5. Emma
FIVE
Emma
Somewhere in this vast house, Matteo is stripping out of his bloodstained clothes, climbing into a steam filled shower. I’m in a living room bigger than our entire apartment, trying to make sense of everything that’s happened.
He killed two men. He was going to torture them but he didn’t because I told him to.
He freed all those women, again because I asked him to. Why did he even listen to me? What made him come and save me at all?
Based on what my father said, he shouldn’t care about anyone but himself. And now he wants to marry me to keep me safe? Thinks his name will protect me.
I tried to argue with him on the way here, tell him I couldn’t marry a murderer. It was like talking to a brick wall. I suggested getting the police involved and he told me to go ahead. They laughed when I called them, said they don’t get involved in Rossi or Petrovitch problems.
I called Pamela too, told her not to come around tonight. The last thing I need is anyone else at risk because of me. Now all that’s left is to call Amelia. I need to know she’s okay despite Matteo’s promises.
I hold my breath until my call connects. “Amelia?” I ask, pacing slightly, my gaze wandering to the expansive windows overlooking the river. The view is breathtaking. I turn back. The room is spotless, everything organized exactly how I would lay this place out. How did I not notice that when I first got here? It’s perfect.
“What happened, Emma? Are you safe?” Her voice is tinged with worry. “Where are you?”
“I'm fine,” I reply. “The men who took me were the same ones who hired Dad. They took me to a brothel, wanted to use me to bargain with Matteo but he came and saved me before anything happened. Brought me here, to his place.” Even to my own ears, the story sounds surreal, like something out of a dark fairy tale. “He says I have to marry him to stay safe.”
“What? Why?”
“Because this guy, Igor Petrovitch, he’s behind it all. He wants whatever is in the suitcase that Dad moved. If he finds out about me, he might try to hurt me. Matteo wants to keep me here while he deals with Petrovitch. But what about you? Are you all right?”
“There are men guarding the apartment, but they haven't tried to come in since they put alarms on all the windows.” Her words bring a small measure of relief, but the knot in my stomach remains. “I’m worried about you though. You need to go to the cops. You were kidnapped.”
“I tried that. They weren’t interested. Matteo says this is the only way to keep me safe.”
“Seriously?”
“He made it clear I don't have a choice in this.” My voice is flat, resigned. “I'll do it, Amelia, because it means you'll be safe. You keep your protection and your therapist as long as I do what he says. He said it’ll only be until Petrovitch is dealt with then we can get it annulled if I want.”
“Oh, shit, I’ve got another call.” She pauses. “It’s Dr. Summers. I’ll get her to call me back.”
“No, take the call. I’m not going anywhere. Just let me know if you hear anything from Dad. I don’t know if this Petrovitch asshole will be after him.”
“I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
She ends the call. I approach the floor to ceiling bookcase, drawn to the one book slightly out of alignment. As I straighten it, I smile. Les Miserables, Volume One. Fate sure is amusing herself today.
Matteo's voice breaks the silence. “Read the best books first or you may not have chance to read them all.”
“Thoreau” I reply with a smile, spinning around to find him looking gorgeous in another immaculate suit. “My Mom used to say that to me.”
The sight of him gets my insides churning in a way I don’t like. His gaze follows my hands, landing on the spine of the book.
“Wasn’t lined up straight,” I say by way of explanation. “Wanted to fix it.”
“First edition,” he replies. “Tenth anniversary gift from my father to my mother. It was her favorite book.”
“It was my mum's favorite too,” I admit. The memory of her gentle voice reading out loud comes flooding back with aching clarity. “She used to say it was the perfect story if you wanted to read about redemption. Just ignore the diversion into the Paris sewage system for about a hundred pages.”
“Hugo did digress a little from time to time.” Matteo nods, a thoughtful look crossing his features. “I always thought it was about injustice. Javert chases Valjean with more venom than any rational man should have. If he’d had better control of his emotions he wouldn’t have died. Valjean was just one more petty crook amongst thousands. He shouldn’t have gotten so involved.”
I can’t help but smile. “That’s what I said to her the first time I read it.”
He comes over, taking the first volume from the shelf, gazing down at it. “I picked it up again after my parents died. Made me think of the rivalry between my father and Petrovitch. The two of them spinning around each other in some kind of circle of violence and hatred.”
“They didn’t get on? How come?”
He sighs. “The old story. Petrovitch wanted something he couldn’t have.”
“What?”
