Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Matteo
The house is too quiet.
My boots echo against marble, each step reverberating through empty hallways that should have guards posted, staff moving, the low hum of life that fills a house this size. Instead, there's silence.
The kind that makes my pulse spike and my hand drift toward the gun at my spine, even though I'm the one who ordered the guards to give her space.
Three days ago, I told Romeo to stop locking her door at night, told him she could move freely through the house and grounds as long as someone knew where she was.
I'd watched her pacing my room like a caged animal and something in me couldn't stand it anymore.
She needed room to breathe, needed to feel like less of a prisoner even if she couldn't leave the estate.
I thought giving her that freedom would ease some of the tension between us, would show her I'm not Lorenzo, that I don't need locks and chains to keep what's mine.
But now, experiencing this silence after declaring to my men that I'm marrying her, all I can think is that freedom was a mistake.
"Alessia." Her name comes out rougher than I intend, bouncing off vaulted ceilings and disappearing into shadows.
Nothing.
My jaw clenches. She should be in bed—my bed, our bed now, though she doesn't know it yet. The wedding I just declared to my men is still ringing in my ears, and suddenly the only thing that matters is seeing her, touching her, proving to myself she's real and safe and mine.
I take the stairs three at a time, blood roaring in my ears. The bedroom door stands open but when I take a look inside, I find it empty. Sheets tangled where she must have been sleeping, but the impression in the pillow is cold when I press my palm against it.
Gone.
The word detonates in my chest. I spin, already moving, already running worst-case scenarios—Emilio's men breaching the perimeter, someone who knows about the pregnancy lie deciding to eliminate her before I can protect her, a dozen other possibilities that make my trigger finger itch.
"Romeo!" My voice cracks like a whip through the hallway.
He materializes from a doorway, rifle already in hand, eyes wide. "Don Romano—"
"Where is she?" I'm on him in two strides, fisting his collar, slamming him against the wall hard enough that a painting rattles. "Where the fuck is Alessia?"
"I—the pool, signore. She went to the pool an hour ago. I have men posted at all entrances, she's safe—"
I release him, already turning, already running. The pool. Why would she go to the pool at night? My boots pound against tile, then grass, cutting through the garden where jasmine hangs too sweet and heavy in the night air.
And then I see her.
The pool glows blue-green in the darkness, underwater lights making the water look almost unnatural.
And there, cutting through the water with smooth, practiced strokes, is Alessia.
Her silk robe and what looks like a nightgown lie folded neatly on one of the lounge chairs, far enough from the edge that they won't get splashed.
The guards are at the garden entrances like Romeo said, but the pool itself is tucked behind high hedges and stone walls that block their sightlines—designed that way for privacy.
She must have figured out the blind spots, realized she could slip into the water without being watched, and took advantage of it. Smart.
She surfaces in the center of the pool, water streaming from her hair, and I watch her tilt her head back to look at the stars while treading water.
Her skin gleams pale in the moonlight, and even from here I can see the graceful line of her throat, the curve of her shoulders breaking the surface.
She's completely naked, comfortable in her own skin in a way that makes my chest tighten because this is the first time I've seen her truly relaxed since she arrived here.
Relief crashes into me so hard I have to stop walking. I grip the garden wall, stone rough under my palm, breathing like I've been running. She's safe. Here. No bullet holes, no blood, no Emilio having her dragged away.
But now that the terror is draining, something else floods in to take its place. She's naked, in moonlit water, and my cock hardens despite everything.
I'm already shrugging out of my jacket, toeing off my shoes. My shirt hits the ground. Belt. Pants. Until I'm stripped down to nothing, standing at the pool's edge watching her surface in the center, water streaming from her hair like silk.
She turns, sees me, and freezes.
For a heartbeat, neither of us moves. She treads water, arms bare, shoulders gleaming wet. I stand naked at the edge, letting her look, letting her see exactly what she does to me.
"Matteo." My name is breathless, uncertain. "What are you—"
I dive.
The water shocks cold against overheated skin, stealing my breath. I surface a few feet from her, slicking hair back from my face, and she's watching me with wide eyes—not fear exactly, but something electric and alive.
