Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
Alessia
The morning light wakes me through the curtains. My body hurts in places I didn't know could hurt—between my thighs, my hips, my lower back where the mattress pressed into me for hours. When I move, soreness radiates through muscles I forgot I had.
Matteo's already half dressed, standing by the window buttoning his shirt.
The morning sun shows the scratches I left down his back—red welts from my nails.
His wound was bandaged at some point while I was asleep.
He turns when he hears me sit up. His eyes are different this morning, darker somehow, and the way he looks at me makes my stomach tighten.
He comes slowly and kisses me softly on the lips which seems to surprise him as much is it surprises me.
"Get dressed," he says after one last caress from his lips and battles with his shirt. "We're going out."
I pull the sheet up even though it's stupid after everything we did last night. "Where?"
"The casino. You've been in this house long enough."
"You're letting me out of my cage?" I try to keep my tone light, but there's real curiosity underneath. "What changed your mind?"
He glances at me while working on his cuff buttons. "Maybe I'm tired of you pacing around my room like a trapped cat. Or maybe I just want to get you out for a few hours."
"How generous of you."
"Don't push it, principessa." But there's no real heat in the words. He finishes with his shirt and reaches for his jacket. "Get dressed. We leave in twenty minutes."
I slide out of bed, wrapping the sheet around myself and I feel my heart beating excitedly at the thought of going out. "I want to speak with you about your meeting with Emilio first. You never told me what happened."
His jaw tightens, and for a moment I think he won't answer. Then he says, "He wants you back. Offered me enough money to buy half of New York."
My stomach drops. "And?"
"And I told him no." He shrugs into his jacket, adjusting the collar with practiced ease. "Some things aren't for sale."
The way he says it makes heat curl low in my belly, but I force myself to focus. "So the war continues."
"The war was always going to continue. Emilio won't stop until he has what he thinks belongs to him." He crosses to me, catching my chin between his fingers and tilting my face up to meet his eyes. "But he's going to learn that you're not going back to that house."
I should probably be worried about being fought over like I'm a piece of territory instead of a person. But standing here with his hand on my face and his eyes burning into mine, all I can think about is how different this feels from anything Lorenzo ever did.
"Twenty minutes," he says again, releasing me and heading for the door. "Don't make me come back and dress you myself."
"Would you?" The question slips out before I can stop it.
He pauses with his hand on the doorframe, glancing back at me with something dark and promising in his expression. "Try me and find out."
After he leaves, I dress quickly in a silk blouse in deep emerald and a black skirt that hits just above my knees. I'm buttoning the blouse when there's a knock at the door, and before I can answer, it opens.
Marco stands in the doorway, his face carefully blank but his eyes hard. "The Don says we're leaving in ten minutes."
"I'll be ready." I keep my voice steady even though something about the way he's staring at me makes my skin crawl.
He should leave now, but he doesn't. He just stands there in the doorway watching me finish with my buttons. The silence stretches out uncomfortable and wrong.
"You know, Romeo's having trouble with simple tasks now." His voice is conversational, almost casual, which somehow makes it worse. "Can't hold his gun properly. Can't tie his boots without fumbling."
My hands freeze on the last button. I don't want to have this conversation, don't want to think about Romeo's missing finger and the blood on the marble floor. But Marco's waiting for me to say something, and the silence is getting heavier.
"I don’t know why you’re telling me this, Marco.”
He doesn’t say anything, so pressured by my guilt I add, “That's not my fault."
"Isn't it?" He doesn't move from the doorway, doesn't come closer, but his stare pins me in place anyway. "He talked to you. Made one comment. And now he'll carry that punishment for the rest of his life."
Guilt twists in my stomach even though I know I didn't ask for any of this. I didn't tell Matteo to hurt Romeo, didn't want anyone to get hurt. But Marco's looking at me like I personally took the knife to his friend's hand.
"I didn't ask Matteo to do that."
"No. But you didn't stop him either." His jaw clenches. "You stood there and watched while my friend cut off his own finger because of you. And then you went right back to the boss like nothing happened."
The accusation stings because there's truth in it. I did stand there. I did watch.
I lift my chin anyway, refusing to let Marco see how much his words are getting to me. "If Romeo can't follow the rules, that's between him and Matteo."