“My mother. She was the most popular girl in the city. Petrovitch was jealous that my dad married her. Called him a cheat, couldn’t believe she would choose my father over him. Bided his time, waited for his revenge. Killed them both in the end when he realized he’d never win her. Decided if he couldn’t have her, no one could.”
His voice hardens, the pain of the past palpable in the air. “Not that I’ve ever been able to prove it. The guy who did it died in custody the same day. Dropped dead of a heart attack. So they said.”
I see the pain flickering in the corner of his eyes. Not so emotionless after all, I think. “That must have been awful.”
He nods. “I locked myself away in here after they died. Started drinking to numb the pain of it all, the injustice. Took a long time to get myself back out on the streets.”
“Agoraphobia? You mentioned it in my bedroom.”
“In the past now. I got our empire back on top and I’m about to cement a deal with the city that will secure our power for decades. If I can get that file back.”
“What file?”
“In the suitcase is a file with all the dirty secrets of the members of the appropriations committee. Without it, I can’t force them to sell the land by the river to me. I know for a fact development will be approved one way or another. The value is only going to go up. We build on there and we earn a billion in five years. Petrovitch wants to show me he’s still the big man in New York. He paid those two corpses to get the file out of my secure vault. Your father was hired to move it for them.”
“You don’t have a copy?”
“You don’t make copies of this kind of thing.”
“So he can blackmail them now he has the file? Win this big deal?”
“It’s encrypted but if he cracks the code, he gets that land for himself. Fill it with brothels like the one you saw today. I can’t let that happen. I need to make this deal work, for my parents as much as for me. I must get that file back.”
He puts the book back on the shelf, making sure it’s aligned perfectly with the others. “You spoke to your sister?” he asks.
“Just now. She said you’ve put alarms all over the building.”
“My men are good. Nothing will happen to her. Now, you should get cleaned up. I’ve had some clothes put in the bathroom down the hall. I’ll be in the conservatory when you’re done.” He heads for the door. “This way.”
I follow him until he motions toward an open door. He walks off without speaking and I watch him go. He looks like a man in total control of his world but I can already see that’s not true. He’s as formed by his past as I am by mine. No wonder he wants to control everything after what happened to his parents. The cracks are visible though. He’s deeper than he thinks he is. Capable of more.
I lock the bathroom door behind me, leaning back against it. I smile to myself. No rituals here. Not yet, at least.
I undress and climb into the shower. As the water cascades over me at a constant heat, I can't help but think of how different it is to my place. Shared bathroom, shower that alternately scalds and freezes. Mold creeping across the tiles no matter how often I clean.
This place is so different. The bathroom is huge, the tiles spotless. I could get used to being in a place like this. I close my eyes and let my mind drift. I imagine the door opening, him coming in, seeing me in the shower, climbing in with me, his suit getting soaked but he doesn’t care.
I don’t know where the fantasy came from but I don’t want it to vanish. I picture his hands moving down my body, teasing my pussy, his lips on my neck as he plunges a finger deep into me. He tells me I’m his wife, he can do what he wants to me. I protest but he presses his mouth onto mine, owning me completely.
I imagine him taking my virginity and as I dream of the moment, I touch my clit, easing the tension that’s building there. Shifting my body, I let the showerhead hit the right spot, the pressure of the water getting me close to the edge in minutes. I keep picturing his hands on me, his body towering over mine, his cock easing into me, his growling voice by my ear, talking dirty to me, telling me how much he wants me.
A minute later, I gasp out loud as an orgasm hits me. “Matteo,” I call out, unable to stop myself. My legs go weak as it courses through me, my heart thumping in my chest. The dream fades and I’m left with shaking fingers and a racing heart.
I turn off the water, drying myself with enormous fluffy towels, trying to ignore what I just did. It’s a stupid dream. The man’s a coldhearted killer, not exactly the Mr. Right I’ve been holding out for.
When I'm dressed again in the clothes he’s provided, I find him in the conservatory, buried in a book. He looks like the weight of the entire world is on his shoulders.
“I have work to do,” he says when he spots me watching him. “I should get to it.” He climbs to his feet as if I’ve caught him doing something he shouldn’t.
“You don’t have to be ashamed of reading,” I say, taking a step toward him.
“You’ll need to occupy yourself,” he adds, his tone leaving no room for discussion. “I have calls to make. Marcella will look after you for now.”
I turn to find a woman in her mid-fifties nodding at him as he passes. Her smile is warm as she walks over to me. “What can I do for you, Miss Thompson?” she asks. “Are you hungry at all?”
“All I need is somewhere to read,” I tell her, seeking solace in the familiar comfort of books.
