Chapter 22 Matteo
MATTEO
My sister walked down first, doing a little spin before Alexander literally clapped and pulled her in for a kiss while she swatted him away because of her lip gloss or whatever. I was about to ask where Nicola was when I swore the room stilled and went silent, lights glowing only for her.
I was in so much trouble.
She stunned in a bright red dress that hugged her curves and silver heels. Her signature red lip was in place as usual, and her hair was down, making her look like a literal goddess.
Fuck me.
How was I supposed to be normal around her? Not act like a drooling dog following her around all night? There was no hope. I was in free fall for this woman, just waiting for her to jump. So I turned on the charm, the one she loved to hate.
“Hey gorgeous,” I greeted.
“Hey yourself.” She gave me a very unbelievable glare, but she took the arm I held out, wrapping her perfectly manicured nails around my bicep. She squeezed, and it sent a chill through me. I wanted those nails on me more, wanted them scraping down my back and that dress on the floor.
I cleared my throat trying to get a hold of myself.
“Maybe we’ll get lucky and Theo bailed on his team’s party,” Alexander grumbled.
“He’s such a tool,” Nicola agreed. I tensed. Had he said something to her? Did one of his barbs get thrown her way? Did he hit on her?
“Relax, caveman,” she leaned in, whispering. I tried to. But seriously, Theo was an asshole. Especially to women. He was a playboy of the worst kind: didn’t give a single fuck about anything but winning. And unfortunately, he was a damn good driver.
My mind went back to being obsessed with the touch of the woman next to me in the car.
Her legs pushed up against mine. There was plenty of room, but she was sitting next to me, leaving the gap to her left side.
She was choosing to be this close. When the car lurched into a break for some crazy Vegas traffic, her hand reached out and gripped my thigh, making blood rush straight through me.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, pulling her hand back. I grabbed it and put it back with a little force. I saw her eyes heat. Then she bit her lip, making me want to pull over and call a cab right back to the hotel. Going out was overrated. Who needed to celebrate anyway?
“We’re here!” Lucia announced, opening the door, the lights and noise of the Strip invading our quiet space. “Let’s go!” She reached out, tugging Nicola with her. They linked arms and walked a pace ahead of us. Cameras flashed everywhere. Paparazzi shouted.
“Matteo! Alex!”
“Matteo, go get your girlfriend! We want a picture!”
The crowd grew rowdy, people pushing, a barrier falling and crashing to the ground. The small walkway was flooded. A security guard came out and led us through the sea. Inside the lobby door stood Nicola and Lucia, looking a little overwhelmed.
“Um…that was extra crazy,” Lucia commented as Alexander came up and tugged her into his arms.
“Sorry, Angel. I’m glad you stayed ahead with Nicola though.” He kissed her forehead and took her hand in his. Nicola fell into step beside me, brushing her shoulder against mine.
“You okay?” she asked, voice low, nudging me gently.
My head was spinning from what the crowd outside had shouted. I’d learned to tune them out over the years—to block out the camera flashes and the chaos. But one line had slipped through the cracks like a needle to the ribs.
“Are you sleeping with Nicola to get ahead?”
What the actual fuck?
I shook my head, trying to clear the noise. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good,” I lied, flashing her a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Just—the paps were saying weird shit.”
Her brows pinched together, concern coloring her features. “Do you think it’s what Anna was talking about? The rumors?” Her phone buzzed in her tiny glittering purse, and the moment she pulled it out, I knew. The name glowing on the screen made my blood run cold.
Nathaniel.
Nicola’s mouth flattened. “What the hell does he want?”
She unlocked her phone with a sharp swipe. One message. One fucking sentence.
Nate:
Told you. Even the media thinks he’s using you.
Below that, a link. I already knew I wouldn’t like it. But Nicola tapped it anyway, thumb tight on the screen. The tabloid site loaded in seconds. Bold font screamed back at us.
Exclusive: Inner Source Confirms Relationship Between Moretti F1 Driver Matteo DeLuca and Moretti Heiress Nicola Moretti
But what stole my attention was the photo. A selfie.
Our selfie.
From Portofino. On the lounge chair outside the villa. She was wrapped in a robe, tongue sticking out at the camera like she was trying to make me laugh. I was grinning. God, I looked happy. I’d taken that picture on my phone. Only on my phone.
Nicola’s breath hitched.
Her eyes snapped to mine, wide, hurt, betrayed.
“Matteo?” she said, her voice small. Cracked at the edges.
And fuck, that broke me.
“I didn’t,” I said instantly, heart slamming against my ribs. “I swear, Nic. I would never—I didn’t give that photo to anyone. I swear to God.”
