5. Elena
5
Elena
A week has passed since Matteo brought us to Nico Moretti’s estate.
I expected it to feel like another prison. Another place where I was someone else’s problem, existing under someone else’s protection.
Instead, I’ve found something I never expected in a mafia compound—comfort.
Fiona has taken a surprising liking to Matteo. She follows him with wide eyes whenever he’s around, tugging at his sleeve when she wants to be picked up.
And even more surprising? He lets her. I’ve caught him more than once absentmindedly balancing her on his arm while talking to his men, like she’s always belonged there.
Then there’s Julian Salvatore, one of Matteo’s men, who has an undeniable soft spot for my daughter. I often find him sneaking her sweets late at night. When I tease him about it, he only smirks. “She’s got good taste. Can’t say no to a girl who likes chocolate. ”
I’m still trying to wrap my head around this place, these people. Matteo is supposed to be dangerous. Brutal. But he’s not the only one defying expectations.
Like Isabella.
She and I have spent most mornings together, and despite her last name, she’s nothing like the image I had of mafia women. She’s warm, sharp-witted, and effortlessly kind. Today, we’re in the kitchen, hands dusted with flour as we shape dough into neat circles.
“I can’t believe you know how to bake,” she says, watching as I roll out dough.
I laugh. “Why? Because I was married to an accountant?”
“No, because you’re calm about it,” she replies. “Matteo treats cooking like a war zone. He acts like he’s defusing a bomb every time he uses the stove.”
A deep voice cuts in behind us. “I heard that.”
I glance over my shoulder to see Matteo leaning in the doorway, arms crossed.
Isabella grins. “Good. Maybe you’ll learn something.”
Before Matteo can retort, the kitchen door swings open wider, and Nico Moretti walks in with a small boy perched on his hip. The child is the spitting image of Isabella, with the same striking green eyes and a mop of dark curls that bounce with each step his father takes .
“Someone’s been asking for his mama,” Nico says with a warm smile, his eyes softening as he gazes at Isabella. The little boy reaches out eagerly, his chubby hands opening and closing.
“Adrian!” Isabella’s face lights up as she quickly wipes her flour-covered hands on her apron. “Come here, my little prince.” She takes him from Nico, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
Nico slides an arm around his wife’s waist, dropping a casual kiss on her temple. “He woke up from his nap insisting on finding you. Apparently, Papa isn’t good enough when there are cookies being made.”
“Smart boy,” Isabella teases, adjusting Adrian on her hip. “He knows where the real magic happens.”
“Just like his mother,” Nico murmurs, his eyes filled with something that makes Isabella’s cheeks flush slightly. “Always knowing exactly what she wants.”
Matteo steps forward, ruffling his nephew’s curls. “Hey, campione. Want to play with your favorite uncle?”
Adrian squeals in delight, reaching for Matteo with grabby hands. “Teo! Up!”
“The kid has good taste,” Matteo says smugly as he takes Adrian, tossing him gently in the air and catching him, eliciting delighted giggles.
Isabella watches them fondly before turning to me. “I’m sorry about the interruption. Adrian has Nico’s timing. ”
“And his mother’s determination,” Nico adds with a proud grin.
I smile warmly. “I can see that.”
From the living room adjoining the kitchen, I glance at the baby monitor showing Fiona fast asleep in her toddler bed, her little chest rising and falling steadily. At least one child is getting their nap today.
Matteo turns to me, Adrian now contentedly playing with his collar. “Our Father wants us all at dinner tonight.”
I pause mid-roll. “Me too?”
“Yes.”
The idea of sitting at a table with his entire family makes my stomach tighten.
I've heard stories about Luca Bellanti. Both good and bad. And honestly, although Isabella and Matteo have been kind so far, I know I don’t belong.
Isabella nudges me. “It won’t be that bad. Just a meal with a bunch of overbearing men who think they run the world.”
“Sounds delightful.”
She laughs, but Matteo just watches me. “Be ready by seven.”
By the time we arrive at the Bellanti estate, my nerves are a tangled mess .
The dining room is warm, brighter than I expected, filled with the sound of conversation and laughter. It’s not what I imagined from a mafia family.
There’s no tension, no cold calculation. Just people who seem… happy.
Luca Bellanti greets me first. He’s an older man, commanding, but with a presence that doesn’t feel oppressive.
“I’m sorry for what happened to your husband,” he says, voice sincere. “And I want you to know—you and your daughter will be safe with my son.”
I nod, unable to find the right words.
Throughout the meal, I’m introduced to the rest of the family. Olivia is warm, effortlessly charming, and within minutes, she’s got Fiona giggling in her lap.
Lorenzo, on the other hand, is harder to read. He’s not unkind, but there’s something distant in his gaze, like he’s evaluating whether I belong here.
Then there’s Angelo.
He’s handsome, in the way men who know they’re handsome usually are, and his smirk is the kind that suggests he’s used to getting what he wants.
“If Matteo’s going to hoard all the interesting women, he should at least share,” Angelo remarks, leaning toward me. “What do you say, bella? Need a tour of the estate? ”
I open my mouth to respond, but Matteo speaks first.
“Back off.” His voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it. A warning.
Angelo raises his hands in mock surrender. “Relax, brother. Just being friendly.”
Matteo’s stare doesn’t waver.
Angelo smirks but leans back in his chair, turning his attention elsewhere.
The rest of dinner passes smoothly.
After the meal, I slip outside for some air. The night is cool, and the stars are so bright. I wrap my arms around myself, exhaling slowly.
“Cold?”
I turn to see Matteo watching me from the doorway.
“No,” I whisper, shuddering.
He steps closer anyway, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over my shoulders. His scent clings to the fabric—clean, crisp, with a hint of something darker.
“Thank you for protecting me and my daughter,” I say quietly.
He watches me, his gaze unreadable. “You have got to stop thanking me. I gave you my word and I intend to keep it, regardless of whatever is in store for us.”
I swallow, the weight of his words settling in my chest .
I take a step back, intending to put some space between us, but my heel catches on a stone. Before I can fall. Matteo’s hand shoots out, gripping my arm and pulling me against him.
For a moment, neither of us moves.
His chest is solid beneath my hands, his grip firm but careful. I look up, and our faces are closer than they should be.
His gaze drops to my lips.
I don’t know who moves first, but the air shifts, and suddenly, we’re leaning in—
A sharp knock from inside shatters the moment.
Matteo steps back immediately, his expression unreadable as he turns toward the door.
Valentino appears in the entrance, his face tight. “Boss, we’ve got a problem.”
Matteo’s entire demeanor changes in an instant.
He's no longer the man that looked at me with desire a few seconds ago.
He’s a Bellanti again.
“What happened?” he asks.
“Massimo’s on the move.”
Matteo exhales, tension coiling in his stance. He looks at me once before turning away.
The moment is gone.
And I’m not sure we’ll ever get another one.