5. Matteo
I glancein the rearview mirror and check that the dark shape of my security detail’s Mercedes SUV is following close behind. Tomorrow morning, Renata will have her own such detail following her. Except, she won”t know about it.
As we glide through the dark streets, silence fills the car. There”s an urge riding me to fill it with small talk, but I don”t let it win. If this is part of the game, part of the battle of wits that seems to be commencing between us, then I”m not going to be the first to crack.
Her scent fills the car, and it’s sophisticated in the same way that she is. Sensual too. It”s nothing like the scent she used to wear when we would hook up as teenagers. Then she wore something fruity and fresh, whereas this is a heavily rich floral scent. I decide to ask the investigator digging into her life to find out what it is. In fact, I”m going to find out exactly what beauty products, shampoos and conditioners, and other feminine things she uses, so that I can stock my place with them.
She”s staring out the window, watching the world go by. I idly flick a switch by the wheel and turn some music on. A song fills the car that has a slow beat and a man singing above it in a rich voice. He”s singing about making someone get on their knees for him and beg.
He’s singing about how he”ll make them worship him all night.
Renata”s gaze cuts my way briefly, but then she goes back to looking at the outside world. She shifts again in her seat and crosses her legs the other way, denying me the glimpses of her stocking top in my peripheral vision.
It would be so easy to pull the car onto the side of the road, lean over, and gather her in my arms. I grip the steering wheel tighter, locking myself down. I didn”t get where I am in the world today by being unable to control my urges. I did not build the business higher than either of our parents ever did by being someone who gives in to every little temptation. I”ve always been excellent at delaying my gratification.
In fact, from what I know about her, Renata will find this much harder than me. She”s always been the kind of girl who wants something there and then. If her shopping habits are anything to go by, that hasn”t changed. The amount of money she spends on bags and shoes could fund a small country. She seems to see something, want it, and just goes for it. She was that way when we were teenagers too. I think it comes from the fact that her parents seemed to spoil her rotten in so many ways, but then denied her the things she wanted the most.
I let my mind consider whether she”s truly as spoiled as I”ve often believed. Yes, she”s pampered. Renata lives a luxurious life, and she doesn”t seem to do an awful lot of work for it. She married a very wealthy man, and unlike most women in our life, she was allowed to leave him when she’d had enough.
Still, I remember some of our conversations when we were teenagers, and I remember her telling me about one particular time when all she had wanted was a bike. Instead of giving Renata her wish for Christmas, her parents gave her a doll. To rub salt into the wound, Nico got a bike.
She”s always had a rivalry with her brother which makes no sense to me. In our world, there”s no competition between women and men. The two sexes are distinctly not the same in our family’s culture, each having specific roles and expectations. Yet, Renata doesn”t seem to want to fit into the box she”s been given. It makes her despise her brother in many ways. She”s always tried to compete against him. Always wanted what he had. In fact, it makes my secondary motivation for this game I”m putting into motion much easier to achieve.
It wouldn’t take an awful lot, I don”t think, to get Renata to turn against her family.
Oh, she plays her games, but I want her to help me destroy them, one day, when the time is right, and I think I can persuade her to do it.
I look at her again, and a memory from the past floats into my mind. We had taken the train to a small country station, and bought sandwiches and bottles of soda in the shop there and simply walked. We strolled until we found a nice field, and we laid down in the long grass as we ate our food and let the sun warm our faces. I simply held her in my arms as her soft hair tickled my neck, and we talked. She told me then that she had dreams and plans and things she wanted to do, but she would never be allowed to do them. Not as a woman in the Andretti family.
In some ways, it makes my heart hurt that someone so bright and beautiful was put into such a restrictive box. In others, I want to shake her and ask her what she expects from this life. Her destiny was forged the day she emerged into the world, kicking and screaming, the same way as mine was.
We are our genes and our history. You can’t change it. Why fight it?