“Yes, ma’am. The library should suit your purposes best.”
She leads me down a corridor and through a set of double doors. I gasp at the sight. The library is vast, almost cathedral-like in its scope, with soaring ceilings high above me.
The walls are lined from floor to ceiling with shelves that brim with books, their spines a kaleidoscope of colors and textures that catch my eyes.
Each shelf is masterfully crafted from dark, polished wood that gleams under the soft, golden light of ornate chandeliers, casting a warm, inviting glow over the leather-bound treasures they cradle.
In the center of the room, a grand spiral staircase curls upwards, hinting at more literary wonders on the floors above. The air is filled with the rich, comforting scent of old paper and leather, mixed with a hint of the musty sweetness that only decades—or centuries—of cherished tomes can produce. It’s like The Book Nook times a thousand.
Lush Persian rugs soften the ancient wooden floors, their intricate patterns complementing the majestic rows of books. Plush armchairs and well-worn leather sofas are scattered thoughtfully throughout the space, inviting visitors to sink into their depths with a good book.
Near one of the large, mullioned windows, a small oak table holds an antique brass lamp, casting a pool of light perfect for reading.
I settle into a cozy corner with a commanding view of the entire library, but as magical as the environment is, my mind keeps drifting back to Matteo, his image overlaying the tranquil haven like a persistent shadow.
This beautiful library and he chooses to read in the conservatory? It takes me too long to choose a book but eventually I settle in a corner and instantly lose myself in the words.
Hours later, Matteo enters, his presence immediately altering the quiet atmosphere. I look up from my book, struck again by how seamlessly he fits into the orderly world he's created here. “You’ve made yourself at home,” he says as he walks over to me.
“This place is spotless and full of books,” I comment. “How could I not love it?”
He gives a small nod, a trace of a smile on his lips. “I like things well organized,” he admits.
“How come you don’t read in here?”
“I do, in that chair you’re sitting in. I just chose the conservatory today. I had calls to make and the service in here is poor.”
“I see.”
“I’ll leave you to it. The wedding dress should be here soon. I’ll let you know when it arrives.”
“Do we really have to get married?” I ask. The question slips out, a whisper of my lingering doubts.
“You lie to yourself that you don’t want me. I see through those lies. You get to be with me and I make sure you’re safe.”
“Why do you even care what happens to me? You said it yourself, I’m broken. I’ve no job, no future. I have nothing to offer. Why do you give a shit about me?”
“I told you, I admire your spirit. You care about your family. You care for your sister enough to remain with me despite knowing who I am. You cared about those women we freed today. You're a far better human than I could ever be. Such goodness deserves protection, don’t you think?”
“You don’t care about goodness. You care about power. That’s what this is about, isn’t it? You want power over Petrovitch and you want power over me. That’s what you care about.”
“I hired Dr. Summers to treat your sister. I let your father live. Was that for power?”
“To impress me. To control me. I don’t want to be controlled.”
“Are you sure? Everything about you says you want to be safe, to be protected. I can offer you that for the rest of your life.”
I shake my head. “You said it was only until Petrovitch was dead.”
“Is that what you want.” He closes the distance between us. “Or do you want to feel my lips on yours? You find out who you really are when you’re naked with another person. Aren’t you curious to know who you are?”
“You want to have sex with me? Is that why you’ve done all this? Sex?”
“You don’t want me to fuck you? I heard you in the shower. I heard you whisper my name, moan when you came.”
I freeze on the spot. “You were listening? You had no right.”
“It’s my house. I heard a cry, I thought you were in pain.” He smiles, taking another step my way, towering over me. “Admit you want me. I can make you scream in ecstasy. Don’t you want that?”
“No,” I lie but the word is weak, slipping out of my lips as my shoulders sag. “I’m fine on my own.”
He places a finger under my chin, lifting my face so I’m staring into his eyes. “I told myself that for years,” he says. “Didn’t need anyone or anything. We tell ourselves so many lies, don’t we? Your OCD, it’s getting worse, isn’t it?”
I say nothing, unable to trust myself to speak.
“It’s the pressure building inside you. Taking care of everyone, no one to take care of you. I am not a good man. I don’t pretend to be. But I am a strong man, I can protect you like no other man ever could. With me, you’ll be safe. You’ll want for nothing. Just tell me you want me. Admit the truth. It will set you free, Emma. You want me, don’t you?”
I want to agree but I can’t do it. I can’t let go. “No,” I say again.
“So be it,” he replies. “You want to play it that way? Let’s play.”