2. Dangerous Temptation
Chapter two
Dangerous Temptation
Amelia
T he first thing I notice when I wake up is the absence of weight. The cold bite of steel around my wrists and throat has been a constant reminder of my captivity, of the fact that Matteo Moretti didn’t just want me—he wanted to own me. The heavy cuffs that bound my movements, were gone. I should feel relieved. I should feel free .
But as I stretch my arms, rubbing at the raw skin where metal once dug into my flesh, a strange hollowness settles in my chest. My body feels weird about the restriction. I feel… untethered. I hate that I notice its absence. Hate that a part of me feels exposed without it.
I push the thought away, throwing the silk sheets off my body and swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. The room is still bathed in the soft haze of dawn, and despite the luxury of the estate, there’s a chill in the air that seeps into my bones. Or maybe it’s not the cold at all. Maybe it’s something far more dangerous.
I press my palm against my neck where the key collar rests. Last night, after I fell asleep, Matteo had unshackled me from the chains he had so carefully locked around me, yet somehow, I still feel bound to him. A new kind of shackle. An invisible one. One that lingers in the way my body remembers his touch, the way my mind replays the way he looked at me in the darkness, his gaze heavy with possession, with something I don’t want to name. I shake off the thought and rise to my feet, forcing myself to move, so I can reclaim whatever control I have left before I lose myself completely in the gravity of this world.
But even as I tell myself I’m free, I know the truth. The chains may be gone, but Matteo Moretti’s hold on me is going to get stronger. I hate the way his presence fills the room, commanding attention even when he’s silent. I hate the way my pulse quickens every time he’s near. From the moment I agreed—no, was coerced—into this sham of a marriage, Matteo Moretti has made it his mission to assert his dominance over me. But he doesn’t understand who he’s dealing with. I’m not some delicate flower to be pressed between the pages of his mafia fairytale. I’m a storm, and he doesn’t know it yet, but I’ll drown him if he tries to cage me.
The day starts like all the others since I have been forced to live in his gilded prison. The grand estate is eerily quiet, as if the walls are holding their breath. Matteo is already awake, likely handling whatever business a man like him deems important.
That means I have a moment of peace. I make my way to the garden, a sanctuary I’ve claimed as my own. The roses are in full bloom, their vivid reds and whites stand out against the green. I sit on the stone bench, letting the sun warm my skin, but my mind is anything but calm. The memory of last night still lingers. The kiss. His touch. The way he looked at me, as if he could strip me down to my very soul. I shiver despite the warmth of the sun. I can’t let him get to me.
But how can I not? Everything about Matteo Moretti demands attention. His presence is suffocating, his words are like the chains that were fastened around my wrist and ankles. Last night I felt my freedom slip through my fingers like sand. I glance at the roses, their vibrant petals, a cruel mockery of my life now. They’re cultivated, pruned, and displayed for their beauty, but they grow under strict control. The irony isn’t lost on me.
The faint hum of voices carries through the estate, and I’m reminded of the world I’ve been thrust into. A world where loyalty is currency and betrayal is met with blood. Matteo’s world. Even growing up, my father had kept me from what he did for a living, but I wasn’t na?ve. I overheard whispers, seen the briefcases exchanged, the bruised knuckles and quiet tension in our home after certain meetings. I’d caught glimpses of this world but never thought I’d be dragged into its depths.
And now, I’m at the heart of it. The Moretti estate is crawling with men who live and die by the code of this life. Each with their place, each with blood on their hands. I saw them last night, watching me with a mix of curiosity and pity, as if I were some rare animal being paraded for their approval. And then there’s Matteo. I clench my fists, my nails digging into my palms. He’s the puppet master who orchestrates every move. He’s ruthless, calculating, and terrifyingly precise. But what unsettles me most is his obsession. He doesn’t just want me; he wants to own me.
