Chapter 9 Matteo #2
“Matteo,” she says in warning before looking away. “You can’t say things like that to me.”
“Really? I never would have guessed.” I turn her in my arms and continue the dance. “That god-awful ring on your finger is a dead giveaway. But the last few times I saw you, you didn’t have it on.”
I try to keep the accusation out of my tone, but it slips through.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were engaged to him?”
“It never came up in conversation. And besides, I didn’t think I would ever see you again… up until that time I saw you in my hallway.”
“Our hallway,” I correct her. “We are neighbors now.”
She bites down on her lip. The shine in her eyes is mesmerizing, and I have to remind myself to move my feet. The music plays on, the chatter continues, but my focus remains only on her.
“Matteo, we need to stay away from each other. What happened that day after the coffee shop—”
“It wasn’t a mistake, bella.”
My voice drops, low and deliberate, slicing clean through the space between us. “You and I both know it. And we didn’t even kiss.”
I lean in, my breath grazing the shell of her ear—close enough to make her shiver. “But if we had…” My mouth hovers there, a whisper from her skin. “…I wouldn’t have stopped at a kiss.”
She trembles—so subtly no one else would notice, but I feel it.
Every inch of her pressed to me tells the truth she won’t say.
“…and there wouldn’t be a single regret on my side.”
I shove the memory of that dream—her lips, her sounds—into the back of my mind before it drags me under.
Her breath stutters against my chest. She’s reacting, even if she tries like hell not to.
“What I don’t understand,” I say quietly, “is why you’d tie yourself to a man like him.”
She goes rigid, her spine snapping straight in my hands.
“It’s… complicated,” she manages.
My jaw clenches. “Is he blackmailing you?”
Her lips flatten—tight, silent, refusing me answers.
“Beatrice?”
She opens her mouth to answer—then she goes still, her eyes locking on something behind me.
The music comes to a soft, final halt, dancers breaking apart around us.
But she’s already pulling back, breath catching.
“I… I need to go.”
She removes herself from my arms and shakes her head, as if she’s trying to rid her mind of something. Maybe me? Maybe our almost-kiss? Or is it something else?
“Excuse me,” she says stoically. “I need a moment.”
She pivots sharply and strides away, her heels striking the marble with a clipped, furious rhythm, but she doesn’t head for the exit like any sane person trying to escape this circus would.
Instead, she slips into the dim corridor behind the ballroom—the one reserved for powder rooms and whispered secrets—and just before she disappears, I catch the fleeting image of her pressing a trembling hand to her chest like she’s holding herself together by a thread.
Shit.
And then Giacomo moves. He follows her with that cold, calculating purpose I know all too well, and something tightens so violently in my chest it feels like a fist closing around my ribs.
Double shit.
My body moves before my mind even agrees to join the conversation; I’m already crossing the ballroom, already slipping into the shadowed hallway, driven by an instinct older and deeper than reason.
Everything in me warns that this isn’t a harmless exchange, and the look Giacomo gave her—sharp, territorial, almost hungry—confirms it.
There is nothing friendly waiting for her at the end of that corridor.
I trail them at a distance, silent, measured, letting the darkness swallow me as I turn the corner—and I nearly step out too soon.
Giacomo has her backed against the wall, close enough that his breath stirs a strand of her hair, and she’s standing perfectly still with her gaze lowered, the kind of stillness that isn’t obedience but self-preservation.
Rage surges up my spine so fast it almost blinds me.
Every instinct demands I tear him away from her, put him on the floor, make sure he never looks at her like that again—but I force myself to remain hidden, jaw clenched, blood roaring in my ears.
If I storm in now, I’ll blow everything apart, and she’ll pay the price for my temper.
So I freeze in the shadows, every muscle coiled, watching him invade her space while I fight the primal urge to burn the whole damn hallway down just to get her out of it.
“Did you enjoy yourself out there?” Giacomo asks, his voice as casual as a knife at the throat. “Do you have any idea what your little stunt has done?”
“What are you talking about?” Beatrice’s voice wavers.
