Chapter 6 Beatrice
BEATRICE
“Fuck,” I hiss under my breath.
He quirks an eyebrow. “Hello to you, too, bella.”
I clear my throat, trying to seem composed and collected. I lift my chin and hold his stare.
“Sorry. I’m just surprised to see you here.”
I nod toward the booth. “And your friend is staring, so I should probably let you get back.”
That’s my excuse to make a quick getaway. But it doesn’t help. He pins me with his eyes, holding me in place.
“I see you’re still choosing life,” he says easily, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
I’m mortified.
The last thing I want is for this man to see my embarrassment.
I swallow hard. “H-how are you?”
“I’ve been well, bella. You… look like sleep hasn’t touched you in days.”
My head snaps up, and I glare straight into his eyes. “Excuse me?”
I open my mouth again, but nothing comes out.
Why have I suddenly forgotten how to speak? I shift my weight from foot to foot and look at the floor. When I look up, he’s still staring at me. His gaze is striking, sharp; it slices right through me.
I feel naked under his eyes. Like he sees the parts of me I try so desperately to hide.
I tug at my scarf to give my hands something to do. I don’t know what to say to him.
“Hey. I never thanked you properly for… you know. For stepping in… I should—”
“Order for Beatrice?” the barista calls my name. I raise my hand to show her I’m coming.
When I turn back, his head is tilted slightly, observing me.
“Beatrice?” he repeats, my name on his lips for the first time. “It suits you.”
“Yeah, that is my name. Funny, I thought I’d told you.”
“You ran, bella. I didn’t even get the chance.”
I try not to get distracted by his voice. It’s smooth like velvet and dangerous. “What’s your name?”
He takes my hand without warning and brings the back of it to his lips. He kisses my skin, and prickles of electricity shoot up and down my arm. He flicks his gaze upward, a glint of mischief playing in his pupils.
“My name is Matteo Davacalli, bella.”
“Matteo.” I pull my hand back, my body feeling things it never has before. It’s unsettling, unnerving. I don’t know if I like it or hate it. “You have a beautiful name. Italian?”
“Si,” he says with ease. “Do you speak?”
I shake my head. “My father does, but he never taught me.”
“I see. Pity—it’s a beautiful language.”
“Beatrice, your order is ready,” the barista calls again.
“I should get going. It was nice seeing you again, Matteo. Thanks again for earlier.”
“You’re welcome.” He slips his hands into his pockets.
“Good thing the night didn’t go sideways.”
I purse my lips. I know he’s joking, but the reminder lands like a punch.
“I should be going now.” I walk to the counter and grab my coffee. I don’t turn back to wave at him; there’s no need. I’m already incredibly mortified.
All I can think about is getting out of that café, out from under the weight of his eyes, away from the shame that still burns beneath my skin from the last time I saw him.
I just need air. Space. A second to breathe.
I push through the door, ready to put distance between us, when I hear him call out behind me.
“Beatrice, wait.”
Before I can turn, I feel his heat at my back. The scent of leather and spice reaches me, and I know it’s him.
“Let me walk you.” He’s so close I can feel the warmth fanning my face.
“It’s okay.” I turn slowly to look at him. “I can manage on my own.”
“I insist.” He presses. There’s no room for argument in his tone. But still, I don’t back down.
“Don’t you have someone at your table?” I look over his shoulder and see the guy still sitting there, watching us. “I think you should go back to him. It was lovely seeing you again.”
“No, he’s fine. Besides, I was heading out anyway.”
“Matteo…”
“I’m still going to walk out with you either way. And we’re likely heading in the same direction.”
“I doubt that.”
“We are, trust me.” He presses again. “Now, you can either start walking, or I can drag you out of here, Beatrice.”
He looks deathly serious. It’s not a threat. It’s a promise.
“Fine,” I say, resigned.
We step out of the café, and the cold greets us instantly. It hits my face, and I clutch my coffee tighter for warmth.
The rain has faded to a light drizzle, if you could even call it that. We walk side by side, my hands wrapped around the cup like it’s keeping me alive. The heat gives a bit of comfort as we move down the path.
“So… are you from New York City?” he asks, breaking the thick tension between us.
I shake my head. “I’m originally from Chicago. I moved here a few weeks back.”
“And this area—do you work around here?”
I nod slowly. “Sort of.”
“Sort of?” he echoes, raising a brow.
“I’m… in transition.”
Ha. That’s one way of putting it.
“Transition,” he repeats. “What kind of transition?”
“Exactly that. I’m in transition.” I shrug, hoping he doesn’t press.
“How’ve you been since… that night?”
“I’m fine,” I lie.
He doesn’t buy it. I can see it in the tilt of his head, in the way his eyes flick to my hands—still clenched around the coffee like it’s armor.
“You don’t need to lie to me, Beatrice.”
“I’m…” I search for the right word. “…handling things. It’s been a lot, but I’m handling it.”
We continue walking in silence. The New York atmosphere fills the space between us, softening the awkwardness with background noise.
He doesn’t try to speak again. He simply walks beside me silently, taking everything in.
I see my building come into view, the very same one where we first met.
“Thank you for walking me,” I say, turning to face him and bringing us to a halt. “I can walk the rest of the way on my own.”
“I said I would walk you home. We’re not there yet, are we?”
I shake my head. “No. But this is as far as you go.”
One side of his mouth tilts upward into a smirk, dangerous and knowing. “What’s wrong, bella? Afraid I’ll visit you in the night?”
“Possibly.”
And I’m telling the truth. There is something about him that is brooding and… mysterious. He moves with an air of intimidation.