I think back to the wedding. The vows spoken like threats, the cold weight of this ring on my finger, and the searing heat of his lips on mine. He didn’t kiss me like a husband kisses his bride. He kissed me like a conqueror marking his territory.
I stand abruptly, pacing the garden. The sun warms the chill in my bones. I hate this. I hate him. Yet, there’s a part of me that can’t ignore the pull of his darkness. It’s intoxicating, dangerous, and impossible to escape. A soft rustle behind me makes me turn. It’s the housekeeper. She bows her head slightly, a gesture of respect I neither want nor need.
“Signora,” she says quietly, holding out a tray with a delicate teacup.
I nod, taking the tea, but my throat tightens at the title. Signora. The word feels foreign, like it doesn’t belong to me.
Elena hesitates before speaking again. “If I may, Signora, the garden is very beautiful this time of year.”
I force a small smile. “Yes, it is.”
With a quick nod, she retreats, leaving me alone once again. I sip the tea, the bitterness grounding me. My mind drifts back to my father, to the choices he made that led me here. Was he trying to protect me by keeping me ignorant? Or was he simply underestimating the reach of men like Matteo?. They call him Il Re Oscuro —The Dark King. The name isn’t just a title; it’s a warning. Matteo doesn’t just command his empire; he reigns over it with an iron fist.
To the outside world, he’s a polished businessman with a devilish smile and a tailored suit. But beneath the charm lies a man who wouldn’t hesitate to spill blood to protect his throne. The whispers I’ve heard around the estate confirm as much. Men speak his name in hushed tones, their voices tinged with a mix of reverence and fear. Matteo’s power isn’t just in his wealth or influence—it’s in his ability to destroy anyone who threatens him. I try to imagine what it must be like for him to carry that weight. To be the man who decides the fate of so many.
But then I remember the cold way he looks at me, the calculated intensity in his eyes, and I know he thrives on it. This isn’t a burden for him; it’s a game that now I’m part of. A pawn in his twisted empire, shackled to a man who sees me as both his possession and his prize. I clench my fists, my nails digging into my palms. I hate this. I hate him.
But most of all, I hate the part of me that’s fascinated by him. He’s ruthless, yes, but there’s something else beneath the surface. A flicker of vulnerability he tried to hide behind his mask of control. It’s there in the way his jaw tightens when he thinks no one is looking. In the way his hands trembled, just for a moment, when he slid the ring onto my finger. I shake my head, trying to banish the thought. I can’t let myself feel anything for him. Not pity, not understanding, not even hatred. Because any emotion I show will only feed his obsession. The sound of heavy footsteps pulls me from my thoughts.
“Amelia.”
His voice startles me, deep and rich, cutting through the stillness like a blade. I glance up to see Matteo standing a few feet away, his hands tucked into the pockets of his tailored slacks. He looks every bit like the devil in disguise, handsome and dangerous.
“What do you want?” I ask, my tone sharp.
He steps closer, his gaze locked on mine. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
“I didn’t realize I was required to be at your beck and call. Or is that another rule you forgot to mention?” I say, standing.
His lips twitch, not quite a smile but close. “You have a sharp tongue. But you should be careful. One day, it might get you into trouble.”
I cross my arms, refusing to let him intimidate me. “Is that a threat?”
“An observation and a reminder.” he says smoothly.
“For what?” I challenge.
“That you’re mine.”
The possessiveness in his voice makes my stomach twist, equal parts fury and something I refuse to name. “I don’t belong to anyone, Matteo. Least of all you.”
He takes another step forward, and suddenly the air between us feels charged, electric. “Keep telling yourself that,” he murmurs, his voice low.
I refuse to back down, meeting his gaze head-on. “You can force me into this marriage, Matteo, but you’ll never have me.”
For a moment, neither of us speaks. The tension is palpable, heavy with unspoken words and unacknowledged truths. Then, without warning, he reaches for me, his hand curling around my wrist, tracing over the indents from the cuffs.
