Bound by Hatred (Born in Blood Mafia Chronicles 3)

I turned to the driver’s side and stilled. It was dark in the car. Our lights were smashed but from somewhere a distant glow illuminated what was around me. Matteo was slumped over the steering wheel. Like many mafia cars, the driver didn’t have an airbag because it was a bother during car chases. Blood plastered his dark hair to his forehead, soaked his shirt and dripped down on his pants. So much blood. He must have hit his head against the steering wheel or maybe the dashboard when we’d collided with the wall.

Was he dead?

He wasn’t moving, and I couldn’t see if he was breathing. I held my breath, listening for a sound. There was nothing. I blinked, then peered over my shoulder to see where our pursuers were. Their car had smashed into another building and had already caught fire. They were definitely dead. Was our car going to start burning too? I needed to get out.

Wasn’t this the chance I’d been waiting for? Matteo and I were alone. Nobody was here to stop me from running. I could leave and be free. I unbuckled myself, then glanced at Matteo again. I needed to check if he was dead, but somehow I couldn’t. What if he was really gone? What if he was dead? My throat felt tight and raw. My lungs refused their work as panic settled in my body. God, what if he was dead? What was wrong with me? Hadn’t I wanted him out of my life six months ago? This was my chance, probably the only chance I’d ever get. The smell of gas drifted into my nose, and the smoke inside the car was starting to burn in my eyes. Matteo was a killer. He wasn’t a good man. If you asked most people, they’d say he deserved death.

With shaky fingers I reached out and touched Matteo’s shoulder. He still felt warm but that didn’t mean he was alive. Slowly I inched my hand up until I brushed his blood-slick throat. My fingers ghosted over his skin, finding nothing, pressing and searching, until finally a soft pulse beat against my fingertips.

I exhaled, relief slamming into me like a hammer. Still alive. He was still alive. Thank God. With a sizzle and a pop fire shot out under the hood of the car. I gripped the door handle and pushed but it didn’t budge, distorted from the crash. Panic spread in my chest as smoke and heat filled up the car, and I started clawing at the door. I shifted, tugged my sleeve down my hand and roughly cleaned the window frame from broken remains before I climbed out of the car head first. When I finally felt solid ground under my feet, I almost dropped to my knees because my legs were shaking like crazy. The entire hood was burning now and Matteo was still in the driver’s seat. I rushed around the car, toward his door, praying that it wasn’t stuck like mine. I didn’t think I could drag Matteo through a narrow window without his help. I gripped the car door and tugged as hard as I could. With a screech it flew open and I landed on my butt. I caught my breath, then stumbled to my feet and grabbed Matteo’s arm. He hadn’t been wearing a seat belt so I could pull him out of the car without trouble. He plopped down on the asphalt a bit too hard and I winced, then quickly hooked my hand under his armpits and pulled him away from the car that was catching fire way too quickly.

Matteo was heavy and dragging him away from the car with my aching body hurt like hell, but I didn’t stop until I was sure he was a safe distance away in case of an explosion. I let go of him before I straightened and wiped the blood from my palms on my pants. Matteo’s eyes were closed, his face turned to the side, showing his striking profile. Strands of hair stuck to his bloody forehead and a puddle of red was quickly spreading around his head, trickling from his head wound. I could see his chest rising and falling. My eyes searched our surroundings. The car of the Russians was already a flaming mess, dark plummets of smoke rising into the sky. We were in the middle of nowhere, an abandoned industrial area nobody set foot in without reason. But the smoke would certainly attract attention. Somebody would find Matteo before it was too late.

Right?

I should run. I should want to run. I started backing away from Matteo’s unmoving form on the ground, ignoring the way guilt corded up my throat. He’d forced me into a marriage I’d never wanted. He knew I would use the first chance I got to escape. I took another step back. Matteo had chosen a path of danger and death. Even if he died today, it was what he’d chosen for himself.

This wasn’t the life I wanted.

I turned around, then paused. I closed my eyes. Distantly flames crackled. Someone would find Matteo in time. And even if they didn’t, I shouldn’t care.

I didn’t care about him. I didn’t. And I definitely shouldn’t.

I should hate him. I should hate what he was and what it meant for me. I should that he couldn’t give me up no matter how often I pushed him away. Why couldn’t he give up?

I started walking away, one small step after the other. Once I was out of town, I would call Aria and ask her about Matteo.

It will be too late for him then.

Maybe.

Or maybe not.

Matteo was tough. A head wound wouldn’t kill him.

I chanced a look over my shoulder, my eyes finding Matteo’s unmoving body, sprawled out on the concrete. Behind him the cars were burning, tingeing the illuminated city sky black with their smoke.

Funeral black.

The pool of blood around Matteo’s head looked black from my vantage point, and it had grown even more. “I don’t want to love you,” I whispered as I jerked to a halt, clenching my eyes shut. But I did. I did love Matteo.