"You left the bed." My voice comes out lower than I intend, rough around the edges.
"I couldn't sleep." She's still treading water, maintaining distance between us. "I needed air."
"So you came out here. Alone. In the middle of the night." I move closer, slow enough that she sees it coming but not slow enough for her to escape. "Do you know what I thought when I found you gone?"
"That I ran?" Her chin lifts—that stubborn defiance I'm learning to crave. "That I finally escaped?"
"That someone took you." The confession comes out raw. "That I'd failed to keep you safe."
Something shifts in her expression. She opens her mouth to respond, but I'm already closing the distance. My hand finds her waist beneath the water, pulling her flush against me. She gasps, hands coming up instinctively to brace against my chest.
"You're shaking," she whispers.
"Because of you." My other hand slides up her spine, tangles in her wet hair. Water laps around us, warm and alive. "Everything is because of you."
Then she does something unexpected. She splashes me—water hitting my face, surprise making me blink. When I look at her again, she's grinning, mischief lighting features I usually see guarded or defiant or afraid.
Before I can react, she's pushing away, swimming toward the shallow end. Laughter trails behind her—actual laughter, light and free.
Something breaks open in my chest. I chase her, cutting through water with powerful strokes. She squeals when I catch her ankle, trying to kick free, but I'm already pulling her back.
"You're going to pay for that, principessa."
"Oh?" She twists in my arms, still smiling, face flushed and alive. "What are you going to do?"
Instead of answering, I lift her, toss her. She screams as she goes airborne, hits the water with a splash that echoes across the garden. When she surfaces, sputtering and laughing, her eyes are blazing.
"You bastard!"
"You started it."
She launches herself at me, trying to dunk me, but I'm bigger, stronger. We grapple in the shallow end—her legs wrapping around my waist for leverage, hands pushing at my shoulders, both of us laughing like we're not enemies locked in a war neither of us knows how to end.
My feet find the bottom. I stand, lifting her with me, water streaming off both our bodies. Her legs are still locked around my waist, arms around my neck, and suddenly the playfulness shifts. Her breathing changes, chest rising and falling against mine. The laughter dies.
"Alessia." Her name tastes like a prayer and a curse.
Her eyes search mine, pupils blown wide, and I see the moment hunger takes over. Her fingers slide into my wet hair, and when she pulls me down, I go willingly.
The kiss starts gentle—exploratory, tasting of chlorine and moonlight. But then she makes a small sound in the back of her throat, and something in me snaps. I deepen the kiss, taking control, my tongue sliding against hers as I walk us toward the pool steps.
I sit on the underwater bench, settling her in my lap. Water laps at our waists. Her thighs bracket mine, and when I shift, my cock—hard and aching—slides against her. We both gasp into each other's mouths.
"I told my men tonight," I say against her lips, because she needs to know, because everything has changed. "About you."
Her hands still in my hair. "What did you tell them?"
My grip on her hips tightens, and I have to force myself to keep talking even though part of me is terrified she'll hate what I'm about to say, will look at me like I'm no different from Lorenzo.
"That you're not a prisoner anymore." The words come out rougher than I intend, and I can feel my heart pounding against my ribs because this matters more than it should, her reaction matters more than anything has mattered in years.
"That you're not leverage or a bargaining chip. "
"Then what am I?" Her voice wavers.
I take a breath, and what comes out isn't what I planned to say, isn't the strategic explanation I rehearsed in my head.
"For now, you're a guest in my house. But I need you to hear something, and I need you to understand I'm not saying this to scare you or force your hand.
" My throat feels tight, and I hate that I'm fumbling this. "I want you to be my wife."
She goes rigid in my arms and pulls back to search my face. "What?"
I force myself to hold her gaze even though every instinct tells me to look away, to armor myself against whatever rejection might be coming.
"Within the week, I want us to get married.
I know it seems like I'm just issuing orders again, because it's the only way to keep you safe.
Marriage makes you mine in a way even Emilio can't question.
As my wife, you have the full protection of the Romano name. "
"You decided this." It's not really a question, more like an accusation.