I swallow and focus on the road and try to shake the feeling of melancholy this train of thought has given me. This plan isn”t going to work if I get soft. Renata fucked me over, her family fucked mine over, and now it”s time for me to exact my revenge. I can”t let emotions and feelings from the past get in the way. I can”t let any sense of sympathy for the she-devil sitting beside me hinder my plans either.
Use her, get what I want, and then decide what to do with her. That”s the plan.
If she destroys her family for me, though, she”ll have nowhere to go. She”ll be twisting in the wind and vulnerable. Hell, her own family might even put a price on her head. I glance at her again. It’s far too pretty a head to end up in a bin bag in the Thames.
Keep her the voice whispers, dark and depraved deep in my soul.
I don”t love the Renata beside me now because I don’t really know her, but I desire her. I enjoy her company because she”s far too beautiful not to. She”s also fairly quiet, unlike a lot of women. She doesn”t fill the space with endless chatter.
Keep her.
I could. She’d be like a beautiful ornament in my home, but one I get to fuck every day. It wouldn”t hurt to keep her around.
I blow out a breath and stop the train of crazy running through my head. Now is not the time to be making rash decisions about this. I push it out of my mind.
I turn off onto the road toward Windsor, and the track playing changes to something irritating. I flick the steering wheel button to change the track, and Renata makes a little sound in the back of her throat.
“I like that song,” she says.
I sigh but flick it back. I can bear a few minutes of this annoying trash if it pleases her. As the chorus begins, she moves a little in her seat as if she”s dancing along to it. It makes me smile. And then she begins to sing.
Damn, Renata singing is my weakness. If she were my wife, I’d have a grand piano installed in the house, and make her play and sing for me every night. Can she play the piano? If not, I’d get her lessons.
She has a better voice than the woman on the stereo, that”s for sure. It’s velvety and smoky, and it”s one of the sexiest things I”ve ever heard.
I realize with a jolt of shock that I”m hard and aching, as if her voice has wrapped itself like silk around me and is caressing me. Christ, she could do one of those audios that people listen to and get off to.
“You could have been a singer,” I say to her truthfully.
She laughs. “Nah, I get stage fright.”
“You didn’t that night at karaoke.”
As soon as I have said it, I realize my mistake. Shit. She has no idea I was there.
She turns slowly in her seat and looks at me. “You were there? I’ve only done karaoke once in this country, in a bar one night. With Jilly.”
I can’t lie about it now, so I nod. “I was in the back of the bar and saw you sing. You didn’t seem nervous, and you were amazing.”
“You were there, and you didn’t come and say hello?” Hurt filters through her voice, turning it deeper.
“You were with your friends. I didn’t think you’d want to talk to me, and I had to leave. I had a meeting,” I lie.
She shrugs one shoulder and flicks her hair back. “I still would have said hello, but whatever. I wasn’t nervous singing then because it was a half-empty bar, and I’d had three vodkas.”
“Still,” I tell her, “vodkas or not, you were very good. You have an incredible voice.”
“Thank you,” she says with heartfelt sincerity in her tone. “I don’t often get the chance to show it off as Mamma thinks it is uncouth. Even if I had wanted to be a singer, can you imagine my family letting me?”
She has a point there. No way would a Mafia princess be allowed to pursue a career as a singer. It would shine a spotlight on the family that nobody would want.
“I suppose not,” I say.
“Of course not,” she says with a bitter tinge to her tone. “The same way that I couldn”t be a vet, even though I loved animals so much. The same way that I”ve never been allowed a bike. The same way that when I was a child, and I used to wear trousers, my mother would almost faint, as if I”d done something so terribly wrong. The same way I was made to marry a man I never loved.”
The air in the car has grown heavy, and I realize we”re talking about things that could lead us down a dangerous path. The land we are walking on is filled with mines, and I don”t want to step on one before I”ve gotten her into my bed.
If I blow this up now, I might never get a chance to truly possess her.
What should worry me more is how much this bothers me. This whole thing was always meant to be about me being in control. This is my game, so why am I already unsure of the rules? After just one night sitting opposite her beautiful face in that darkly lit restaurant, and having her scent fill my car, along with her smoky voice, I”m already craving her more than any other woman I’ve ever encountered.
