Savage Vows (Titans: Moretti Mafia #2)

Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

Alessia

The English Countryside

Matteo’s massive presence fills the space beside me, and the atmosphere in the vehicle crackles with his barely contained fury. I’m hyperaware of him. His scent—a mix of sharp cologne and the faintest hint of smoke—floods my senses. His jacket is heavy and warm and rests over my shoulders, but it’s his hard thigh pressing into mine that keeps me frozen. The solidness reminds me of everything I’ve been running from, everything I thought I’d escaped when I fled to Europe.

“You’re trembling,” he observes, his tone as sharp as the edge of a blade. There’s something else in his voice too—a dark satisfaction that makes my skin prickle.

I scoot as far away as I can and glare up at him through the curtain of my messy hair. “Because I’m furious, not afraid.” The half lie comes out stronger than I feel, and I silently thank the years I’ve spent dealing with my father’s business associates for teaching me how to mask my emotions.

The corner of his mouth twitches, but his gaze remains locked on mine, molten and searing. “Good. Fear would be wasted on you.” His words carry a weight I can’t quite decipher—almost like praise but twisted with pride and possession.

“There’s plenty of room for you on your side of the seat.”

“So there is.”

So why does he have to crowd me? Other than the fact he wants to annoy me?

The blare of a second siren grows louder as we pass another speeding police vehicle. For a fleeting moment, hope flares.

Matteo doesn’t even blink.

Seething, I face him. “You won’t get away with this.”

“No? You think not?” His dark smile is infuriating, a reminder of the power he wields so effortlessly.

“There are cameras everywhere on the property,” I point out, hating the way he seems utterly unconcerned. My mind races through possibilities—surely someone recorded his barbaric display, his casual kidnapping in broad daylight.

He shrugs casually, like a cat toying with its prey. “Are there?”

“Your license plate was recorded.”

“What do you think, Nash?”

“We’re clear on that, sir.”

How they pulled that off, I have no idea. My mind spins. “Artemis and Caspian know who you are.” I ball my fist triumphantly.

“No. I’m afraid they don’t.”

His confidence grates on my last nerve. No doubt he’d given a fake name when he booked accommodations. And wonderful, flighty Artemis wouldn’t have asked many questions.

“The question is, does she know who you are?” he muses. “Who you really are? Not just an aspiring artist?”

“She knows the authentic me,” I counter. “What you’re talking about is something else entirely. I was born into the DeLuca family, but I am not one of them.” The farther I can get away from my family and their business, the better. If I never saw my dad or brothers again, I’d be fine. And until Matteo showed up, that had been my plan.

“Unfortunately for you, little rebel, you can’t erase the truth of who you are.”

I’ve never felt so powerless, so …trapped. The freedom I’d tasted at Elysian Hall—the joy of creating, of being seen as more than the daughter of a crime lord—crumbles around me.

Clenching my hands in my lap, I sit back.

Each mile that passes takes me farther from the happiest I’ve ever been since I lost my mom and my innocence.

“Where are we going?”

“For tonight? Mayfair.”

I blink. There’s a wonderful hotel there, the Sterling Townhome, but I doubt that’s Matteo’s plan. “And after that?”

“You’ll be informed as necessary.”

I clamp my back teeth. “I need my things,” I say finally, breaking the suffocating silence. My voice sounds small, and I hate myself for it.

“I’ll handle it.”

His dismissive tone makes me want to scream.

“Everything is back there.” My satchel, my art supplies, my journals, my whole life.

“You were given plenty of time to return home.”

I scowl at him. When my father sent that ultimatum, I ignored it. He’s always been indulgent with me, maybe because he knows how much I despise his actions and the fact his life choices stole my mother from me. I’ve always found it difficult to love him and my brothers because they’ve embraced our terrible family business.

The last thing I want is to be tied to a mafioso for the rest of my life. My father would never chase me to Europe and force me to come home. But Matteo? I hadn’t counted on his determination to possess me and make me fall into line.

Suddenly feeling vulnerable and anxious, I pull his jacket tighter around me, despising that the scent of him makes me delirious. Desperately I want to shove it off. “I need my clothes.”

His lips twitch with dark amusement. “You seem to enjoy taking them off. You’ll manage.”

The cruel jab hits its mark, and I furiously blush. Until today, I’ve never done anything like that. “I was modeling for an art class. That’s hardly the same as?—”

He cuts me off with a wave of his hand, imperious as any king.

“We’ll stop soon. Chiara will get you something to wear. Or I will.”

The finality in his tone says he’s done with the conversation, but everything in me rebels against his authority.

Not more than fifteen minutes later, the sky turning dusky, Nash pulls into a service station.

Nash checks our surroundings then exits to fill the gas tank, and Matteo tells Chiara to stay put. “Don’t let Alessia out of the car.”

“Yes, boss.”

Without glancing at me, he gets out, and Chiara instantly relocks the doors.

“I’m your prisoner?” I demand, but I can’t stop looking at Matteo. His stride is confident as he heads inside the building. Even here, in this mundane setting, he moves like he owns the ground beneath his feet.

