, sell it piece by bloody. And he thinks I'll dance to his sick fucking tune."

"Fuck that." Angel's agreement is swift and decisive.

There's steel in his voice, the same kind that runs through our veins.

We deal in death and darkness, but there's a line in the sand—one we won't cross.

"Want me to go through the USB for ya?" Angel's voice cuts through the thick tension in the room, his eyes steady on mine, waiting for the order.

"Yep." The USB sails through the air, a streak of potential truths and lies. Angel snatches it from the flight path with practiced ease. "See what info is on there, and I'll arrange for a plane to take us to London—leaving today. "

"Got it, Boss." His voice is all business, but I catch the flicker of excitement in his eyes. The hunt is on.

My hand is already on the phone before the USB lands on his palm, dialing the private number that'll get us wheels up within hours. Time's a luxury we can't afford—not when Eleanor's face is plastered across my mind like a goddamn beacon. Every second wasted is another she slips through my fingers.

"London," I growl into the receiver, the word tasting like a promise and a threat. "Today."

Angel's steps echo against the marble as he marches out, USB clutched like a lifeline.

"SPIKE!" The name ricochets off the ceilings like a bullet seeking its mark. My voice cracks through the stillness that follows Angel's departure.

Adrenaline courses through me, a pulsing river of urgency. London looms, a city of shadows where Eleanor might be moving, breathing, slipping away from me with every ticking second. My heart hammers, syncopated with the need to reclaim what's mine.

The office door slams open, and Spike's there, eyes locked onto mine, ready for whatever hell I'm about to unleash.

"Yeah, Boss?"

"Double our security," I snap, the command slicing through the room like a blade. "And place extra around the building." My chest tightens as I think of leaving my empire exposed. "We’re going to London, and I’m leaving the building unattended."

Spike's brow cocks up, but he doesn't question it. He knows better than to waste time on bullshit when I'm in this mood.

"Who knows what Enzo’s real motive for the information was." The name leaves a sour taste in my mouth, a potent reminder that trust is just another word for target in this game.

"Got it, Boss." Spike’s voice is a low rumble, ready for war. His silhouette lingers in the doorway, a shadow against shadows, before disappearing to carry out my orders.

The thought of leaving my territory unguarded gnaws at me, but Eleanor... she's the game changer, the wild card that could bring this house of cards crashing down.

"Oh, and Spike..." My voice trails off momentarily as I run a hand over the stubble shadowing my jaw. The following words are crucial: strategy is everything in this murky world we navigate.

Spike pauses, half-in, half-out of the doorway, an expectant silhouette against the dim hallway. He seems patient, with a stillness that belies the lethal potential coiled beneath his slender frame.

"Keep your ear to the ground. If Enzo so much as farts in my direction, I want to smell it before he does." My eyes lock onto his, ensuring the gravity of my command sinks in.

"Understood, Boss," he replies, his tone stripped of emotion, a perfect mirror of the cold detachment I strive to maintain.

"Travel light," I grunt, eyes locked on the city sprawling beneath us like a kingdom of shadows. "I don’t wanna carry fifty bags of crap!"

"Got it," he nods, his figure swallowed up by the dimness as he retreats to do my bidding. I don't have the fucking patience for this shit. Not when Eleanor's face is plastered across every inch of my mind, and Enzo's slimeball voice is still echoing in my skull like a bad omen.

Fuck Spike and his ever-growing knife collection.

It's gonna be a minimum of ten bags of weapons.

I'd bet my last bullet on it. Each one is a testament to the blood we've spilled and the lives we've carved open.

In this city, violence is just another currency, and Spike's a fucking miser with his knives.

We're heading into the belly of the beast, and my guts coiled tight with anticipation and dread. London could be Eleanor's purgatory or my hell—I haven't decided yet.

"Time to bring my girl home," I mutter to myself.