Chapter 11 Matteo
MATTEO
Istare at my coffee mug in disdain. She is only a few feet away from me, but I can’t even get to her. I’ve tried my best to keep my distance, to let her come to me when she’s ready, but the waiting is agony.
I should not be around this woman. Especially now that I know the truth of who she is and what she represents.
Going after her will only start a war—but I don’t care. I don’t care if I have to incite bloodshed.
I want her.
I sigh and look over my shipment orders once more before heading out my door. I’m locking it when I hear the door across the hall open. A thick, heavy laugh follows, and I freeze.
He’s here.
I don’t need to turn to know who it is. I would know that cackling witch laugh anywhere.
“I need to go now, cara. I have things I need to attend to.” His laugh is sharp—like nails on a chalkboard.
I turn slowly, just in time to see Giacomo lean in to kiss her—but Beatrice shifts at the last second, angling her face so his lips brush her cheek instead. Her gaze finds mine as he pulls back, lingering for a beat before she turns to say her goodbye.
She mumbles something under her breath and retreats inside, not bothering to look my way again. When the door shuts, I know I should move, but I hold steady, glaring at the man who has the one thing I want.
Giacomo stands by the door and turns to face me with a smug smile playing at his lips. He fiddles with his cuffs, taking his time, reveling in the fact that I caught them.
“Well, well, if it isn’t the neighbor.” He starts walking toward me like he owns the place. He’s relaxed, confidence oozing from his stride. “What a wonderful morning it is, isn’t it?”
I ball my fists at my sides. Fury builds in my chest, but I push it down, not wanting to cause a scene right outside her door.
But then the door opens again.
A soft wave of lavender drifts into the hallway.
She steps out barefoot, wearing a black pajama set that shows off her legs. I try my best not to ogle her—but it’s hard.
Her hair is a mess, like hands have been running through it relentlessly, and I can only pray it’s her own. Her expression is unreadable, but the blush on her cheeks tells me she knows I’m here, and that my presence is affecting her.
Good.
But my mind wanders to why he is here so early in the morning.
He doesn’t live here. This is her place, so why… no…
I don’t want to confirm what my mind is trying to imply.
But I can’t help thinking it. And it brings to life a green, possessive monster that roars loudly in the middle of my chest.
She doesn’t belong to him.
Nor does she belong to you, my internal voice snaps back.
“You forgot your file,” she says quietly, offering him the black folder without looking away from Giacomo.
“I get so caught up with you, cara mia, that I forget things.”
Giacomo steps in, draping an arm toward her shoulders, a public claim more than affection.
Beatrice shifts just slightly—graceful, controlled—and his arm lands a fraction short of where he meant it to.
Not a rejection anyone else would notice.
But I do.
Her smile stays polished and empty, the kind worn for appearances, not emotion.
“Grazie, amore mio,” he says, offering his cheek as if expecting a kiss in return.
She doesn’t move. Not an inch.
After a beat, he laughs it off and pats her arm instead, a clumsy attempt at affection that looks more staged than sincere.
Beatrice stands perfectly still, offering him nothing.
Weird asshole.
Her cheeks flush—not from affection, but from sheer embarrassment at the spectacle he just made.
She murmurs something low under her breath, barely audible even to him, then excuses herself quickly and slips away.
Not once did she look my way, though she is all I could focus on.
“Hell of a view, isn’t it?” Giacomo breaks the tension. “You can admire all you want, Matteo. But she belongs to me.”
I don’t answer. I simply look him up and down before making my way to the elevator. I make sure to shut the door quickly so he doesn’t get the chance to step inside and antagonize me even more.
One interaction with Giacomo is enough to last me a lifetime.
“Fuckkkk,” I curse in the small space. “I could kill him.”
I don’t like this dynamic between the two of them.
He is not a good man, and she deserves more. Even more than my own tainted soul can offer.
But I’m a selfish bastard, and I can’t seem to let her go.
It doesn’t matter. I am a patient man, and in time I know she will be mine. I just need to wait, hold the line until she’s ready for that.