I’m more disturbed by the idea that I might never get her into my bed if I fuck this up than I am by the idea I won’t get my revenge. That right there should have me pulling the plug.
“You were allowed to divorce him, though, right?” I ask. I try to keep my tone casual and even, without judgment. She must surely understand, though, the fact that she was allowed to leave him is unusual for a woman in her position.
“Allowed?” She barks out a surprised laugh. “Oh no, Matteo. I wasn”t allowed; I just did it. They have these things you know, they call them lawyers.”
I suppress an eye roll at the sarcasm as she carries on.
“Nobody can stop a person from going to see one, unless they literally lock you in a room. So that”s what I did. I went to a lawyer and stated that I wanted a divorce. By the time my parents found out, it was practically a done deal. My husband was more than happy to get rid of me because he didn”t love me either. He”d been having sex with all sorts of other people for about a year and a half, and I had the proof. He could hardly contest it. So yeah, I”m a free woman, no thanks to my family. They probably would have said no if I had gone to them for permission.”
I”m stuck on the fact that she”s just told me that her husband was having sex with lots of other people. Why the hell would he do that when he had someone so gorgeous and sensual in his bed every night?
“And you had proof of him with these women?” I ask. “That”s how you knew you could get the divorce so easily.”
“They weren”t just women,” she says. She leaves that statement hanging in the air.
Holy fuck, so he was screwing guys as well.
I glance at her and then back at the road as I consider my next words carefully. “You know that if you”d gone to your brother with those photographs, you could have been a very wealthy widow, right?”
All Renata would have had to have done in our world is show her brother the evidence that her husband was screwing men behind her back, and Nico would have sent one of his men to dispose of him and make it look like an accident.
My cousin screws men, and I don’t give a fuck, but screwing men behind your wife’s back, when she’s the daughter of Mafia royalty is very dangerous.
“God, you men are stuck in some sort of medieval past.” She runs her fingers through her hair in an agitated manner, and I wonder what the hell I”ve said to upset her now. “I didn”t want him dead,” she snaps. “I didn”t love him, and he didn”t love me, and what he did was because of that. I just wanted out of the marriage. He agreed to give me what I wanted, and I have a great divorce settlement. I don”t need my family for anything if I don”t want to go to them. I have money of my own now. I’m independent. So, I suppose, at the end of the day, they did me a favor by making me marry him. If they had chosen somebody else, perhaps from this life, I would have never gotten out, would I?”
“Well, if you”d married me, I wouldn”t have let you leave.” The words are out before I can stop them. I should have toned that statement down quite significantly. It hangs in the air heavily between us. A punctuation mark of intent that I hope doesn”t frighten off my delectable prey sitting next to me.
“Well then, it’s probably a good thing we never did get married. We were far too young, and we wouldn”t have been happy together. I expect by now, we would have both been plotting how to kill one another every night, over the dinner table.”
I laugh softly. “No, baby, we would have just been playing toxic mind games. I would never be able to kill you. You”re far too pretty to die.”
She bursts out laughing at that, and the rich sound fills the atmosphere between us. “Did you really just come out with such a terrible line, Matteo Mancini?”
“I think I did.” I shrug and laugh along with her.
“Well, you”re a smooth talker.” She shakes her head as she carries on giggling.
“Seriously, though, talking about death and those kinds of things...” She picks at a non-existent thread on her skirt and shuffles in her seat, a sign that she’s uncomfortable. “I”m genuinely sorry about what happened to your wife.”
And there we go. That click was her stepping on one of the landmines. Depending on what I say next, we could go boom, or I can steer us to safer ground. I decide to give her some truth, but then I need to move this conversation onto less dangerous territory.
“It wasn”t a love match,” I say softly. “But thank you for your kind words. Even though we didn”t love one another, we still lived together and tried to build a life as best as we could. It”s in the past now, though, and I try not to dwell on it.” I let a beat of time pass before I move the conversation firmly on. “So, what made you choose a place in Windsor?”