“Dancing with him—Matteo fucking Davacalli.” He hisses like a snake in her face. “I told you about these people and how horrid they are, and yet you accept a dance from him? To make it worse, everyone was staring—watching my fiancée dance with my mortal enemy.”
Mortal enemy? Please. He isn’t high enough on my radar to hold a position of such importance.
Her breath comes out shaky. “It was just a dance. I didn’t think anything of it, and he asked me nicely.”
“Oh, he asked nicely? If he asked to fuck you nicely, would you have opened your legs for him like a common whore?”
There’s a beat of silence so sharp I can feel it like a blade on skin. I ball my fists at my sides, wanting to sucker-punch this fool in the mouth. But I hold my ground.
She can handle herself, I’m sure. And my appearance will only make things worse for her—and that is the last thing I want.
“Don’t be crass, Giacomo,” she says, quieter now.
“You left me to go and schmooze your business partners, and he came up and spoke to me. I am wearing your ring, I walked in with you, we are going to be married in less than four months. Why would I want to go after another man when you have branded me so loudly?”
He steps closer—I hear it in the way her voice drops, defensive and tight.
“Branded?” He spits the word in her face. “I did not brand you, Beatrice.”
She lifts her chin. “Oh no? Giacomo, I may as well have a sign on my forehead that says Giacomo’s property. You prepped me for this night for weeks. You had me in alterations and working out so I looked the picture of the perfect bride-to-be for you.”
“We discussed this already. I am to be—”
“—king of the city. I know, you have said this over and over again, and I have told you that I am willing to do my part. I am going to try to see the man behind the suit, like you said.” She sounds tired and frustrated.
“I am trying, Giacomo. I am doing my best, but you have so many rules and regulations for me that it… it gets exhausting. I didn’t ask for any of this. ”
He steps closer, then lowers his voice. “No, you didn’t, but you’re mine now.
And that means we come as a package deal.
When people see you, they see me, cara mia.
You can’t make me look weak in front of people like him.
Because if you do, there will be consequences.
I refuse to be humiliated. Not by him. And certainly not by you. ”
“You’re doing that on your own,” she snaps. “And who cares what other people think? Kings do not busy themselves with the words of peasants—isn’t that what you once said to me?”
The two just stare at each other. She looks tired, but there is a fire in her that I sense even from where I stand. She is not someone who will be easily pushed over.
Good girl.
But Giacomo… he looks like he’s holding on by the smallest of threads.
She sighs and shakes her head. “I’m going to grab a drink while you cool off. We will talk about this later.”
She tries to sidestep him, but he blocks her path. She moves again, but he blocks her yet again. They do this dance a few times before he grabs her hand and pulls her toward him.
His voice is sharp, like a double-edged sword. “We aren’t done here, amore.”
“Yes, we are.” She tries to pull her hand away, her eyes filled with a mixture of anger and exhaustion. “I want to leave now, Giacomo. I want to go home.”
He yanks her closer, forcing her to collide with his chest, his grip tightening as if he owns the right to decide when she can breathe.
“I said we’re not done,” he growls, each word a command meant to cage her in.
That’s when I move.
I step out from the dark corner of the corridor, my presence cutting through the space like a blade, my footsteps slow, deliberate, echoing with the kind of warning only a fool would ignore.
“You heard her. Let go.”
The words roll out of me thick and quiet, the kind of quiet that drenches the air in threat. I’m already closing the distance, already reaching for him, and when my hand curls around his collar, the fabric bunches beneath my fingers as I drag him off her in a single, unbroken motion.
I pull him back far enough that he has no choice but to face me.
“I’m only going to say this once, Giacomo.” My voice stays calm, dangerous in its calm. “The lady said she’s going home.”
A beat.
A warning.
“So you’re going to let her.”
“This doesn’t concern you,” he says after he recovers from his initial shock. “I suggest you leave. This is between me and my fiancée.”
“It concerns me now if you lay a hand on her, Giacomo.” I seethe. “She is not some object you can jostle around; she is a woman.”