“Anyway. Thank you again.”
I go to step away, but his hand shoots out and catches my wrist. I look down at his hand, then back up into his eyes.
“What are you doing?”
“What I’ve been wanting to do for weeks.”
He pulls me toward him. His eyes darken with a mixture of anticipation and hunger.
“Matteo—”
His hand drops from my wrist and lifts to cup my cheek. The contact alone sends a shiver down my spine. My lips part, and I am completely consumed by his presence.
Gently, he brushes a strand of hair from my face. His fingers linger, just barely touching my skin. The motion is so sweet, so unexpectedly tender, that it shocks me. This man with such a commanding presence is so… soft.
Everything stops. My breath. The world. Time.
I look at him, and his expression is unreadable. What I wouldn’t give to know what he’s thinking in this moment. His eyes are telling me a thousand things, but I need his lips to confirm them.
The space between us evaporates, and suddenly we’re only a breath apart. I can feel his warm breath on my face. I smell his intoxicating scent, and I’m hooked.
People move around us, but they fade into nothing as my focus narrows to him, only him. Sparks crackle in the charged space between us.
I want to kiss him.
I shouldn’t—but every cell in my body urges me to.
All I need to do is lean in just a little bit and I would—
You are mine now, cara. Giacomo’s thick voice echoes through my skull.
My hand presses to Matteo’s chest, and I shove him back hard. His eyes go wide at my sudden rejection. The coffee slips from my hand and crashes to the pavement, splattering everywhere.
“I’m engaged,” I say. “This… whatever this is, cannot happen. Allowing you to walk me home was a mistake. I’m sorry.”
“Bella—”
But I don’t let him finish. I’m already sprinting toward my building, leaving him standing there in the busy street. I don’t look back. I force my legs faster and faster until I’m safely inside the elevator.
I don’t hear him call after me—and I’m thankful.
But a small part of me, a tiny fraction I wish I could kill, wanted him to come after me. Wanted him to grab me, kiss me, claim me with a searing kiss that would burn through everything.
I palm my hand over my face. I feel like an idiot.
Oh God.
When the doors shut, I lean against the mirrored wall and release a shaky breath. I don’t have time to process what just happened… or rather, didn’t happen.
I went out for a simple coffee, and suddenly I was seconds away from kissing a mysterious stranger.
The doors to my floor slide open, and I make my way to my apartment. My hands tremble as I unlock the door.
The moment I step inside, false comfort wraps around me like silk-covered chains. The scent of roses lingers, sweet and suffocating. I drop my bag on the marble counter and head straight to the sink, running cold water over my wrists, as if it’ll wash off whatever that was.
Because I don’t know what it was.
I just know it scared the hell out of me.
Matteo’s presence clings to me—warm against my skin. His voice, that low heat… and the way he looked at me.
Not like he wanted to take something.
But like he wanted to see me. Really see me.
I press a hand to my chest, trying to steady the chaos unraveling inside me. What the hell am I doing?
My phone buzzes on the countertop, snapping me out of my haze.
The name flashes across the screen like a slap to the face.
Giacomo.
My heart sinks.
Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.
I hesitate, taking a moment to collect myself. The storm rages outside—a fitting theme for the man calling me.
I answer.
“Ciao, cara,” he says, his voice like velvet soaked in acid. “Missed you today. I came around to see you, but the doorman said you left.”
I force a smile he can’t see. “I went out for some air. Just the café down the street. I was tired of seeing the same four walls.”
“I would’ve sent a car.”
“I didn’t want to bother you.”
There’s a pause—a beat of silence that feels like a held breath. And suddenly, I feel guilty.
Why? I don’t know. But it crawls across my skin anyway.
Does he know Matteo walked me home?
“You’re never a bother,” he says softly. “You know that. You are my fiancée.”
I walk toward the living room window, gripping the phone tighter. “I know.”
“Speaking of, your ring has been resized and should be delivered tomorrow. Make sure you wear it, cara. It’s almost time for the world to know that you are mine.”
My chest tightens.
Of course—the gala he hasn’t shut up about for the past few days. I’ve had several fittings, all of them with him present. He wants to make sure I’m dressed the part.
His perfect complementary piece.
“Of course, Giacomo.”
“Have you eaten?”
“Not yet.”
“I’ll send something up,” he says.
My throat tightens. “Thank you.”
“You’re quiet tonight.” There’s an undertone to his voice—accusatory, sharp around the edges.
“I’m just tired.”
“Of course you are,” he soothes. “Everything’s still new, and you’re still finding your footing. But soon it’ll all feel like home. I promise.”
I murmur something under my breath, and thankfully he doesn’t catch it.
He lowers his voice. “You know, Beatrice… you’re special to me. I didn’t choose you lightly.”
“I know.”
“And I’ll protect what’s mine. Always.”
A cold chill skates down my spine. I close my eyes, summoning the resolve I cling to whenever I deal with him.
“I know, Giacomo. And I appreciate what you’re doing.”
He holds the power, so I use my voice the way he expects.
“I need to go take a shower. I got caught in the rain, so I need to warm up before I catch a cold.”
I lie to him with ease.
“Of course, my love. I’ll have the food sent to you within the hour.” His voice softens, a tone that should comfort—but nothing about him warrants comfort. “Get warm. I will see you tomorrow.”
When the call ends, I slam the phone onto the countertop and let out a heavy breath.
“Fuck,” I curse.
For a second, I allowed myself to forget.
I let the presence of that man consume me—make me feel things I know I shouldn’t feel.
I need to stay far away from Matteo Davacalli.
My life literally depends on it.