After a grueling shift at the warehouse and a few interrogations, I make it back home in time for lunch. I’m tempted to invite her over, to break the ice, but I don’t.
Clearly, after this morning’s interaction, she isn’t ready to talk.
I’m halfway through making my sandwich when I hear a blood-curdling scream from her apartment.
“Beatrice.”
I spring into action, grab my gun from the drawer, and rush out of my penthouse toward hers. I’m at her door in seconds, gun raised and ready.
“Oh my God!” she screams again.
I jiggle the handle, but it doesn’t budge. Her next scream is louder—sharper—and it sends me into primal mode. I move on pure instinct, driven by the need to get to her.
I take a few steps back and kick the door.
Once. Twice. Three times.
The hard wood splinters and gives way. I push through the frame, gun up, scanning the space for any threat.
“Beatrice—what’s wrong? I—what the hell?”
She’s standing on top of the kitchen island—wild-eyed, barefoot, gripping a broom like she’s about to lead an uprising.
Sports bra. Boy shorts. Legs bare.
And screaming at—
“A spider,” I mutter, taking in the chaos.
“Oh my God, it’s HUGE!” she squeals, jabbing the broom downward like she’s fencing with death itself.
The spider twitches. She shrieks again and takes a heroic swing… missing by an entire zip code.
“Why my HOUSE?” she yelps.
I lower my gun, stare at her, then at the tiny creature on the floor. “Jesus Christ, Beatrice. You screamed bloody murder for a damn spider?”
She ignores me completely.
“Don’t just stand there!” she shouts. “KILL IT!”
I blink at her. Then at the spider. Then back at her.
And, God help me, I almost laugh. Almost.
I raise my gun half an inch.
“What do you want me to do? Shoot it?”
She glares from her island throne like I’m the crazy one.
“I want you to kill it. If you shoot, you’ll miss, it’ll run, and then I’ll have to MOVE OUT.”
My lips twitch. “Are you serious?”
“Deathly.”
I sigh, tuck the gun into the back of my waistband. “Alright, warrior princess. Stay put. I’ll handle your… beast.”
She clutches the broom like it’s a lifeline. “I’m serious, Matteo. It lunged at me. I swear it tried to kill me.”
“It’s a spider, not a pit bull, bella.”
I grab a glass and a napkin, pin the thing smoothly, and dump it in the trash with the ease of a man who’s handled far worse than an eight-legged intruder.
“It’s gone,” I say, turning back to her.
Beatrice exhales like she’s just escaped death and slowly begins to ease her defensive stance.
“You sure?”
“You want me to bring you its corpse?”
She shoots me a withering look before climbing down—slow, cautious, her legs searching for the floor.
The second they dangle, instinct takes over. I step in, hands slipping to her waist.
She drops into me.
Not onto the floor. Into me.
Her body collides with mine—soft, warm, too close—and every nerve in my body lights up like a fuse catching flame.
The broom slips from her fingers.
Her hands land on my chest to steady herself, but the moment she touches me, something snaps—a gasp from her, a breath punched out of me—like neither of us was ready for the hit.
We don’t move.
Her palms stay splayed over my chest. My fingers tighten around her waist. We’re caught in the kind of silence that’s louder than any scream.
Heat curls between us—slow, dangerous, inevitable.
One breath.
Another.
Her eyes lift to mine, wide and shaken, and for a split second it feels like the air is pulling us closer—
But she stops. Breaks the moment like she’s breaking surface after being underwater too long.
She steps back fast, smoothing her hair, pretending her pulse isn’t racing.
She sidesteps me, retreating toward the cabinets with all the composure she can scrape together.
And I just stand there, hands still burning from where her body fit perfectly into mine.
“I’ve handled a lot of things in my life,” she mutters, grabbing a glass from the cabinet, “but I draw the line at spiders.”
“Noted.” I chuckle and turn to face her.
She pours herself water and leans against the counter on the other side, arms crossed, eyes flicking to mine and then behind me. She shifts her weight from side to side, suddenly uneasy.
“Why were you carrying a gun?” she asks softly.
“I mean, you’re aware of my line of work, bella.” I tell her. “It kind of comes with the job to always have a weapon on me.”