“Do you ever stop fighting?” he asks, his tone a mix of frustration and fascination.
“Not when it comes to you,” I snap.
His grip tightens, not enough to hurt but enough to remind me of his strength. “You drive me insane, you know that?”
“Good,” I spit back.
And then it happens again. His lips crash against mine, fierce and unyielding. It’s not a kiss born of tenderness, it’s a battle, a clash of wills. I want to pull away, to shove him back and scream at him, but my traitorous body has other ideas. I kiss him back, matching his intensity with my own. His hands move to my waist, pulling me closer, and I hate the way my body responds to him, the way my pulse races and my breath catches. This isn’t supposed to happen. I’m supposed to hate him, to resist him at every turn. When we finally break apart, I’m breathing hard, my lips tingling. He looks just as affected, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath.
“This will not change my mind” I say, my voice shaking with anger.
He smirks, that infuriating, cocky smirk that makes me want to slap him. “Keep telling yourself that.”
Before I can respond, he turns and walks away, leaving me standing here, furious and confused, the weight of his words settling over me. This isn’t a marriage. It’s a battle and I have no intention of losing.
The rest of the day is a blur of emotions I can’t untangle. Anger, frustration, and something dangerously close to longing swirl inside me, refusing to settle. By the time night falls, I’m exhausted, but I know sleep won’t come easily. I sit by the window in our shared bedroom, staring out at the darkened garden. The door opens behind me, I turn to see him standing in the doorway,
“Couldn’t stay away?” I ask, my tone dripping with sarcasm.
“I could say the same for you,” he replies, his voice low and smooth.
I cross my arms. “What do you want, Matteo?”
He steps closer, his dark eyes boring into mine. “You.”
The word hangs in the air, heavy and undeniable. I take a step back, shaking my head. “You don’t want me, Matteo. You want control. And you hate that you can’t have it.”
He closes the distance between us in an instant, his hands gripping my arms. “You’re wrong, Amelia. I have control. I always do. You’re the only one who makes me lose it.”
His words send a shiver down my spine, and I hate the way they affect me. His presence engulfs me, suffocating and undeniable. I feel the heat of his body as he steps closer, his cologne wrapping around me like an invisible force, pulling me in. I’m aware of every inch of him, of the tension in the air, thick and crackling like static before a storm.
“Stop pretending you don’t want this,” Matteo says, his voice vibrating with something dark and hungry. His eyes, always so intense, are now a blaze, locking onto mine as though trying to pull me apart with just his stare.
I swallow hard, my pulse racing despite my defiance. He’s too close now—his scent, the heat of his skin just inches from mine—it overwhelms me, scrambles my thoughts.
“I don’t want anything from you,” I manage to say, though it sounds weaker than I want it to. My hands are shaking, betraying me. I turn away, desperate for distance, but he’s faster, reaching for me before I can move more than a step. His hand catches my wrist, pulling me back to him, his grip strong and unyielding.
“You can lie to yourself, Amelia. But I know you. I know what you want.” he murmurs, his face inches from mine, his breath warm against my lips.
The space between us feels like it’s shrinking by the second, and the thundering of my heart becomes all I can hear. Every nerve in my body is on edge, a feverish need building that I can’t understand, but can't deny either. My breath hitches, and I feel it—his gaze, hot and consuming, dragging my thoughts from my head and straight to my body.
“You’re wrong. I don’t want this.” I say, my voice barely more than a whisper, but even to me, it sounds like a lie.
He smiles, slow and knowing, a smile that promises destruction. “Then why does your body betray you?”
He pulls me even closer, until I can feel the heat of his chest, the steady beat of his heart. It’s like a magnet, drawing me in, despite every instinct screaming to push him away. Before I can respond, he leans down, his lips brushing against mine, soft at first, like he’s giving me the choice to pull away. But I don’t. The second his lips touch mine, the fire ignites, and I’m lost.
