Arla’s POV
I
I wake up feeling well–rested, the kind of sleep that settles deep in my bones and Engers in the soft hase of morning. The sheets are cool against my skin, the air in the room still holding the faintest chill. For a moment, just beate, staring a at the ceiling, letting myself enjoy the peace,
But it doesn’t last long
Memories of last night creep in–the card game, the thick tention that had wrapped around the room like an invisible thread pulling too tight. Enzo’s stares, dark and unreadable, like he was waiting for something. Matteo’s sharp, iperly tensarks, never quite letting me get ton comfortable. And Dante, watching everything with that quiet intensity, like
more than he let on.
Even now, I can still feel it. The way the air had shifted around them. The way I was always aware of their presence
when I wasn’t looking-
I exhale and push the covers back, shaking the thoughts away.
Slipping out of bed, I stretch, my muscles pleasantly relaxed. The oversized T–shirt I slept in brushes against my thighs as I pad toward the bathroom, rubbing my eyes. I take my time in the shower, letting the warm water chase away the lingering tension. By the time I step out, steam curling around me, I feel lighter, though I know that won’t last for long
I dress quickly–jeans, a fitted top, and a light jacket–before making my way downstairs.
The kitchen is already alive with the smell of fresh coffee and something buttery, probably croissants or whatever ridiculously good thing they have prepared. The triplets are there, of course, sitting around the sleek dining table like they
own the world.
Because, well… they do.
Matteo’s the first to notice me, his lips curling into something almost smug. “Look who’s finally awake.”
Enzo glances up from his coffee, his gray eyes flicking over me before he looks away, silent as ever.
Dante just gestures toward an empty seat. “Eat.”
I slide into the chair, trying to ignore the way they’re watching. It’s different now–less like they’re trying to figure me out and more like… something else.
“Any reason you all look like you’re about to deliver bad news?” I ask, reaching for a croissant.
Matteo smirks. “We have plans today.”
I pause mid–bite. “What kind of plans?”
Dante leans back in his chair. “You wanted to know what we do. You keep asking.”
My stomach tightens. There’s something about the way he says it, the deliberate weight to his words.
Enzo finally speaks, his voice smooth but firm. “So we’re going to show you.”
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Chapter 40
Something tells me I won’t like whatever that means.
So when we pull up to a fight den. I can’t say I’m surprised.
The underground fight den is Insane.
It smells like sweat and something metallic–probably blood–and the whole place is loud, with people yelling and fists slamming against skin. The lights are low, flickering over the massive space, making everything seem a little dangerous There’s a giant cage in the middle, and inside it, two guys are heating the hell out of each other while the crowd cheers.
But what really gets me is how people react when we walk in.
The second Matteo, Dante, and Enzo step inside, the energy shifts. Conversations drop. People step out of the way fast. Nobody makes eye contact. It’s like the air gets heavier just because they’re here.
They’re wearing all black–Matteo and Dante in dress shirts with the sleeves rolled up, looking almost too put together for this place, while Enzo wears a fitted black T–shirt that makes it way too obvious how built he is. Me? I’m in jeans and a fitted top, feeling both underdressed and completely out of place.
Matteo leans down near my ear, voice smooth. “Welcome to our world, gattina.”
I swallow. Of course they own this place. Of course.
We move further in, and I can feel the way people are staring–not at me, but at them. The kind of stares that hold fear, respect, or both. A few men nod stiffly in their direction, like silent greetings, but no one dares approach…
And then he speaks.
“Didn’t know you
boys were bringing entertainment tonight.”
The voice is slimy, Mocking
I turn–and immediately wish I hadn’t.
A man leans against a post, arms crossed, smirking at me. He’s older, probably mid–thirties, with a rough face and a cocky
slouch.
Matteo and Dante freeze.
Enzo doesn’t
He moves so fast I barely process it. One second, he’s next to me. The next, he slams the guy against the post
force to make it rattle.
The whole room goes
dead silent.
Inzo’s voice is low, controlled. “What the hell did you just say?”
The man coughs, but he doesn’t answer. He can’t. Enzo’s forearm is pressing against his throat.
Matteo mutters something sharp in Italian. Dante crosses his arms, eyes cold.
with enough
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Chapter 40
“Enzo.” Matteo’s voice is calm, but I can feel the warning in it. “Lascialo stare. We’ll deal with him later.”
Enzo’s jaw flexes. He wants to break something–I can see it in the tension in his shoulders, the barely restrained fury in his grip.
Matteo glances at one of the men standing nearby. “Take him outside.”
The guy nods quickly, like he’s been waiting for the order. Two men grab the
knows better.
and drag him out. He doesn’t fight. He
Enzo still hasn’t moved.
Before I can stop myself, I reach out, touching his arm.
His body tenses–then, just like that, he exhales, some of the rage slipping away. His stormy gray eyes meet mine, and for a second, it’s just us.
Then his hand is at my waist, firm and warm, and God–it should not feel this good.
“Let’s go,” he mutters, leading me toward the exit. But his grip doesn’t loosen. If anything, it tightens, protective, possessive.
And I feel it everywhere.
Behind us, Matteo and Dante follow, their presence just as intimidating.
No one stops
No one dares.
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