Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Matteo
“We enjoyed meeting Alessia yesterday.” My father’s voice carries the quiet authority of a man who has rebuilt our family empire and dismantled our enemies with ruthless precision.
He leans back in the high-backed leather chair behind his imposing mahogany desk, his hands steepled as his piercing gaze focuses on me.
No doubt my upcoming nuptials were part of the discussion he had earlier with Nico.
I incline my head and shift in my seat. Thoughts of Alessia are frustratingly persistent. Yesterday, in the car, I gave into the temptation to touch her. But the taste wasn’t enough for me.
And then I saw her beautiful ass presented to me on the coffee table in my living room, and she responded to me as if we were made for each other.
Despite the promises I made to myself that I’d give her time to adjust to our relationship, once she came for me, I had to have her.
She was so sweetly responsive, perfect for me in every way.
And then this morning …
I awoke early, with a raging hard-on. She was snuggled against me, sleeping soundly.
My body demanded I claim her. But I fought against my baser impulses. I’d already fucked her hard, even after tormenting her pussy and spanking her butt. Then around midnight, I made love to her.
Every sigh, every whimper is embedded in my memory, part of the fabric of who I am.
We’re marrying because of obligation, nothing more.
But after last night, she’s working her way past all of my barriers.
I never want to let her out of my sight, not even to go shopping with my sister-in-law.
But I know that if I hold on too tightly, she will rebel. I wouldn’t put it past her to attempt an escape.
Frustrated, I eased myself away from her, covered her up, then headed to my home fitness center and sent a text to Nico.
Since he’s an earlier riser like I am, he responded immediately.
Despite my hesitations when my father announced his intention to move Nico into the role as the family’s consigliere, my cousin has proven to be solid, capable, despite the fact he’s around my age.
Like me and Alessia, he and Bella had a rocky start. He forced her down the aisle as his form of revenge against her family.
Despite that, he’d fought for her, for them, and their love.
He advised me to allow Alessia freedom. Maybe not as much as she wants, but certainly more than I’m comfortable offering.
He confirmed that Bella always has a driver. That’s not optional in their relationship, especially not now that he’s my father’s most trusted advisor. Nico is a potential target, and that makes Bella one as well.
If I had my way, Alessia would never leave my home, unless I was with her.
I thought I was being more than generous by reassigning Chiara to Alessia’s personal detail, and I expected her to be grateful instead of annoyed that she had to have security.
And then my hand was on her ass again, and my cock demanded I fuck her. Walking out of the bedroom door strained every bit of my self-control
Confounding woman gets to me in a way no one ever has.
“Your mother was particularly impressed by her,” my father continues, and I shake my head to bring me back into the present. His tone is neutral, his words carefully measured. “She said Alessia has a sharp mind and a way of holding her own in conversation. Admirable qualities.” He nods. “She fit in well. Was happy to help out in the kitchen.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” But I’m not surprised. With me, she’s a spitfire, but I know Artemis adores her. And my future bride was all but working as a scullery maid at Elysian Hall.
“These kinds of arrangements can be challenging initially,” my father acknowledges.
“She’ll adapt.”
He lifts his demitasse cup in acknowledgement of my words.
Then, his gaze sharp, he leans forward to rest his forearms on the desk. “Alessia’s integration into this family is critical. Her presence at the table solidifies our position with the DeLucas, and we cannot afford any mistakes. Do you understand, Matteo?”
“Yes, sir.”
“The announcements need to go out this week.”
As if I could forget. My father had been firm about that at dinner last night, and Bella has already sent me an email reminder.
“The time with Bella will be good for her.”
I bite back my annoyance.
“The more friends she has, the easier her transition will be. You want her to establish ties. Connections.” He pauses. “Loyalty.”
That’s more important than anything.
Slowly I nod.
My father has a point, and he’s right. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.
“Bella will be an ally for you,” Nico adds. “She knows her role.”
Even though she smoothly manipulated me yesterday. If Alessia had come to me and said she wanted to spend the afternoon driving around Houston with Bella, dining, shopping, I would have said no. But when Bella asked in front of my family, there was no way I could refuse.
Still, in the time she’s been working under the tutelage of Celeste Fallon, Bella has been a great asset. Her PR skills are sharp. And the word my father just used is the most important of all. Loyalty. Bella is committed to the Moretti family.