"The rules." Marco's mouth twists. "You mean the rules where no one can look at you without losing body parts? Where the don acts like you're some kind of queen instead of just another woman in this house?"
Just another woman. The words hit harder than they should, probably because part of me agrees with him. What makes me so special? Why am I worth protecting when Romeo wasn't worth mercy?
"I don't make the rules here."
"No, you don't. But you sure as hell benefit from them." He crosses his arms over his chest, still blocking the doorway. "Everyone in this house is talking about you. Wondering what you did to make the don act like this. Wondering what you're hiding that's worth all this protection."
My pulse kicks faster. Does he know something? Has he heard something? Or is he just fishing, trying to see if I'll give something away?
"I'm not hiding anything." The words come out too fast, too defensive, and I see Marco's eyes narrow like he's caught the lie in my voice.
"I'm watching you.” He says quietly. “And sooner or later, whatever you're hiding is going to come out. It always does."
Before I can respond, Matteo's voice cuts through the tension from somewhere down the hall. "Marco. Is there a problem?"
Marco's whole posture changes instantly. His face goes blank, professional, like we were just having a normal conversation about nothing important. "No, Don Romano. Just letting Signora Moretti know we're ready to leave."
Matteo appears in the doorway a second later, and he looks between us with those sharp eyes that miss nothing. I can see him reading the tension in the room even if he doesn't know what caused it.
"Then go make sure the cars are ready. I'll bring her down."
Marco nods once and leaves without another word, but the look he gives me as he passes promises this conversation isn't finished. Not by a long shot.
When we're alone, Matteo crosses to me and puts both hands on my face, tilting it up so I have to meet his eyes. "What did he say to you?"
"Nothing important." The lie tastes bitter on my tongue. "Just doing his job."
Matteo studies my face for a long moment. I can see he doesn't believe me, can see the questions forming behind his eyes. But he doesn't push, doesn't demand I tell him everything right this second.
"If he steps out of line, you tell me. Understood?"
"Understood." We walk through the quiet hallways together, his hand at my lower back guiding me forward.
Outside, two black cars wait at the bottom of the steps.
Romeo stands beside the second car, and when he sees us, his gaze slides away from me immediately, focusing on something over my shoulder.
His left hand is bandaged, tucked close to his body like he's trying to hide it.
Marco's already in the driver's seat of the second car, his expression unreadable through the tinted windshield. I can feel his eyes on me even though I can't see them clearly.
A guard I don't recognize opens the rear door of the first car for us without a word.
The car's windows are tinted so dark I can barely see outside.
When I slide into the back seat, Matteo gets in right after me, and suddenly the space feels too small.
His thigh presses against mine through our clothes, solid muscle and heat.
The door closes and we're sealed in with leather seats and his cologne and everything that happened between us last night.
I shift toward my window, trying to put some distance between us, but he moves with me. His arm stretches along the seat behind my shoulders, not quite touching but close enough that I feel the warmth coming off his body.
"Nervous, principessa?"
"Should I be?"
His fingers brush the back of my shoulder, barely making contact, but it sends a shiver down my spine that I can't hide. "That depends on whether you remember how to behave."
I turn to look at him, which is a mistake because now he's right there. Close enough that I can see the shadow of stubble along his jaw, can smell the soap he used this morning. His pupils get bigger when my tongue wets my bottom lip.
"I always behave," I say, keeping my voice steady even though my heart's beating faster.
"You're a terrible liar." His hand slides from the seat to the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair. Not pulling, just holding me there. "You've never behaved in your life."
The touch makes heat pool between my thighs, makes my body remember everything his hands did to me last night. I shouldn't want this again so soon, shouldn't react this fast, but my body doesn't care about what I should want.
I reach over without thinking about it, putting my hand on his thigh. The muscle goes tight under my palm. His hand shoots out and grabs my wrist, dragging my hand higher until it's flat against his chest. His heart pounds under my fingers, fast and unsteady, giving away what his face won't show.
"Careful what you start," he says, and his voice is rougher now.
I can feel his heartbeat accelerating under my palm. "Maybe I know exactly what I'm starting."
His jaw clenches. For a second, I think he's going to kiss me, maybe do more than that right here where his driver can hear everything. But instead, he lets go of my wrist and shifts away, putting space between us that feels deliberate and controlled.
"Later," he says with a mischievous grin.