I can’t help myself. I respond, not with caution, but with a hunger I can’t suppress. My hands find his chest, pulling him closer, my lips parting under his as the kiss deepens, it turns desperate, ferocious. His hand moves to my waist, fingers pressing hard enough to leave a mark, as if claiming me as his. The thought sparks something inside me, a mixture of rage and need that I can’t quite reconcile. But I don’t care. Not right now.
His other hand threads into my hair, tilting my head to give him better access, and I can’t help but moan softly against him. The sound is enough to make him groan low in his throat, a sound that makes something inside me coil with pleasure. I’m breathless when we finally break apart, both of us panting, our bodies flush with heat. His eyes bore into mine, and I can see the storm brewing within him, the same chaotic desire mirrored in my own chest.
“I told you. You want this as much as I do. Don’t fight it.”
Matteo breathes, his lips brushing against my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. His words tear through me, sinking deep into my skin. I want to deny it—I want to push him away and remind myself of everything I hate about him, everything he’s done. But the truth is… I can’t. I step back, breaking the spell, though every part of me protests. I swallow hard, trying to find my voice again.
“You’re wrong,”
The heat, the craving—it’s there. And it’s terrifying. He watches me closely, his gaze dark with unspoken promises.
“Maybe. But we’ll see who’s right, won’t we?”
His words hang in the air like a challenge, a provocation, and as much as I want to fight, as much as I want to push him away, something about the way he says it makes me want to step closer. I take a breath, my chest rising and falling rapidly as I force myself to look at him, to meet his gaze.
He simply watches me, his eyes blazing with intensity. And for a moment, I wonder if he sees right through me—if he can feel the storm raging inside me, the battle between resistance and desire that I don’t know how to win. Then, with a small, knowing smile, he leans in, his lips grazing mine once more, slow and deliberate. This time, it’s not a kiss of anger or frustration.
It’s dangerous and as his lips move against mine, I feel myself slipping, falling into the abyss. This time he grabs my shirt and rips it open, exposing my lingerie that I am wearing underneath. I take a deep breath in, I don’t want this, but I can’t seem to pull away. He rubs my skin softly with his thumb, with his other hand he pulls off my shirt and starts to unclip my bra.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Don’t fight me, Amelia.”
Without another word he rips the button on my jeans and pulls them down, I shiver and want to pull back, but my body is still as I seem to fall under the spell again. My breath starts to quiver as he takes off his clothes, I try not to notice his chiseled abs and muscles that stare at me. As I look over his body, I notice the tattoos he has on his neck, arms, chest and hands. My chest feels like it’s on fire and he takes off his pants quickly. This will not change my mind about the situation we have found ourselves in.
My thoughts get interrupted by the removal of his boxers, the sight of his twelve-inch cock staring me in the face. I gulp and try to step back as I stumble.
“Don’t you dare think of trying to make me surrender.”
“Who said I’m going to try?”
His words make my body ache, he presses our bodies together and rubs a finger on the lips of my vagina. Making me shiver and lean towards him, he slowly rubs my clit getting me wet, longing for more than just his finger touching me. Before he does anything else he steps back, I can barely catch my breath. But his taste is still on my lips, a lingering reminder of everything I can’t control.
“You’ll fight it, but you’ll want it. And when you do, my dear, I’ll be waiting.”
He murmurs against my ear, his breath hot on my skin. I want to scream and tell him that I’m not his. But instead, I do nothing. Because for all my defiance, for all my hatred, I can feel the pull between us, irresistible and consuming. It scares me more than I care to admit. My body responds to him no matter how much I wish it wouldn’t. I’ve walked into a storm, and now, I’m trapped in it.
“This isn’t love, Matteo. It’s a power struggle” I say, my voice trembling.
He watches me, his expression unreadable. “Maybe it’s both.”
I shake my head, my heart pounding. “You don’t know what love is.”
“And you do?” he counters, stepping closer again.
I don’t answer. Because the truth is, I don’t know what this is.