Perhaps Nico is right. She could be my ally. Even if I don’t like being manipulated.
“She genuinely likes Alessia,” he adds.
“As does your mother.”
Two important things. My little rebel could have intentionally tried to sabotage our relationship, but she hadn’t.
That earns my respect.
“Now, to business.” My father motions to Nico. “Update us on the Russo situation.”
Nico straightens, his expression hardening. “The Russos have been skirting the line—brokering deals through intermediaries. Nothing overtly traceable but enough to raise questions. For example, some of their new contracts involve businesses that overlap with our territory.”
My father scowls. “Define overlap.”
Choosing his words carefully, Nico explains. “They’re leveraging third parties to acquire shipments at ports just outside our jurisdictions. The goods don’t technically cross into our territory, but the intent is clear. It’s a test, and they want to see how far they can push.”
I sit forward, my hands gripping the arms of the chair. The alliance—a delicate balance of power between the Morettis, DeLucas, Russos, and Bertonis—is precarious. Any sign of weakness invites exploitation.
“What’s their endgame?” I ask, my voice calm despite the heat building in my chest.
“They’re probing for opportunities,” Nico replies. “If we let this slide, it sets a dangerous precedent.”
My father’s lips press into a thin line. “Nico, make it clear we see what they’re doing. Subtle, but firm. Matteo, I want you to monitor the situation closely. If they take another step over the line, you’ll handle it. Quietly.”
I nod. “Understood.”
“Good.” My father’s gaze settles on me, weighted with expectation. “And Matteo, a measured hand serves us better than an impulsive one.”
Is his caution about business? Or is he including my personal life in his warning?
Our discussion complete, I take my leave.
The Moretti holdings are vast, and as CEO of our businesses, I like to be in the office early. But I never leave my parents’ house without seeing my mother, and I find her in the kitchen.
Ever since I can remember, mornings are filled with the aroma of fresh espresso that she makes on the stovetop, the old fashioned way. As always, there’s also a carafe of regular coffee.
She looks up as I enter, a knowing smile crossing her face. “Morning, Matteo.” Without asking if I want an espresso, she fills a demitasse cup and offers it to me.
Though we’ve always had housekeepers and a chef, my mother enjoys her time in the kitchen.
There’s a spread of food, including fruits, bacon, fried potatoes, scrambled eggs, and pastries for my father’s sweet tooth. His eating habits are a source of friction between the two of them. She wants him to live a very long time, and she insists he’d be around much longer if he’d stay out of the treats.
After a health scare, she stopped buying junk food, so my father sent one of his soldiers to a local bakery. The man had all-but bought out the place.
Since she’s a realist, she knew it was a battle she couldn’t win, so she began to stock his favorites again, though she does her best to ensure he has them on occasion, instead of for every meal.
I look at the platter full of bacon. After the disagreement with Alessia, I left home without eating breakfast. I use a pair of tongs to transfer a cornetto onto a plate, aware that my mother is studying me.
“You’re troubled.”
“It’s business.” The lie feels hollow even to me. “The Russos.” My mother is very much aware of my father’s business dealings. She’s as much his advisor as myself or Nico.
She arches an eyebrow, so like my own expression that I almost smile. “Business doesn’t make you skip breakfast, my son.”
I sink onto one of the barstools, surrendering to her perception. “Alessia …” I begin, then stop, unsure how to continue. Our private business is just that. Ours.
“Is struggling,” she finishes for me. “As any woman would, having her life turned upside down.” She pauses. “You know my marriage to your father was arranged.”
Though I knew this, we’ve never discussed it.
“I wasn’t happy about it. I had grand plans for my life.” For a moment, she’s quiet, maybe lost in a memory. “But your father…” She breaks off and sighs softly, then she smiles. “He was patient. He courted me properly. Beneath all his power, he showed me genuine care.”
“This is different,” I protest. “It’s my duty?—”
“No, Matteo,” she cuts me off, her voice gentle but firm. “It’s so much more. I saw how you looked at her yesterday. And how she responds to you, even when she thinks she’s hiding it.”
Heat rises in my chest. I think of earlier—Alessia’s defiance melting into something else entirely when I touched her. “Love is a weakness I can’t afford.” The words taste bitter, memories of past pain threatening to surface.