Chiara turns slightly and looks at me, studying my actions. Her expression is unreadable, and she might as well be a wall. Apparently she’s as loyal as any of my father’s lieutenants, which is no doubt why she’s on the team that is attempting to take me back to the States.

Once he’s filled up the gas tank, Nash follows Matteo into the store.

When they return, Matteo once more slides in next to me, and Nash drives the car to the side of the building where there are fewer cars.

Matteo tosses a plastic bag onto my lap. “Your new wardrobe, little rebel.”

Since anything is better than only having his jacket around me, I open it up. There’s a pair of pants, more like pajama bottoms than anything. He also got me a sweatshirt and a pair of flip-flops.

I sigh.

“You’ve got two minutes to get changed.”

“Here?” In front of everyone? He has to be kidding.

“You can hardly walk inside barefoot and wrapped in my jacket.”

He’s right, and I hate that.

“Get dressed.” His impatient command hangs in the air between us, heavy with expectation. “Your time is ticking.”

When my father informed me I was going to be marrying Matteo, my response had been an instant and hard no. Even though I hadn’t met him or heard of him, I had no doubt who he was. All my illusions about my father and brothers were shattered when I was eight. I know the truth.

Mafia members are ruthless, lethal weapons of revenge, destruction, and control.

Nothing I’ve seen from Matteo so far has changed my initial reaction. I want nothing to do with him or the life I hate.

“One minute left.”

I wouldn’t put it past him to yank off the jacket that’s wrapped around me. I glance outside. Dusk is starting to fall, and no one is around. I don’t even see a single security CCTV, which is surprising. “Fine.” I sigh. “Avert your eyes.”

His gaze doesn’t waver. “I’ll hold the jacket for your privacy.”

His audacity knows no bounds.

Both Chiara and Nash turn toward the windows, and to his credit, Matteo also looks away as I wiggle into the pants. Without underwear, they feel strange. I remind myself it’s better than being bare.

Because the shirt is a pullover, the jacket falls away. Matteo picks it up and uses it as a privacy shield for me, but he never looks at me.

Why I’m trying to preserve my modesty when he’s already seen every part of me, I don’t know. Maybe because I need to feel as if I’m winning at least some of the battles, if not the war. “I’m done.”

He slips back into his suit coat, and I’m stunned by the way it fits him, snuggling up to his shoulders and hugging his waist. Credit to his tailor.

“Want to go inside?”

His consideration shocks me.

“I’m sure you need the facilities.”

Even though I’d never admit it to him, he’s right.

The flip-flops are joined by a piece of plastic that I can’t snap. “Anyone have something I can use to get these apart?” Stupid question. All of them have a knife of some kind.

“If you give them to me, I’ll handle it, ma’am,” Chiara replies.

Too much to hope that she’d just offer her weapon.

She pulls a blade from her sock. The damn thing is at least half as long as her calf.

I slip into the uncomfortable shoes.

Matteo studies me for a moment, his expression inscrutable. His unreadable eyes seem to see right through me, past my anger, as if he’s wanting to get to know the real me. That’s something that will never happen. We’re no longer in the dark ages, and women can’t be forced to marry against their will.

Nash unlocks the door, and Matteo opens it. As if we’re a real couple, he steps out, and he offers his hand to me.

When I slide mine against his, electricity sparks through me. Quickly I yank my hand back. My response to him is dangerous and scary.

He gives me some room, and I exit the car. The moment I’m next to him, I’m aware of how vast our size difference is. I’m not short—five eight—but I feel tiny next to him. He has to be six three, maybe taller. And he’s as broad as a football player.

“Shall we?”

He tries to take my hand again, and I stuff mine into my pocket.

Instantly he’s behind me, and his hands clamp hard on my shoulders.

I round on him. “You can trust me.”

“Hmm?”

“How far can I get in these flip-flops?” I give him a slight shrug, hoping it helps convince him to let me go inside alone.

“You tried to run barefoot,” he reminds me. “I won’t underestimate you again.”

I’d been fueled by adrenaline, and even though I barely made it a couple of steps, the rocks had dug in hard.

“Hold my hand, or we’ll get back in the car.”

“Has anyone told you that you’re insufferable?”

“This week, as a matter of fact.”

Really? Who would dare tell that to a badass underboss and live to tell about it? I shiver. Unless the person didn’t live.

The truth is, in our world, men like Matteo get away with everything.

Which is one of the reasons I had to leave.

“What’s it going to be?”

I offer my hand, but I keep it stiff.

“A fighter until the end.”

He has no idea.

Nash is in front of us, and Chiara brings up the rear …an awful lot of effort for a woman who won’t be in their lives long.

Inside, I’m uncomfortably aware of how ridiculous I look, mismatched and out of place, compared to the polished trio accompanying me.

I pull away from Matteo and move toward the restroom. Annoying me, both of the bodyguards are right behind me, and Chiara actually follows me through the door.

“There aren’t any windows in here,” I tell her unnecessarily. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You are correct, ma’am.”

