Chapter 6 Matteo
MATTEO
Iwas halfway through trying to convince Alexander that karting with me tomorrow at a local karting warehouse would be more fun than whatever sponsor meeting he was trying to avoid when my phone buzzed on the table between us.
We were both half-slumped on chairs outside the gym post-training.
Our trainers pushed us extra hard today.
If I saw another tennis ball for hand-eye coordination practice after reps on the damn row machine, I’d probably scream.
My phone buzzed again, reminding me I had a text.
I glanced at it, ready to ignore it—until I saw the message and I knew exactly who it was.
Nicola:
Don’t get too excited, DeLuca.
Another message came through a second later:
Nicola:
Lucia wants to go out tonight. Some underground club. You and Mr. Down Bad are apparently invited. Anna’s got Gia.
My brows lifted as I sat forward a little, thumb already typing before I could help myself.
Matteo:
So this is your way of begging me to spend time with you? Bold move, Princess.
The three dots appeared immediately.
Nicola:
By force not by choice.
I can tolerate you, I guess.
I grinned.
“She texted you?” Alexander asked, raising an eyebrow.
“She did.”
“Damn. She must be desperate.”
“Careful,” I muttered, but I was still smiling as I replied.
Matteo:
Tolerable. I’ll take it. Underground club, huh? Should I wear all black and prepare to be judged by your impossible standards?
Her response came so fast it had me chuckling before I even finished reading it.
Nicola:
Wear whatever. Just don’t embarrass us.
And no sunglasses indoors.
I looked up at Alexander, shaking my head as I finished my drink.
He smirked. “You look like someone just handed you pole position.”
“She said I’m tolerable now.”
“Wow. Proposals must be next.”
I flipped him off lazily and typed back one more message:
Matteo:
Careful, Moretti. You keep inviting me places and I might start thinking you like me.
Nicola:
Don’t push it, DeLuca.
But I would, and if she thought I wasn’t going to show up tonight looking like her next bad decision, well—she wasn’t paying enough attention.
That night, Alexander appeared in the doorway of my room, already dressed in dark jeans and a perfectly fitted navy shirt. Of course he looked effortlessly good, the smug bastard.
“Going with the black, huh?” he said, leaning on the doorframe like he was there to deliver judgment.
“It’s a club,” I replied, buttoning the shirt halfway and turning to check myself in the mirror. “And Nicola Moretti will be there. I’m not showing up looking like a clown.”
“Didn’t stop you in Monaco,” he said under his breath.
I glared at him in the mirror. “That shirt was a limited edition.”
He shrugged. “It was lime green.”
“It was bold.”
“It was offensive.”
I shook my head, grabbing a watch from the nightstand. “At least I don’t look like I’m going to seduce someone’s mum at a yacht party.”
Alexander raised an eyebrow. “You know, for someone who claims not to care, you’ve been really concerned about impressing Nicola lately.”
“She said I’m tolerable now.”
“She also called you insufferable.”
“Balance,” I replied coolly, fixing my hair with the kind of precision I pretended not to care about but absolutely did.
Alexander watched me for a second longer before speaking again, this time more thoughtful. “You like her.”
I glanced at him. “She’s—” I shook my head. “She’s infuriating.”
“That wasn’t a no.”
“She’s also sharp. Funny. She doesn’t fall for the usual charm.”
“So you have to work for it.” He smirked. “You love that.”
I didn’t answer because, yeah, I did. I loved the way her eyes narrowed when she tried not to laugh. The way she argued like it was an art form and glared at me like I was her least favorite secret.
She was all fire and control and backbone. And she’d been in my head since that damn gala.
“She’s not the kind of girl you mess around with,” I said eventually.
Alexander shook his head, pulling his jacket on. “No, she’s not.”
“She deserves someone serious. Stable.”
He looked at me with one brow raised. “You think that’s not you?”
I paused.
Then exhaled. “I think I want it to be.”
The silence lingered for a beat. Then he clapped a hand on my shoulder. “You’re either about to have the best night of your life or make the biggest mess in the paddock.”