“Then affection,” my mother suggests. “A genuine caring and partnership. She can be none of those things you desire—wife, mother, partner—if she’s not happy.”
No doubt she’s right.
I press my palms against the cool countertop, grounding myself. “She may never accept me or our life.” The same as Clara.
“Give her time.” My mother reaches across the counter and momentarily places her warm hand on mine, like she’s done to soothe me my entire life. “Talk to her. Find out what her reservations are about. There are things you may not know.”
She’s right. Alessia and I haven’t had a lot of personal conversations. Maybe I should discover the secrets my wife-to-be is keeping.
Then wryly, my mother adds, “Not a lot of women like to be told what to do.”
Because I’ve done exactly that, I wince.
“She’s talented, intelligent,” my mother continues, picking up her cup. “She’ll find her place here, but only if you let her discover it for herself.”
The weight of her words settles over me. I think of Alessia in her studio, the passion in her eyes when she trailed her fingers over the supplies that Artemis told me to purchase.
And fuck…
The way she responded to me when I spanked her, fucked her, made love to her.
“Talk to her, Matteo. And listen. Truly listen. You’re like your father, thinking you know best.”
In this case, I see a bigger picture than Alessia does, everything that’s at stake.
My mother shakes her head, as if knowing what I’m thinking.
I reach for a knife and slice my pastry in half, adding some bacon and eggs to the inside. At least it’s healthier that way.
“Be patient,” she adds softly as I eat. “Let her know you care for her.”
My mother’s words are still echoing in my head long after I reach my office.
Later that day, I stand in the sleek confines of my office on the top floor of the Moretti-owned high-rise. Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a panoramic view of Houston, and the city sprawls beneath me like a living, breathing beast.
And much of its revenue belongs to us. If we have our way, we will make even greater inroads this year. The Four Corners Alliance agreement will protect the sources we already have, while the marriage to Alessia will cement our power along the coast.
A knock on the door makes me pivot.
Without waiting for a response, Nash enters.
I’ve been expecting him.
No one can get into my inner sanctum without an invitation.
“Boss.”
“The Russos have gotten too bold,” I say, my voice sharp as I move to my desk to review a dossier spread out there. Taking my seat, I ask, “What’s the latest on their movements?”
“They’ve pulled back from the ports temporarily,” Nash replies. “But it’s a smoke screen. They’re setting up a new supply chain farther south.”
My jaw ticks. Corpus Christi, maybe? They’re getting close to the Bertoni action. Bold move, one I should have anticipated. “Cut it off before it’s operational. Coordinate with Nico. I want eyes on every shipment.”
Nash inclines his head. “Understood.”
As soon as Nash leaves, my phone buzzes. I answer, my voice clipped. “Moretti.”
The man on the other end, a capo stationed in New Orleans, details a shipment delay that threatens our distribution timelines. My response is swift, precise, and uncompromising. By the time I hang up, the capo has his orders, and I’ve quelled another potential issue.
In the momentary quiet, thoughts of Alessia intrude again, unbidden and unwelcome.
I need to shove them aside.
But I don’t. Can’t.
I’m fucking becoming obsessed.
I open my computer and check the security feed from the house, going back in time to the moment she walks out the back door, heading toward her art studio. She’s wearing leggings and an oversized sweater, her dark hair loose around her shoulders. In one hand, she carries what looks like a slice of chocolate cake.
Momentarily she stops to admire the garden and gaze into the sparkling pool.
My chest tightens.
She’s unbelievably beautiful. Does she have any idea the effect she has on me? The curve of her hips, the sway of her stride—it’s maddening. Heat coils low in my abdomen, and I slam the laptop closed and stalk to my private bathroom.
The cold water I splash on my face does little to cool my temper. She’s a distraction I can’t afford, yet she’s becoming as essential to me as the air I breathe.
I brace my hands on the chilled vanity top. The water drips from my face, but it does nothing to quench the fire raging within me. I can’t take this anymore. I need a release.
Unfastening my belt, I unzip my pants. My cock springs out, hard and heavy, aching with the need that’s been building since I spanked Alessia in our bedroom this morning. I grip myself firmly, feeling a satisfying pulse in my hand.
I close my eyes, and Alessia is instantly there, the way she’d been last night on the coffee table, her back arched, her body shaking in response to my punishment.
