Chapter Nineteen
Matteo
“What exactly am I looking f—”
I frown at my screen, pretending to look focused on what’s in front of me and not like I’m trying to regain composure. Pretending I didn’t stare at her for the last half-hour like a fucking creep.
She’s here. In my kingdom.
And I’ve watched her set up her workspace, fingers flying over the keyboard, a little frown creasing her forehead in concentration.
She looked purposeful, efficient, a queen in her realm.
And damn me if her scent filling my office isn’t making my head spin.
She has removed her hoodie and underneath she is wearing a cut off T-shirt that is robbing me of my sanity.
My eyes are drawn to her midriff and I want to drag my tongue over every inch of her skin.
My cock has been painfully hard since the moment she opened her front door and glared at me this morning.
And the car ride? That was the worst fucking torture.
She is sitting so close I can smell her shampoo, something flowery sweet and intoxicating. She is biting into the bagel I’ve brought her as a peace offering.
Then she fucking moans.
And I’m this close to coming in my pants.
Goddamnit, think about something else. Something you hate.
Kittens! That’s it. They’re weak, helpless, utterly pathetic.
And cute…just like her. Fuuuck I’m so fucked.
I finally manage to look up. She’s sitting by the desk in the far corner and it feels way too far. I will have someone move her desk next to mine by tomorrow.
She is looking at me expectantly and I realize that I haven’t registered a word she said.
“Yes?” The word comes out more gruffly than I’d like, but it seems like that’s the only tone I am able to use around her. It’s either that or begging her to let me eat her pussy.
She watches me with a wary look, her cheeks slightly flushed. I frown. What got her into this state? An irrational wave of jealousy hits me.
“What am I looking for? You never told me who I am to track down.”
Right, the job.
I nod toward my screen, motioning for her to join me. She rolls a chair next to mine and sits down while I pull up the file I have on the problem at hand. I open the file and spread out the different pieces of information I’ve gathered over the two screens on my desk.
“Do you remember the man who abducted Lily?”
“Gian Mancini? Yeah, he’s dead.”
I nod. “We thought that he was operating solo. Turns out he was part of a network which is spreading wider with every passing day.”
I hear her sharp intake of breath, and I am this close to aborting the whole thing.
I want to shield her from this darkness, want her far away from all this.
But I also know that she is brilliant and that she has taken down far more trafficking rings than I could imagine, she would know where to look and what to look for.
“I…guess I can try,” she says tentatively.
“They call themselves Manticore, but until now I’ve not been able to determine if the name applies to a single individual or their whole organization. I’ll send you everything I have.”
“Okay,” she mutters and begins to stand up. Before I even realize what I’m doing, my hand is clamped over her wrist in a vise grip, stopping her. I look her dead in the eyes, wanting her to understand the seriousness of all this.
“If you find anything, and I say anything , you come to me. Don’t do anything rash. They are dangerous, I’ll deal with them myself.”
She quickly nods, and I release her wrist, watching her walk away from me toward her desk. That goddamn thing is getting moved tonight. Or maybe I’ll get it burned, along with all the others, so she’ll have nowhere else to sit but my lap.
Erin
At noon, Matteo removes his glasses, stands up and wordlessly walks to me to hand me my hoodie. I look up at him in confusion.
“Let’s go have lunch.”
Curious about his habits, I jump up to follow him out of the office. He stalks past Allan and Dave to the elevator without sparing them a glance. I frown.
Once we are inside and riding down, I ask him, “They’re not coming to lunch?”
“They eat in the employee lunchroom.”
“And we’re not?” I ask, perplexed.
He doesn’t reply and steps out of the elevator.
He wordlessly leads me through several corridors until we emerge in a huge lobby with white marble floors.
Holy hell, this place is sumptuous . Columns rise to a vaulted ceiling from where a huge chandelier casts a golden light.
There are brass embellishments and crystal vases with fresh flowers everywhere. The place screams money.
Matteo steers me to a set of glass doors which open as we approach and we are standing in a very upscale restaurant.
Suddenly self-conscious, I turn to Matteo and whisper-shout, “We can’t eat here!”
He looks at me and raises a brow.
I motion at myself. My hoodie-distressed-jeans-and-sneakers look is standing out like a sore thumb in this upscale environment. He frowns, clearly not understanding what I mean.
God, don’t make me spell it out. I grit my teeth. “This is not exactly the look for this kind of place. They will never let us in.”
“Mr. Di Rossi, this way please, your table is ready,” a friendly voice says behind me.
I whirl around, fully prepared for the person to sneer at me and ask me to leave, but the ma?tre d’ doesn’t even bat a lash while he guides us to a table by the large windows.
Matteo pulls out my chair and I sit, still bemused. Then he rounds the table and takes the other chair opposite me.
“Welcome to La Corte,” he says while the ma?tre d’ hands us the menus. Then it hits me.
“This…this restaurant belongs to you?” I squawk.
He smirks, clearly amused by my astonishment, but doesn’t reply.