I exhale. Matteo isn’t taking any chances, and I really can’t blame Chiara for following his orders—no matter how much I hate the fact she’s now my shadow. Maybe I should be grateful he brought along a female bodyguard.

A few minutes later, my hands washed and dried, I rejoin Matteo.

“Want anything?”

Never in my life have I been at the mercy of another person. My mother and grandparents left me plenty of money. And maybe from guilt, my father has always given me a generous stipend each month. Now I’m dependent on Matteo for a snack.

Screw that.

It’s his fault I don’t have any money with me. And he’s probably richer than Midas, all from ill-gotten gains.

Determinedly I grab a handful of delicate, crumbly sticks of milk chocolate that are wrapped in cheerful yellow packaging. Then I select a soda from a nearby fridge. God only knows when my kidnapper will feed me an actual meal.

“All of that?”

Because of his comment, I snatch up a bag of salt-and-vinegar chips. “You owe me.”

He shrugs.

Of course, he only gets a bottle of water. Is he superhuman?

Within a few minutes, we’re back in the car. Once more, he leans over to fasten my seatbelt, his movements deliberate and controlled, the heat of his strong body pressing against me.

I hate that my breath catches when his fingers brush against my collarbone, sending unwanted shivers down my spine.

“I don’t need your help,” I snap, twisting away, but there’s nowhere to go in the confines of the car. The leather seat is cool against my bare shoulders, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from him.

“Clearly you do.” His voice is low, a warning wrapped in silk. The buckle clicks, and he doesn’t retreat immediately. His face is close enough that his breath warms my cheek.

By the time we reach Mayfair, the city is cloaked in darkness, its streets glowing with the warm light from the ornate lampposts.

Nash stops in front of a breathtakingly gorgeous four-story townhome with a Georgian facade. With its wrought iron fence and balconies, it screams old world elegance and obscene amounts of money. “We’re staying here?”

Matteo nods. “Belongs to a friend of mine.”

Even though the place is stunning, I know what it really is. A gilded cage meant to imprison me.

Chiara goes in front of us, while Nash grabs luggage from the trunk. At least all of them have belongings.

The door opens, and we’re greeted by a woman wearing a black dress with a white apron. She smiles widely. “Mr. Moretti, so nice to see you again.” She turns to me. “I’m delighted to meet you, Ms. DeLuca. I’m Mrs. Billingsly. I hope you enjoy your stay at Hollings House.”

The woman is gracious, and I’m sure she has no idea I’m here under duress. Or maybe that’s not true. Since I’m dressed like an orphan, maybe she has a suspicion.

Somehow she has gracefully managed to get us inside the grand hallway, with the door closed and locked behind us in just a few seconds.

Chiara continues past us, toward the back of the townhome while Nash heads up the sweeping staircase with the luggage and my plastic bag filled with chocolate and chips.

“Thanks for everything, Mrs. Billingsly,” Matteo tells her. His voice is appreciative and kind, and his tone is one I’ve never heard from him. “We won’t require your services for the rest of the evening.”

“If you’re certain.”

His phone rings, and he glances at the display before silencing the device.

“I’m happy to show Ms. DeLuca to her room while you deal with business,” the housekeeper suggests.

“No need.” He silences his phone. “Thank you.”

After saying that we’ll find basic necessities in all the bathrooms, she smiles at me. “If there’s anything else you need to make your stay comfortable, just pick up the phone on your nightstand.” Then, after wishing us a pleasant night, she excuses herself.

“I’ll show you to your room,” Matteo says.

Thank God he’s not expecting to share one; otherwise, I would have attempted an escape out the window.

The nearest door stands open, and I see my candy on the bed.

“Be ready for dinner in an hour.” He issues the order with the confidence of a man who’s never heard the word ‘no.’

“I’m not hungry.” Even though that’s a fib, I stare at him defiantly, clinging to what little control I have left.

He captures my chin and tilts my head back.

The heat of his touch burns through my skin like a brand.

“Look, little rebel. I abandoned all my responsibilities to follow you to another continent.”

“I was perfectly fine where I was,” I bite out.

“Duty first.” He releases me, his voice soft but lethal, like silk wrapped around a knife. “You have two choices. Join me of your own free will, or I will come and get you. Understand?”

“Is that your idea of a marriage, Matteo?” I fire back. “Barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen?” The words are designed to wound, to make him see me as more than a duty to be fulfilled.

A hint of a smile tugs at his lips, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I assure you, Alessia; I can afford shoes.”

Before I can respond, he’s gone.

Exhausted in a way I’ve never been before, I enter my room, but not before noticing that Chiara is just down the hallway.

I sink onto the side of the bed.

Matteo may have found me, may have dragged me back to this world of power and control, but he hasn’t won.

In the distance, I hear the rich tones of his voice, and there’s an answering skip of my heart. The man is sin and temptation in one. But if he thinks I’ll simply fall in line with his plans, he’s got another thing coming. I’m prepared to fight, no matter the consequences …