“I like it there,” she says. “I love the castle and the history, you know? Plus, there are great shops and cafes. There are lots of places to meet friends, and there are the parks. Because it”s not in the center of London, it”s not so busy, but I can get into London quickly if I want to go to the shops.” Her words come out in a rush as if she”s relieved that we”ve moved on from the tricky topic of our previous marriages.
“I understand that. When I inherited the family home, I could have moved and sold it for much money, but I like it. It”s in a nice part of Surrey. I suppose it has a similar vibe in the sense that it”s a small rural place, but it doesn”t take me long to get into the city.”
She nods, listening intently.
“Where now?” I ask as we drive through the center of Windsor. God, I”m such an asshole because of course I know. I know her apartment address, the number, and what she bought at the supermarket yesterday.
She gives me directions to her apartment building, and when I pull up outside the front, I”m relieved to see that there”s a capable looking man sitting behind the front desk in a well-lit foyer. At least the building is serviced and has a security guard. She unclicks her seat belt, and I turn to look at her. I flick the light on in the car for a moment so I can study her face. I need to see her properly and commit her to memory before she goes inside.
This is the closest I”ve been to her in years. As I let my gaze leisurely roam over her face, taking in all the details, I marvel at how clear and smooth her skin is. She has the features of an incredibly beautiful woman, but her skin still looks as if she”s a teenager.
I reach out and cup the side of her face. She sucks in a breath, her lower lip trembling slightly. I enjoy the rush of her skin against mine, and I drink in the beauty and perfection of her face.
“You remind me of an Italian actress,” I tell her. “I can”t remember her name, but she”s stunningly beautiful, and you look so much like her. Prettier, though,” I say truthfully.
Her cheeks slowly flush a fetching shade of pink as I continue staring at her.
“Do you want to come up for a coffee?” she asks.
I shake my head and lock down the twitch of a smile pulling at my lips at her shocked expression. I bet there aren”t many men who say no to Renata Andretti. Physically, it”s taking me every ounce of willpower not to take her up on her offer, but I”m going to play this my way, not hers.
“I have some work to do back at the house.” I let my thumb brush ever so lightly over that full lower lip. “Would you like to have dinner with me again one night?”
“Are you asking me on a date?”
“Are you going to say yes?”
Renata sighs and pierces her eyes closed for a split second, as if my close proximity is affecting her.
“I don”t know if we should do this,” she mutters breathily.
Now I really have to fight back that smile. Oh the game she wants to play. Her flushed cheeks, her increasingly heavy breathing, and her parted lips tell me that she”d let me take her to bed right now. There”s no way, even if she wasn”t under the impression that she”s the one in charge here, she”d ever say no to a second date. Despite the game she thinks she”s orchestrating, and despite what her parents have told her to do, Renata is going to say yes to a second date because her body wants it more than anything.
“All the most fun things in life are the things we shouldn”t do.” I shrug and give a casual smile. “Of course, it’s entirely up to you. Text me if you decide you”d like to meet again.” I act as if I’m already losing interest. As if this was simply a suggestion.
“No,” she says suddenly. “I”d like to. Thank you. It would be nice to catch up ... to talk, I mean. It”s been a long time. There”s a lot of water under the bridge, but I see no reason why we can”t try to maybe build a new bridge between us.” She pauses and then feeds me a line that I know deep down is a lie. I can practically hear her mother’s voice saying it instead. “It would be nice for our families to perhaps slowly have the chance to build bridges too.”
I”m not interested in building any bridges with her family. I”m only interested in blowing up everything they own. “That sounds nice.” I lean in and gently brush my lips against her cheek to say goodbye. Nice, fuck my life; I crack myself up. I picked the most asinine adjective I could and threw it in her face, and still, she hasn’t realized that she’s not the one in charge here but the hired entertainment.
The kiss is an immediate misstep. The moment my skin touches hers, something in me burns. Renata, being the little devil that she is, turns her head ever so slightly so that the next moment my lips aren”t brushing her cheek but her mouth.