“Don’t tell me that…you own the whole building.”I breathe, stunned.
“In fact I do, along with everything and everyone inside.” His eyes are boring into mine now, as if willing me to read between the lines.
I scoff. “And what exactly is in this building?” I bend toward him and whisper in a conspiratorial tone, “Shell companies for your illegal activity? Hidden weapons hideout? Secret conference venues for organized crime, like Syndicate Seminars?”
His smile becomes predatory. “Something like that. There’s also a gym, swimming pool and residences for…family and friends.”
“Don’t forget the club,” my mouth spews out before my brain can filter my thoughts.
Shit. Curiosity killed the cat and all that. But well, here goes nothing .
He looks at me with a speculative glint in his eyes. “And the club,” he confirms in a gravelly voice.
“So it does exist!” I cry with a gasp and he chuckles.
“I won’t hide anything from you, so ask away, little ghost.”
“Because…” I gulp. “You intend to silence me anyway, so there’s no danger in me revealing all your evil plans like the bad guys do in the movies?”
“Because you are good enough to find out anything you want on your own.”
“Oh…uh, thanks, I guess?” Be still my heart .
A waiter comes to take our order, and I realize that I haven’t read a word on the menu. I order the first thing that catches my eye, roasted seabass with grilled vegetables. Matteo orders bistecca alla fiorentina and a glass of red wine while I have sparkling water.
“So you really own a kink club?” I whisper again when the waiter is gone.
“A private lounge,” he replies, face blank.
I can’t refrain from rolling my eyes. “Whatever.” But then curiosity gets the better of me. “And…um do you…you know, go there?”
“Specify going there. I do have an office there.”
So he’s playing difficult and it seems to amuse him to see me flustered. I groan. “You know what I mean.”
“No, why don’t you explain?” He’s laughing now. Crinkles appear at the corners of his eyes, and worse, a dimple winks at me from his cheek and suddenly my mouth goes dry.
I’ve never seen him laugh, and the sight robs me of any coherent thoughts. He looks years younger, relaxed and carefree, like someone else entirely than the brooding Mafia enforcer he impersonates every waking moment.
“No.” His face is serious now as he looks at me.
“What?” What were we discussing ?
“I never go there to indulge in the services the club offers.”
“Oh…really?”
“I don’t shit where I eat,” comes his terse answer.
I frown. “What does that even mean?”
“It means no,” he deadpans.
Before I can reply, a pair of waiters place our plates in front of us. My mouth waters at the divine smell. And the taste is pure heaven. I eat with relish, humming at every forkful while Matteo eats silently, eyes glued to my face.
“It’s really good,” I tell him when I’m finished. He nods in acknowledgement and signals for the plates to be cleared away.Suddenly a thought flits over my mind. “Matteo,” I croak. “I can’t pay for lunch here.”
“Relax, little ghost. Lunch comes with the job.” He looks amused.
Good for him , I think sourly. He was the one stealing my money after all.
When the waiter offers desserts, I decline. “Just an espresso, please, I’m full. It was delicious!” He smiles and nods in thanks before marching off to get our espressos.
When he is back, he puts our cups in front of us and places a black envelope in front of Matteo. He picks it up with a thoughtful face and rips it open to peek inside.
Then he slides the envelope to me.
I eye it warily. “What’s that?”
“It’s for you.”
I gingerly pick it up. It is heavier than expected. Inside is a black card. I pull it out and notice the black metal credit card attached to it.
I frown at Matteo. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s your card, use it for whatever you want.”
“I don’t need it, I have my own money. That is, when you return it.”
“Won’t be happening, sweetheart, I’m keeping it as…insurance. You better get used to the card.”
“What?” I shriek, gobsmacked. “You can’t keep my money, that’s theft.”
“Call the cops,” comes his impassive reply.
I am going to scream. Matteo stands and starts to round the table toward me, but I’m already jumping up to face him. “You’re infuriating!” I snap.
“So you told me.” He turns and starts to walk away unhurriedly. I follow behind, card still clutched in one hand, the other fisted so tight my nails dig into my palm.
When we’re back in the elevator, I hold the card up to him, willing him to take it back.
He stares at me, face unreadable, but he doesn’t move to take it. Then the elevator doors open and he sidesteps me to walk out. He stalks toward his office, with me following like an angry puppy. Once we are in his office, I close the door and slap the card on his desk.
“Just take it back and return my money,” I cry. “I swear I’ll work for you until the job is done.”
He shakes his head, the movement slow and final.
“So you keep my money and now what? You give me an allowance so you can keep me on a leash?”
“That’s not a leash, there’s no limit. And not a single cent will come from your…funds.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“This card is a copy of mine. There’s no limit. You use it, it clears.”
The room spins for a second. But then anger rises again. I glare at him, jaw clenched so tight I can’t utter a single word.
Okay, he wants to play it the hard way. The first chance I get, I’m buying a damn car. The fastest, shiniest, most expensive thing I can find.