2 - Put Out Her Fire

Matteo

I slam the door behind me; the sound echoing down the hall as I turn the key in the lock. My jaw clenches so tightly it’s a wonder I don’t crack a tooth. The spitfire inside that room is nothing like what I expected. 

A Cerulli bride, dressed like an angel and dripping with her groom’s blood, should’ve been crying in the corner by now. But no. Amara Cerulli has a tongue sharp enough to draw blood—and I’m not sure if I want to break her spirit or fuck the defiance out of her.

I expected a docile captive—a meek, scared little Princess who’d cower the moment she stepped into my world. Instead, I got… her. A spitfire in a bloody wedding dress who had the nerve to talk back to my father. My fucking father.

She’s not what I planned for, and I hate that.

Walking back to my father’s study, I roll my neck, trying to shake off the irritation prickling under my skin. I grit my teeth and shove the thought away. Let her be angry. It won’t change anything.

Pushing open the heavy door to the study, I step inside. My father glances up from his desk, a cigar between his fingers and that ever-present smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. His dark eyes immediately catch the scowl on my face, and the smirk deepens into a chuckle.

“She giving you trouble already?” he says, leaning back in his chair. The smoke from his cigar curls lazily toward the ceiling. His glass of scotch gleams in the dim light, untouched for now but ready for him when the mood strikes.

I drop the key onto the edge of his desk with a sharp clink and sink into the chair across from him. “She’s a pain in the ass and not what I fucking expected.” 

That earns me a real laugh. He sets the glass down and steeples his fingers, eyeing me like he’s enjoying every second of my irritation. 

“You should’ve known better, figlio mio. The Cerulli blood runs hot, especially in the women. Her father might be a calculating bastard, but her fire comes from her mother’s side.”

“I don’t care where it comes from,” I mutter, scrubbing a hand down my face. “She needs to learn her place and fast before I tire of her.”

He laughs again, low and rumbling, the sound like gravel underfoot. “I thought she might have a little fight in her. Didn’t think she’d be bold enough to call me il drago to my face, though. You’ve got your work cut out for you.”

I shoot him a glare. “She’s not my project. She’s leverage. That’s it. Once we decide what to do with her, she’s out of my hands.”

My father raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing at his lips. “Leverage, hmm? She’s got you riled up already, and you’ve only been in the same house for five minutes.”

“She’s just mouthy,” I bite out, crossing my arms. “Cerulli’s daughter or not, she’s going to regret opening her mouth in front of you.”

“Perhaps,” he muses, leaning back in his chair. “But don’t forget, Matteo, fire can be useful. She’s more valuable as a weapon than as a broken little bird.”

“She’s reckless,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair. “Doesn’t know when to shut up.”

“Like I said, that could be useful.” My father takes a long drag from his cigar, exhaling slowly. “Or it could get her killed. Depends on how smart she is under all that fire.”

“She’s smart,” I admit grudgingly. “But too impulsive. If she keeps mouthing off, she’s going to piss off the wrong person.”

“Like you?” His eyebrow arches, the teasing glint in his eyes making my blood simmer.

“I don’t care if she wants to fight me,” I say flatly. “Let her try. She won’t win.”

My father chuckles again, shaking his head. “I want you to make her fire work for us. The Cerullis will come for her—they have to, if only to save face. And when they do, I want them desperate, disorganized. A Cerulli who’s too broken won’t bait them enough. But one who’s still fighting? Still defiant? That’s the key.”

I lean forward, my elbows resting on my knees. “And if she turns that fire against us?”

He smirks, his gaze cutting like a blade. “Then you’ll put it out. Permanently.”

The coldness in his voice sends a familiar thrill through my chest. It’s a reminder of who we are, of what we do. There’s no room for weakness, no tolerance for mistakes. If Amara becomes a liability, she’ll be dealt with like any other threat.

“Fine,” I say, sitting back. “But she’s going to make this hell.”

He laughs again, low and rough. “Good. You could use a challenge. You’ve been getting complacent lately.”

“Complacent?” I scoff, my hands balling into fists. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked. I’ve killed, I’ve planned, I’ve led this family to more victories in two years than some men manage in a lifetime.”

“And yet,” he says, his voice turning razor-sharp, “you’re rattled by one girl in a wedding dress.”

My jaw tightens, and I glare at him, but I don’t argue. He’s baiting me, and I know it. The old man loves to push my buttons, to see how far he can push before I snap. But I won’t give him the satisfaction.

“Enough about her,” I say, forcing my voice to steady. “What’s the plan for the Cerullis?”

His smirk fades, replaced by the calculating expression that’s made him the most feared man in the underworld. 

“Patience,” he says simply. “The Cerullis are like snakes. You don’t strike until they’re cornered, desperate. Let them twist themselves into knots trying to get her back. Let them burn their resources, their alliances. And when they’re weak enough, we’ll finish them.”

I nod slowly, the logic settling into place. “So we use her to bleed them dry.”

“Exactly,” he says, his tone pleased. “But don’t underestimate her, Matteo. If she’s anything like her father, she’ll be looking for a way out. Don’t give her one.”

“She won’t get the chance,” I promise, my voice low. “I’ll make sure of it.”

My father studies me for a moment, then nods. “Good. Keep her in line, but don’t break her. Not yet. And Matteo?”

“What?”

He leans forward, his dark eyes gleaming. “Don’t let her get under your skin. She’s a Cerulli. They’re poison. But you don’t kill her unless I say so. Understood?”

“I didn’t bring her here to kill her,” I reply, my voice cold. “But she’s leverage, not a guest. She doesn’t get to run her mouth and act like she’s above all this.”

“Good.” He sets the cigar down in an ashtray and leans forward, his elbows on the desk. “They’ll come for her. That’s inevitable.”

“They’re welcome to try,” I say darkly. “I’ve already taken most of their allies off the board. They’re crippled.”

“Crippled doesn’t mean dead,” he counters. “A wounded animal is still dangerous, Matteo. Don’t get cocky.”

“I’m not cocky. I’m prepared.”

“Prepared for what? A direct attack?” He shakes his head. “The Cerullis aren’t stupid. They’ll wait. Bide their time. You’ve embarrassed them, but they’re not done yet.”

“Then we draw them out,” I say simply. “Make them come to us.”

“And the girl?”

“She stays here. Locked up. Out of the way.”

“And if she gets in the way?”

“Then I remind her why she’s here,” I say, my tone sharp. “She can fight all she wants, but in the end, she’ll do what we need her to do.”

“Hmm.” My father studies me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “You think you can control her?”

“I know I can.”

For a moment, he says nothing, just picks up his cigar again and takes another long drag. Finally, he nods. “Fine. But keep an eye on her. And Matteo?”

I look up, meeting his gaze.

“Don’t underestimate her fire. It’s always the ones with fire who burn you the worst.”

I nod once, standing and heading for the door. As I leave, his words linger in my mind, heavier than I want them to be.

Amara Cerulli might have fire, but she’s not going to burn me. She’s not going to win.

This is my game, and I don’t lose.