She sighs against me, and her lips part, and God help me, but I cannot refuse that invitation.
I slide my hand through her hair at the nape of her neck and angle her the way I want. I softly brush my lips over hers and close my eyes as the soft, pillowy warmth of her lips, both so familiar but so new, presses against my own. She tastes of wine and coffee. She smells of that gorgeous floral scent, and her hair is like silk against my fingers. I”m achingly hard, wanting so much more, but also lost in this exquisite, incredible moment. I kiss her as if I”m drowning in her.
My tongue licks at the seam of her lips, and she parts for me with a slow breath. A low rumble in my chest, a half-aborted groan gives away the fact that I”m as into this as she seems to be. The hand which isn”t in her silky mane slides its way down to rest against the edge of that slit in her dress. That cut in the fabric has been driving me wild all night. I smooth my hand upward into the gap in the fabric and enter the dark space where the lacy edge of the stockings resides. I brush the tips of my fingers over lace until I feel soft, silky skin.
Her breathing becomes more ragged, as does my own. I let my fingers linger there, teasing over that delicious juxtaposition between rough lace and soft skin, knowing that if I move them further up to where her thighs meet, I”ll find, what? More lace? Silk? Whatever fabric she has covering her core, will it be wet?
A shout from somewhere in the distance jerks me out of the moment, and I realize that we’re sitting here making out like teenagers in a car with the damn light on. I pull my hand from her dress as if I”ve been burned. A glance in the rearview mirror shows me the dark shape of my security detail’s SUV parked about three cars back. Great. I”ve given them a show as well.
I end our kiss with a gentle nibble on that beautifully plump lower lip of hers. As we pull apart for the final time, we stare at one another, and something changes between us. For a moment I think I see fear in her eyes. It mirrors what I”m feeling deep within myself. We”re both playing a game here. Of course, I”m well ahead of her because this is a game that I orchestrated. I own the board, and I make the rules. She”s just a pawn, and yet she thinks she”s the gamemaster. Either way, though, this between us, how insane this kiss was, it creates a dangerous situation.
I reach into my pocket and take out a small square of silk, then gently wipe the lipstick that”s made a mess all over her face. After she’s all cleaned up, I use the same square of silk to more roughly wipe the lipstick from my face. Feeling tender toward her in this moment, I smooth her hair into place, and then I get out of the car. I walk around to the passenger”s side and open the door for her. She steps out and turns to me. I hand her a card.
“My number.”
She puts it in her purse and takes out one of her own. “Mine.”
I love the fact that she has business cards even though she doesn’t work, so far as I know. I glance at it and sure enough, it simply says Renata Andretti, no job title, as if she is important enough to need a business card just for being her.
“Thank you for paying for dinner and for the ride home. Let me know when you”d like to meet for a bite to eat. I should get inside; it”s a bit chilly.” Turning away, she saunters toward the brightly lit building as if it can save her from me. She glances back at me and waves, then disappears inside. I lean against my car and watch her go, and I don”t turn away until she”s in the elevator.
I climb into the car, turn the light off, and sit there for a moment to gather my thoughts. Then I text Vlad and tell him I need a two-man security detail. Two of our best, I demand. I want them to start in the morning, and I text him Renata’s address. I tell him to make sure that the men stay well back and that she doesn”t know they are following her. I want them armed too, I inform him. Renata may think that no one would ever come after her, but that”s a naive position. I could murder her stupid brother with my bare hands for not providing her with security.
As I drive home, I think about the next time I’ll see her and know exactly where I want to take her. It”s a tiny, unknown, accept to those who frequent it, traditional little Italian trattoria. It serves delicious food and houses small, intimate booths tucked away in corners that are dark and quiet. Even though it isn”t glamorous or expensive, it”s an incredibly romantic spot.
One hand on the wheel as I drive down the straight road, I touch my fingers to my lips with the other hand. The kiss wasn’t enough.
The next time I see Renata Andretti, I”m going to taste all of her.