I reached for her, desperate to close the space between us, but she flinched away like I’d burned her. My hand dropped uselessly at my side.
“What’s going on?” Lucia paused in front of us, noticing we weren’t following. We were in a hallway now, past the lobby, no one was paying attention to us. I waved her over. Nicola was frozen, phone in hand, headline displayed. Lucia walked over cautiously to her friend.
“Hey, babes. What’s going on?” she asked again gently. Nicola looked to her then to the phone, in a bit of a daze.
Lucia stepped closer, eyes scanning her friend, then the phone. Her breath caught.
“Oh,” she whispered.
Alexander appeared beside her, taking one look and muttering, “Shit.”
“Should I call Anna?” I asked quietly.
Nicola didn’t answer. She didn’t even blink. Just…silent. Still. And I hated it. I craved her spark, her fire, her mouthy comebacks. Anything but this statue-like version of her.
“Where did they get this photo?” Lucia asked, sharp. Her eyes flicked to me, accusation starting to bloom there. “You took that, didn’t you?”
“Yeah,” I said quickly, running a hand through my hair. “But I have no fucking clue how they got it.”
“Where do you store your photos?” Alexander asked, stepping in.
“My phone?” I answered dumbly. “They’re backed up. You know, cloud stuff.”
He gave me a grim look. “Mate…I think you’ve been hacked.”
My stomach dropped.
“No, no—shit.” I fumbled to check my phone, unlocking it, heart hammering. Sure enough, a little green checkmark sat next to the backup sync. Everything was there. All my photos, all my private shit. My digital world wide-open.
“Who’s had access to your phone?” Lucia asked sharply.
“No one. Just Anna. She posts race content sometimes, but that’s it.” My eyes scanned the room like it could give me the answer.
Then I saw it—Alexander’s face twisting. Rage flickered beneath the surface.
“Motherfucker,” he muttered.
“What?” Lucia practically yelled.
We both said it at the same time: “Matt.”
Lucia’s face screwed up in confusion. “Who the hell is Matt?”
“My old manager,” I muttered, jaw tight. “The one I fired before the start of the season.”
“Okay…”
“He’s a dick,” I added, because that felt like the only way to describe him.
“But the reason I dropped him was because he was leaking information. Where’d I’d be eating with friends during breaks or where I’d be between weekends.
It was too frequent to make sense, but Dante did some digging and found out it was Matt who was leaking my location to tabloids and paparazzi.
“He was pissed about being dropped,” I continued. “That was a huge blow to his ego.”
“No way,” Lucia breathed, eyes going wide. “You didn’t tell me any of this. I thought you just, like…switched to Anna.”
“I didn’t want to stress you out,” I admitted “And Anna made it easy. Seamless transition. I handled it quietly, paid him a hefty severance even. I didn’t want anyone to be upset—mom, dad or you, Luce.”
I raked both hands through my hair, the guilt gnawing like acid. “I never thought he’d have access to anything after. But I don’t think I ever changed my passwords. He must’ve still had a device logged in somewhere. It’s…it’s classic Matt.”
Lucia’s jaw was tight now, fury rolling off her in waves. “So help me God, I’m going to find that piece of shit and end him.”
That pulled Nicola back to life.
She blinked, eyes lifting to Lucia—fire returning, slow and simmering. The corner of her mouth twitched.
“Isn’t the thing upstairs…Theo’s party?” she asked, voice calm. Too calm.
I nodded warily. “Yeah…”
Then she turned.
And strutted down the hall toward the elevators.
“Nic!” Lucia called, hurrying after her. “Hello? Earth to Nicola? What’s happening?”
We all followed, the hallway echoing with our footsteps. The silence in the elevator was sharp and tense, but Nicola? She was composed. Dangerous.
I didn’t know what she was planning—but I knew that look. Her rage was back.
And I would follow her straight to hell if that’s where she was headed.
The elevator dinged. The doors slid open.
Music. Lights. Bass heavy in our chests. Voices rising in laughter and celebration.
The party was already in full swing.
And Nicola Moretti was about to walk straight through it like a goddamn storm.
Nicola hadn’t said a single word since deciding we were headed to the club. She didn’t need to. Her posture said it all—straight spine, jaw set, heels striking against the floor like war drums. She was a goddamn storm in glitter heels and a satin dress.
Lucia looked about five seconds from panic. “Okay, listen,” she started as we stepped into the club. “I fully support whatever you’re about to do—but maybe, um, tell us what that is first?”
Nicola didn’t even slow her stride. “I’m going inside.”
“Okay…” Lucia drawled. “And to do what?”