My woman, I want to say, but I hold my tongue.
The atmosphere shifts between us—charged, volatile, filled with electric energy. A lifetime of bad blood condensed into a single moment.
He studies me, his jaw clenched, his pride one breath away from breaking.
“My love, let’s go. I think I owe you a dance.” He’s addressing Beatrice, but his eyes are locked on me.
But she makes no move to go. I look over my shoulder, and I can see she is visibly shaken.
“I think she’ll need a minute.” I turn back to Giacomo. “You seem like you need to cool down.”
“I—what the hell are you talking about? This is business between me and my fiancée.” He closes the gap between us, and now we’re toe-to-toe. Beatrice remains behind me, shielded.
My fingers flex at my sides, and I am ready. I just need him to throw the first punch, and I will be on him like white on rice.
“You need to cool off, Giacomo. Now.”
My warning is clear. His eyes cut to Beatrice, who stands behind me with a pensive look in her eyes. He must see how distressed she is, because he steps back.
Smart man.
“Forgive me, amore mio,” he says to his fiancée. “I will head to the bathroom. I’ll meet you back in the ballroom.”
Then he walks off, leaving me standing with his woman. And for a few seconds, I am stunned. I didn’t think he would actually do it.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want the chance to hit him.
Beatrice exhales like she’s been holding her breath for days. She doesn’t move at first—she just stays behind me.
I turn around to face her, and her eyes are cast downward. I make no move to hold her or step toward her for fear she may still be in shock.
“Bella, are you okay?” My voice is low and soft, like I’m talking to a startled creature.
She nods, but she doesn’t lift her head, and I don’t press her. I give her the space and time she needs to gather herself.
When she finally lifts her eyes, they are glassy, like she’s holding back unshed tears.
I want to kill him. But this isn’t about me. This is about her—and what she needs—and the last thing she would want is more violence.
“Thank you,” she whispers, so soft it barely reaches me.
“You should never thank me for protecting you,” I say, fighting the thin thread of control I have left.
My hand slips into the inside of my jacket, fingers closing around the one thing I can give her right now—my card.
I pull it out and press it into her palm, firm enough that she feels the weight of the promise behind it.
“Take this. If anything like this happens again—anything at all—I want you to call me immediately. I don’t care about the hour, the distance, or where the hell you are. I’ll come for you. Understand?”
Her breath stutters. “I… I know that he won’t do this again. Besides, I never should’ve let you dance with me.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” I counter, the words low, resolute—but she’s already shaking her head, retreating behind guilt that doesn’t belong to her.
She tries to give the card back, holding it out with trembling fingers. “Here. I won’t need this.”
“I insist.”
It comes out harder than I intend, rough enough that she freezes for a beat, the card still caught between us like a live wire.
She swallows, a tight, small sound, then finally closes her fingers around it.
She doesn’t say anything else. She simply nods and shoots me a tight-lipped smile.
“Enjoy the rest of your evening, bella.” I am tempted to pull her into my chest and hide her from the harshness of this world she’s been plunged into. But I hold back.
I turn and leave her there, standing in silence with my number in her hand and too much pain behind her eyes.
I make my way back into the ballroom, and I see the stares and whispers have grown louder. Of course they would talk; I knew they would. I was selfish dancing with her like that. There was no need for me to prove a point.
“You okay?” Valerio comes to stand beside me. “You were gone, and Giacomo came back looking like he wanted to commit mass murder.”
I nod. “I’m fine.”
We stand in silence for a few minutes, observing the ballroom, and then she appears again. Her eyes are still dry, but she doesn’t look my way—even though I know she can feel me. Her body is tense, riddled with tension.
She walks up to Giacomo, and he takes her hand and leads them out of the party without a single look back. All eyes are on them the same way they were when they first entered.
“Do me a favor, Rio,” I say to my second at my side. “Keep an eye on Beatrice, but at a distance. I don’t trust Giacomo with her.”
If he so much as moves a single hair on her head, then I will bury him after I put a bullet in the middle of his skull.