Chapter 5 Matteo
MATTEO
She screams, and I don’t blame her.
My hand clamps over her mouth before she can draw breath for another. Her back hits the brick wall, and I feel the impact shudder through her body into mine. She’s warm. Soft. The scent of her shampoo hits me, something sweet and floral that doesn’t belong in this grimy alley.
Christ. Focus.
“I need to talk to you.” I keep my voice low and calm. “You’re not in danger.”
Says the man who just grabbed her off the street and pinned her in a dark alley.
Her eyes flash with disbelief. Fair enough.
“I won’t hurt you.” I hold her gaze, willing her to see the truth in it. “I just want a private conversation.”
She stops struggling. Her chest heaves against my forearm, and I force myself not to notice how close we are, how easy it would be to press into her fully. To feel every luscious inch of her against me.
I ease back. Give her space to breathe.
When I’m sure she won’t scream again, I slowly lift my hand from her mouth. Her lips are parted, and I catch myself staring for half a second too long.
“What do you want?” Her voice shakes, but she doesn’t back down.
I reach for her arm. The sleeve of her shirt covers the bruises I saw yesterday, but I know they’re there. Know they’ve probably darkened overnight into ugly purple and yellow. I’ve worn enough of my own to know they probably still ache.
My fingers brush over the fabric. Light. Careful.
“Did Viktor cause these?” I ask. “Did he hurt you?”
Her jaw tightens. “Why do you want to know? Did Viktor send you to harass me?”
Something hot and defensive coils in my gut. “No.”
“Right.” She clearly doesn’t believe me. “Because being grabbed by two different men in two days is just a coincidence.”
“Was that the first time he’s put his hands on you?”
Her eyes drop. Shame colors her cheeks, and I hate that I can see it. Hate that she feels it.
“No.” The admission comes out quiet, like it embarrasses her. But all I feel is rage burning through me.
Motherfucker.
“Viktor and I are enemies.”
She looks up. Those big brown eyes search my face, flickering with doubt and curiosity in equal measure. This woman doesn’t trust easily. I know the feeling.
“So you’re part of the Italian mafia? The Andrettis?”
That surprises me. Most civilians don’t throw around mafia talk so casually. “How do you know about that?”
“I dated Viktor for months. He complained about you guys a lot. Said the Italians were trying to wipe out the Bratva.”
I don’t confirm or deny. The war between us started when their Pakhan, Kozlov, got greedy and pushed into our territory. We pushed back. Things escalated. People died.
More people will die before this is over.
“I heard you two broke up,” I say. “So why is he still following you? Why was he waiting for you at the coffee shop?”
She crosses her arms, eyebrows raised. “You were following him. That’s why you showed up at the coffee place? And the bar?”
No point in lying. “Yes.”
“So now you’re stalking me to learn about the first person you were stalking.” A bitter laugh escapes her. “That’s fantastic. Really.”
“They say it’s important to know your enemy.”
“Well, I don’t want to be pulled into anything involving Viktor or feuding mafia families.” Her voice hardens. “I just want to be left alone.”
“How’s that working out for you?”
Fire sparks in her eyes. Good. She’s got fight in her. She’ll need it.
“Fine,” she bites out. “What do you want to know?”
The defiance in her voice does something to me. She’s scared, but she’s not cowering. She’s pissed off and holding her ground, and fuck if that isn’t the hottest thing I’ve seen in a long time.
She shifts her weight, the movement bringing her closer in the narrow alley. The streetlight catches the curve of her neck, the hollow at her throat where her pulse beats fast. Her hair falls over one shoulder, exposing skin I want to taste.
She bites her bottom lip, worrying it between her teeth, and my control nearly snaps. Blood rushes south as I imagine replacing her teeth with mine, sinking into that plump flesh while I bury myself deep inside her.
The air between us feels charged. Electric. She’s close enough that I can see the flecks of gold in her brown eyes, smell that sweet scent that’s driving me crazy.
Focus.
“Where does he live?”
“I don’t know,” she admits, sheepishly.
I stare at her. “You dated for months.”