I grinned. “Can’t it be both?”
Alexander laughed. “Let’s go, Lover Boy.”
I grabbed my keys and followed him out.
Let the games begin.
The second we stepped out of the black car, the flashes started.
Paparazzi lined up outside the underground club like wolves, eager for a bite of whatever staged moment Lucia and Alexander were feeding them that night.
And they delivered—Alexander had his hand at the small of her back, Lucia leaned into his shoulder.
I lagged behind with my sunglasses pulled low even though it was well past sunset, hands in my jacket pockets like I didn’t care. But I was scanning.
Looking.
And then I found her, midnight hair down in loose waves and all I could think about was running my fingers through the strands.
She was already inside, standing near the velvet rope of the VIP lounge, half-listening to a security guard while her eyes flitted across the room. Like she was casing the place for exits. Classic Moretti.
But it was her outfit that damn near knocked the breath out of me.
Black leather pants hugging her hips. A red, backless top tied at the nape of her neck, dipping low enough in the front to make me dizzy. And heels to match—scarlet, sleek, lethal. She turned slightly as she laughed at something Lucia said, and I swore to God—
My heart actually hammered.
Hard.
Like it was trying to punch its way out of my chest.
We moved past the crowd, ushered into the private lounge with ease, drinks already waiting at the table.
It was all dim lighting, bass thumping, lights flashing in time with the music, like the place was alive and hungry.
Lucia threw back a shot with a grin. Alexander saluted the table before tossing his down.
I sat down beside Nicola, close enough that our knees brushed when she shifted.
She glanced at me, that familiar mix of suspicion and challenge in her gaze. “You’re staring.”
I smirked. “Hard not to when you wear red, Princess.”
Her eyes rolled, but her lips twitched. “It’s the Moretti color.”
“Then I’ll need to see this outfit in the garage next weekend.”
She scoffed and lifted her glass. “In your dreams.”
I leaned in, letting my voice dip lower, just enough for her to hear over the music. “Fuck, I hope so.”
Her breath caught, barely—but I caught it.
Every little flicker. Because I was watching her like she was the only one in this entire place.
We drank. Laughed. Someone ordered another round of shots and Nicola made a face but took one anyway.
Her cheeks were flushed, her pupils blown wide, and there was something in her smile that was looser than usual.
Unrestrained. Alexander and Lucia went to the dance floor, getting consumed by the crowd.
The music shifted, bass thick and rolling through my spine as I stood, holding a hand out to her. “Dance with me.”
She hesitated.
But then—God, those eyes.
She finished her drink, set the glass down, and placed her hand in mine like a dare. “Don’t step on my shoes.”
I pulled her into the crowd, the lights swallowing us whole.
Bodies swayed around us, a pulse of heat and noise and motion, and when I slid my hands to her waist, she let me.
Her hands found my shoulders, fingers brushing the back of my neck like it was nothing.
Like she wasn’t slowly setting me on fire.
We moved with the beat, chests close but not touching—until we were.
My hands drifted down, thumbs brushing over the curve of her hips. She leaned in just enough for her mouth to brush my ear, the scent of her perfume sending my already weak self-control into freefall.
I pulled her closer, our hips aligning and the music drowning out everything but the heat of her against me.
I felt the glide of her fingers up my chest as the dance became something else.
It was a slow, deliberate kind of torment.
Our hands roamed under the cover of the crowd.
Her nails scraped lightly under the collar of my shirt.
My fingers slid over the bare skin of her back.
Everywhere I touched, she shivered.
I was a man possessed, wanting to memorize every curve of her body. It took everything in me not to take her chin in my hand and pull her in to kiss her. Right there.
“Nic!”
My sister’s voice sliced through the moment like a bucket of ice water. She grabbed Nicola’s wrist, breathless, laughing, tugging her toward the lounge for more drinks.
Nicola glanced back once. Her eyes met mine. Wide. Lit.
But she went. And I stood there, fists clenched at my sides, still tasting her heat like it was seared into my skin.
I need to fucking relax.