Chapter 126

Matteo struggled to suppress a growl as the guard escorting him down the narrow corridor roughly shoved him forward, urging him to pick up the pace. He rolled his eyes in silent frustration but quickened his steps as much as the heavy shackles clamped around his ankles would permit. Behind him, he could hear Frankie’s grumbles and muttered curses, the sound of spit hitting the floor, and the occasional sharp snap of a fist striking out at the guards trying to herd them along. Matteo understood the source of Frankie’s anger—it was stoked deliberately, ignited at every opportunity to provoke a response.

True to their word, the FBI agents were waiting for them on the tarmac. While Matteo managed to keep his temper in check for the sake of appearances and diplomacy, Frankie made no such effort. Seizing the moment, Frankie landed a solid punch on Noah Bennett’s face, aiming to shatter his jaw. Fortunately, Roman had anticipated Frankie’s explosive reaction, as any competent lawyer would. He stepped in swiftly, defusing the tension and ensuring both Matteo and Frankie were handcuffed and loaded into the waiting van without further incident.

Upon arrival at the detention center, the process dragged on for hours. They were read their rights, fingerprinted, photographed, and assigned court dates that, in all likelihood, would never come to pass. The only bright spot in the entire ordeal was the chance to make a phone call. Hearing Gen’s voice on the other end—her concern, her desperate hope for her mafia boss husband’s safety—gave Matteo a flicker of strength to endure whatever lay ahead. After hanging up with her, Frankie tried to call his parents, but they refused to answer. Matteo noticed the pained expression flicker across his friend’s face but chose not to comment as Frankie quietly ended the call, muttering something about them not being home.

Once through the intake procedures, they were stripped down. Matteo had only one request: to keep his wedding ring on his finger. When the guards insisted it had to come off, he refused. That defiance earned him a sharp punch to the face and a forceful removal of the ring. He would never forget the man who yanked that ring from his hand—tainting the last touch of the one person who truly mattered: his wife.

Matteo vowed that once he was free, the first place he’d visit would be that guard’s home. He imagined removing the man’s own wedding ring, perhaps taking Gen’s suggestion to use a cigar cutter, maybe even forcing the guard’s wife to eat the symbol of their bond. Though those dark thoughts softened when his ring was returned to him, they never completely faded.

After that, the indignities continued: a thorough strip search, a humiliating body cavity search, and an unnecessary delousing. They were both dressed in standard orange jumpsuits and velcro shoes, accessorized with the ever-present shackles. Each guard’s sneers and rough treatment etched themselves into Matteo’s memory, destined to linger until cold, unfeeling faces replaced them over time.

“Your room is right up here, Princess,” the guard sneered, dragging Matteo to a stop by the shoulder and yanking him sideways to face an open door. “Room 114. Our presidential suite. Hope it suits your tastes.”