Chapter 5 Midnight Drive
One suffocatingly warm summer night, when Lucia was eighteen, Matteo appeared beneath her bedroom window. He threw small pebbles against the glass like a criminal pretending to be romantic.
At first, she thought she’d imagined it. She was lying in bed with a book resting on her chest, too restless to sleep. The Moretti estate was wrapped in the heavy, oppressive silence that belonged only to massive houses after all the important people had gone to bed. Then another pebble struck the glass. Soft, but deliberate.
Lucia sat up immediately.
Crossing the room barefoot, she pushed the heavy curtains aside. Matteo stood in the shadowed garden below, his hands buried deep in his dark jacket. His car was parked near the side gate with the headlights killed. Even from the second floor, she recognized the restless impatience in his posture.
“You know we have phones, right?” she whispered through the cracked window.
“Get dressed.”
“I could be asleep, Matteo.”
“But you aren't.”
Annoyingly, he was right.
She shouldn't have gone. She knew it while pulling on jeans and a sweater, and while sneaking past the estate guards who conveniently looked the other way. Matteo was already dangerous by then, mostly because of how easily he made her forget caution. He never asked for her trust; he simply arrived, and a foolish part of her always followed.
Stepping into the muggy summer air, she found Matteo leaning against his car, wearing the impenetrable mask he carried everywhere lately.
“You look terrible,” she informed him.
“And yet, you came.”
“Unfortunately.”
A shadow of amusement touched his mouth. He rarely smiled anymore, but Lucia knew how to read his almost-smiles perfectly. Sliding into the leather passenger seat, she instantly caught the scent of cedar, sharp cologne, and the cigarette smoke he claimed he’d quit months ago.
“You’re smoking again.”
“I was around Dante,” he deflected smoothly, pulling away from the curb.
“Well, that explains the bad life choices.”
Manhattan blurred past them in streaks of gold and neon white. Low music hummed from the speakers, leaving a comfortable, familiar silence in its wake. Lucia rested her head against the cool window, watching his profile beneath the rhythm of the passing streetlights.
He looked exhausted. It wasn't physical; it was bone-deep. Dark shadows bruised the skin beneath his eyes, and the tension in his broad shoulders looked permanent. Responsibility had always weighed heavily on him, but lately, it seemed to be eating him alive. It made her feel entirely helpless.
“You’re staring,” he murmured, keeping his eyes on the road.
“You look exhausted.”
“I’m fine.”
“You always say that.”
“Because it’s usually true.”
Lucia shifted in her seat. “And tonight?”
Traffic lights washed silver and red across his sharp features before he answered. “Tonight, I didn’t want to be home.”
The raw honesty caught her off guard. Matteo usually buried his emotions beneath sarcasm or silence, but she had always been the exception. “Bad meeting with your father?” she guessed quietly.
His knuckles went pale against the leather steering wheel. “Something like that.”
Understanding he didn't want to talk about it, she simply reached over and turned the music up.
Matteo glanced at her. “That’s your solution?”
“You were thinking too loudly. Now you can brood dramatically with a soundtrack.”
To her surprise, a rough, quiet laugh escaped him. The sound warmed her chest instantly. There it is,she thought. The real Matteo. Not the ruthless De Luca heir everyone feared. Just him.
They drove aimlessly for an hour until the city opened toward the river. He parked near the waterfront, where the Manhattan skyline glittered against the black water like shattered glass. Lucia climbed onto the warm hood of the car while Matteo disappeared into a late-night diner, returning minutes later with paper bags and drinks.
“Stealing food now?” she asked as he handed her a burger.
“I paid for it.”
“Disappointing. Crime would’ve suited the aesthetic.”
He settled beside her on the hood. For a while, they ate in comfortable silence, the city glowing like embers across the water. When Lucia blatantly stole fries from his bag, he gave her a flat look.
“You have your own.”
“Yours are better.”
“They’re literally identical, Lucia.”
He shook his head slowly, but another faint smile slipped past his defenses. The sight made her chest ache softly. She missed this version of him — the one no one else was ever allowed to see.
Leaning back on her hands, she stared out at the dark river. “Do you ever think about leaving?”
“Leaving what?”
“All of it.” The families. The blood. The expectations.
He stared out at the glittering skyline for a long time. “There’s nowhere to go.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is for people like us.”
Lucia frowned. “You really believe that?”
His expression hardened, the walls slamming firmly back into place. “You still think this world lets people walk away clean.”
“And you think nobody deserves a second life?”
“No,” he said softly. “I think men like my father make sure we never get one.”
The heavy truth of it settled over them. Matteo rarely spoke about fear, but she recognized it anyway. It wasn't fear for his own life; he’d never cared about that. It was the terrifying fear of wanting things he couldn't afford to keep.
Without thinking, she nudged his shoulder lightly. “For someone terrifying, you’re surprisingly dramatic.”
Matteo looked at her. This time, he didn’t look away. The city lights reflected silver in his eyes, and Lucia suddenly became painfully aware of how close they were sitting. The heat of his shoulder radiated against hers. His intense focus narrowed entirely onto her, and her heartbeat stumbled.
“You’re staring now,” she murmured.
“You started it.”
She laughed softly. Without breaking eye contact, Matteo reached up, his rough fingers gently brushing a stray lock of dark hair behind her ear. The simple touch sent a shockwave of heat straight through her chest. His hand lingered against the line of her jaw. Neither of them moved.
The air between them shifted, heavy and charged, like a storm gathering right before the first lightning strike.
“Lucia,” he breathed. Her name sounded entirely different tonight — lower, rougher.
She swallowed hard. “What?”
For a second, he looked like he was going to cross the line and say something dangerous. Then his jaw clenched. He dropped his hand abruptly, turning his gaze back to the cold river.
The moment shattered, but Lucia still felt his touch lingering against her skin like static electricity. Suddenly, she understood something terrifying.
Whatever existed between them was no longer harmless.