“Yeah, we did.” She’s defensive now. “But he never took me to his place. He always came over to my apartment. Never told me where he spent his time. Everything was on his terms. By the end, I realized he kept me at arm’s length on purpose.
I would’ve thought he was married if he wasn’t so. .. ” She trails off.
“So what?”
“Obsessed with me.” The words come out barely above a whisper.
I think about what Santino told me. Viktor’s arrogance. His pride. If Lorenzo’s right, I can use that obsession against him.
I can use her.
The thought sits there, ugly and useful. I file it away.
“That’s how it seems,” she continues. “He shows up every couple of days. Insults me. Grabs me. Like that’s somehow going to make me take him back.”
My hands curl into fists. The need to find Viktor and break every bone in his body nearly overwhelms me.
“Did you walk here again tonight?”
Her scowl deepens. “You really did follow me yesterday, didn’t you?” When I don’t answer, she sighs. “Yeah. I walked.”
“I’ll walk you the rest of the way home.”
“That’s not necessary. I have mace in my purse.”
“Mace won’t stop Viktor.” I step toward her, closing the distance between us. She doesn’t back away. “But if I’m at your side, he won’t get near you.”
What I don’t tell her is that I hope the bastard tries.
I’m itching for a confrontation. Want an excuse to put him in the ground.
“Alright.” She shrugs. “You’re huge. I believe you can kick his ass.”
The corner of my mouth almost twitches. Almost.
She turns and walks out of the alley. I follow, positioning myself between her and the street. My eyes scan constantly. Doorways, parked cars, shadows that might hide a threat.
It’s late. Most people are home, but Vegas never really sleeps. A few stragglers wander the sidewalks. Cars drift past every couple minutes.
“Why do you walk to and from work?” I ask eventually. “Aren’t you worried about being alone on the street this late?”
She doesn’t answer right away. Her eyes fix on something in the distance.
“I didn’t used to worry about it,” she finally replies. “This isn’t a bad neighborhood. But lately, ever since Viktor, I carry mace.” She pauses. “Of course, that didn’t help when he grabbed me outside the coffee shop. I froze. Forgot all about it.”
“You should’ve been worried before Viktor. Safe neighborhood doesn’t mean shit. This city’s full of dangerous people.”
“You have a very negative outlook.”
I glance at her. She’s serious.
“It’s justified.”
“I hate thinking like that.” Her voice softens. “Maybe I was naive before. Maybe I learned a hard lesson. But I refuse to believe there’s danger around every corner. Viktor affected me. He still affects me. But I won’t let him turn me into someone who’s afraid of everyone and everything.”
I watch her face. The stubborn set of her jaw. She means every word.
Months of harassment. Bruises. A psycho ex who won’t let go.
And she still believes people are worth trusting.
I don’t know what to do with that.
“Give me your phone,” I command.
“What? Why?”
“Can’t you ever just do what you’re told?”
“No.”
I hold out my hand, shooting her an impatient look. “I’m adding my number. If you run into trouble while you insist on walking around alone, text me the word coffee. I’ll know it means you’re in trouble.”
Her eyes widen. “And you’ll come?”
“I’ll come running.”
She unlocks her phone and hands it over. My fingers brush hers, and something sparks between us. She feels it too. I can tell by the way her breath catches.
“That’s nice of you,” she murmurs. “I know I was defensive about the bruises. But I appreciate that you want to help.”
She stops in front of an apartment building. No doorman. No security. Just a locked entrance that wouldn’t keep out anyone with half a brain.
“I’ll walk you to your door.”
“That’s not neces—”
“Why take the risk?” I cut her off. “Unless you’re afraid of me.”
Something flickers in her expression. There it is. She is afraid.
That’s going to be a problem.
“I meant it when I said I wouldn’t hurt you.” My voice drops. Quieter now. As close to gentle as I’m capable of. “You’re going to have to learn to believe that.”
“Why?” She tilts her head. “You planning to keep following me around?”
“No.”
The moment stretches between us. My pulse quickens as I stare down at her upturned face.
“But you’re going to marry me.”