Her perfectly round ass becomes marked with my handprints.
I hear her soft whimpers and savor the way they escalate into desperate cries as I drive her to the edge. Her body squirms, her hips bucking against my restraining hold as she begs me to let her come.
I move my hand in a steady rhythm, stroking from base to tip. As I squeeze, I think about the way she clamps down on me. I remember her slick wetness, her velvety softness, the way she orgasmed, screaming my name.
My breath coming in harsh pants, I tighten my grip and speed up. I’m filled with her—the intoxicating taste of her skin, the scent of her arousal, the sounds of her pleasure.
I imagine her on her knees, her lips parting to take me deep into her mouth. I can feel the gentle graze of her teeth, the swirl of her tongue.
My muscles tense, my spine tingles. With a guttural moan, I come, thick ropes of ejaculate spurting out, coating the vanity and my hand.
I stroke myself through it, milking every last drop, my body shuddering with the intensity.
As the last waves of satisfaction recede, I lean against the counter, spent.
But I’m not satisfied. The relief I’ve given myself won’t last because it hasn’t given me what I need. To be buried deep inside my future wife’s body, feeling her tight pussy clenched around me. I want to hear her beg, her pleas, her screams as she climaxes around my cock.
I clean up quickly, tucking myself back in and washing my hands. As I stare at my reflection, I see the determination in my eyes. For the first time in years, I’m eager to get home. Not to the empty shell of a house I’ve lived in, but to Alessia.
Tonight I’ll make her mine again. I’ll show her that no matter how much she fights it, she belongs to me.
During the day, I check the security system several more times, telling myself I want to ensure she’s safe. But that’s a damn lie. I’ll be notified if anything goes wrong or if she attempts to leave me.
But every time I see her, my cock hardens, throbbing insistently.
I’ll never be able to get enough.
Frustrated with myself, I decide to go home a couple of hours before I usually do. Satisfyingly I find Alessia perched on one of the barstools at the kitchen island, a sketch pad in front of her, clearly lost in her creative pursuit.
The sight of her inflames me all over again.
When she realizes I’m near, she freezes, her pencil stilling midstroke. “Matteo” My name is breathless, and what I wouldn’t give for a touch of reverence.
“Hello, little rebel.” I stalk toward her, enjoying the sound of her breath catching as I near.
“I, er …” She puts down her pencil and flips the cover closed, but not before I catch a glimpse of a naked man’s form.
Mine?
My nostrils flare. It better not be anyone else’s.
She looks at me, a flush on her face. Her gaze is equal parts wary and curious and with a hint of the heat we shared last night.
“Stand up,” I instruct, my tone low and commanding.
For a fraction of a second, she hesitates—my rebellious little fiancée—before sliding off the stool. The motion brings her directly into my space, exactly as I planned. “What happened today?”
She blinks. “What do you mean? I went to my studio.”
“Did you?” I move toward her, and she retreats, toward the wall. “Anything else?”
“No.” Her answer is hardly more than a whisper.
I crowd her space again, and she’s forced to take a step back, then another, until her spine meets the wall. “There’s nothing at all you want to tell me?” I place my hands on either side of her head, and I lean in. “A confession, perhaps?”
She shakes her head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she insists, her voice shaky. Untruthful?
The sweet scent of her—jasmine and vanilla—floods my senses. “Have you been a good girl today? You didn’t touch yourself?”
Her eyes widen, and her lush lips part as if to answer, but no words emerge. A slight tremor runs through her, and her pulse flutters at the base of her throat.
I tilt my head as I lean toward her a little more. “I know how you respond to my spankings, and it’s time to be honest with me, my little rebel.” As I was leaving, I’d warned her not to give herself an orgasm.
Her cheeks flush pink, and she momentarily drops her gaze.
I say her name as I move one of my hands to her belly, then intentionally slide lower.
Barely an inch separates us, and she parts her legs in silent invitation.
Heat radiates between us, and I have a surge of the same magnetic pull that’s had me aching for her all day.
“I …” Bravely she meets my gaze.
“Answer me, Alessia,” I warn. “How many climaxes did you give yourself? One?” I ask softly, stroking my fingers at the apex of her thighs. “Two?” I brush my lips across hers. “Or was it more…?”