She nods slowly. “I heard that you’re quite the mafia boss. One of the most feared.”
“And who told you that, bella?”
I push off the counter and take a step toward her. “My reputation precedes me, I must admit. But that’s not entirely true. I’m simply a son who took over for his father. And now I can only hope to increase the legacy of the Davacalli name.”
“I see.” She nods. “Thank you… for coming to my rescue yet again.”
“Always,” I say instantly, taking another step toward her. “I told you, I will always be there when danger comes lurking near you.”
I’m not talking about the damn spider, and we both know it.
“And sorry about Giacomo this morning. He was very…”
“Creepy? Gross? Completely inappropriate? Take your pick.”
A smile tugs at her lips. “A bit… much.”
I hold my hands up. “Hey, who am I to judge a morning fuck session?”
She sputters out a laugh. “Whoa, calm down, big guy. Nobody was having morning sex. We were on a call with the wedding planner.”
I try not to look relieved—but I am. I hate the idea of that man being anywhere near her, let alone inside of her.
“You look better since the last time I saw you.” I change the subject, wanting to get to the core of the issue. I’m not a man who beats around the bush.
Beatrice tenses as she realizes what I’m trying to imply. Her eyes shift to the floor and then back up again to meet mine. I see the slight flicker of discomfort that moves over her gaze.
The pain she won’t name.
The truth she won’t say aloud to herself.
“I can handle him,” she says.
“You can’t handle a man like Giacomo. He’s like a wild bull—you either gun him down or run.”
She doesn’t respond.
And the silence between us feels louder than her earlier scream.
She stands there, arms crossed, shoulders tight, staring down into her glass of water as if it holds an answer she’s too afraid to hear. I know she hears the truth in my words.
“I meant what I said,” I tell her, keeping my voice low, not wanting to startle her.
“That’s the problem,” she says quietly.
I step closer, but not too close. I need her to come to me this time.
“Why?”
“Because I can’t afford to get used to that,” she whispers. “To you showing up. To you being there. To you being my hero. Not when there is a torrid history between the two of you.”
My chest tightens.
She finally looks at me, and there’s fire behind the fear. Something breaking. Something desperate trying to hold the pieces together. She is hanging on by a thread.
“I’m in this situation because of my family,” she continues. “Because I chose to protect the people I love. That choice doesn’t leave room for… feelings. Not for you. If I fall apart, if I lose focus—people get hurt. There will be consequences.”
I nod slowly. “And what about you, Beatrice? Who’s protecting you?”
She doesn’t answer.
And I know why. Because the truth is—no one is. She is going through this alone, drowning in an ocean with no lifeline.
She sets her glass down a little too hard, and I fear it may break.
“I’m handling it,” she says. “I… I have it all under control.”
“You don’t have to pretend with me.”
“I’m not pretending.”
I take a step forward, and this time I am closer than before—so close that if I just reached out, I would be touching her.
“That man can become unhinged at any given moment, and I am not comfortable having you in the line of fire like that.” I try to keep my voice even. “I will put it plainly for you, bella. He is not a good man.”
She flinches.
“You were terrified, bella. You can pretend all you want, but I saw it—because I see you. I. See. You.”
She closes her eyes. Pain contorts her features, but it’s not the kind of pain you can fix with a bandage. It’s emotional, deep, the kind that wraps chains around your ribs and squeezes.
“You don’t have to say anything,” I add. “You know where to find me.”
She opens her eyes again, and for a second, I think she might cry. But she doesn’t. She just stares at me, wide open and hurting.
I step forward, and before I can talk myself out of it, I lower my head and kiss her cheek softly. She lets out a low gasp, but I pull back before she can react.
“I’ll have someone come fix your door in an hour,” I tell her. “No one will come up the elevator; I’ll have the concierge make sure of that.”
I don’t wait for her response. I simply turn and walk out of her apartment, closing the broken door behind me as best I can.
She can’t handle Giacomo—not on her own anyway—but the moment she allows me to, I will make sure his punishment comes swiftly and with precision.
I shoot to kill. No questions asked.