Chapter 14 #2
The informant clears his throat. "There's more. He's been asking questions about the Rosetti operations. Banking, shipping, the legitimate businesses. He's planning something big."
Dom's expression darkens. "What kind of something?"
"I don't know. But he's been meeting with people. Dangerous people. And he's been very specific about wanting his niece back unharmed."
The words hang in the air, heavy with implication. Chase isn't just going to sit back and wait for me to come home. He's going to come for me, and he's going to hurt people in the process.
"Get out," Dom says to the informant. "Same time next week."
The man practically runs from the room, leaving us alone with the silence and the smell of violence. I stare at the box on the table, at the evidence of what my uncle is capable of. At the proof that everything I thought I knew about my life was a lie.
"I need some air," I say, but my voice comes out wrong. Shaky and small.
"Isabella." Matteo's hand tightens on mine, and when I try to pull away, he doesn't let me. "Look at me."
I do, and the expression in his eyes steals my breath. Not pity, not condescension. Something raw and hungry and completely possessive. Like he wants to wrap me up and keep me safe from everything ugly in the world.
"I grew up in a house where people disappeared," I say, not breaking eye contact. "But I never let myself think about where they went."
His jaw clenches, and I can see the muscle jumping under his skin. The careful control he's maintaining is costing him something.
"I told myself they moved away. Found new jobs. Started new lives." I laugh, but there's no humor in it. "I was so naive."
"You were a child," he says, his voice rough with something that might be tenderness. "You survived the only way you could."
"By lying to myself." I step closer to him, close enough to see the gold flecks in his eyes, to feel the heat radiating from his skin. "By pretending that the man who raised me wasn't a monster."
His free hand comes up to cup my face, thumb tracing along my cheekbone. The touch is gentle, almost reverent, and it makes something inside me crack open. "He is a monster. But that doesn't mean you are."
The words hit me harder than they should. I stare up at him, at this dangerous man who kidnapped me and has every reason to see me as nothing more than leverage. But the way he's looking at me now, like I'm something precious, something worth protecting...
"I don't know who I am anymore," I whisper.
"You're Isabella," he says simply. "You're brilliant and strong and brave enough to stand in a room full of killers without flinching.
" His thumb moves to trace my bottom lip, and my breath catches.
"You're the woman who patched me up when I was bleeding.
The woman who worried about me enough to demand to come here today. "
"Matteo..."
"You're mine," he says, his voice dropping to that rough whisper that makes my knees weak. "You've been mine since the moment I laid eyes on you. The only question is whether you're ready to admit it."
I should say no. Should step away, maintain the distance I've been trying to rebuild. But standing here, with his hands on me and his eyes burning with need, I can't remember why I was fighting this.
Instead, I lean into his touch, letting my body press against his. The contact sends electricity through me, and I can feel his sharp intake of breath. Can see the way his pupils dilate with want.
"I'm scared," I admit, the words barely audible.
"Of me?"
I shake my head slowly. "Of what I feel when I watch you." The confession slips out before I can stop it, raw and honest. "Of how much I like it when you're dangerous."
The sound he makes is somewhere between a growl and a groan. His hand fists in my hair, tilting my head back, and for a moment I think he's going to kiss me right here, in front of his brothers.
Instead, he pulls back just enough to look into my eyes, and his smile is dangerous and without mercy.
For a heartbeat, we just stare at each other.
I can smell his cologne, something dark and expensive that makes my head spin.
My eyes trace the strong line of his jaw, the way his pulse jumps at his throat, the way his lips are slightly parted like he's fighting for control.
I want him to kiss me more than I've ever wanted anything in my life, and I hate that he's holding back.
Hate that he's making me wait, making me ache for something I can't even admit I want.
And then his mouth crashes against mine with a hunger that steals my breath.
The kiss is desperate, consuming, full of weeks of tension and need and the kind of raw desire that burns everything else away.
His tongue sweeps into my mouth, claiming me with a thoroughness that makes my knees weak.
I can taste the coffee we shared this morning, something dark and intoxicating that's purely him, the dangerous promise of what's to come.
My hands fist in his shirt, pulling him closer, and he makes a sound against my mouth that's pure possession. Pure need. The kiss deepens, becomes something wild and desperate and inappropriate for where we are.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard. His forehead rests against mine, and I can see the fire burning in his eyes. The possession, the need to own me in every way that matters.
"Christ," he breathes, his voice wrecked. "What you do to me."
Behind us, someone clears their throat, and reality crashes back. We're standing in the middle of his family's conference room, having just made out like teenagers while his brothers watched.
But when I turn to look at Dom and Rafe, neither of them looks shocked. Dom's expression is unreadable, but Rafe is smirking like he's just won a bet.
"Well," Rafe says, his voice dry. "That answers that question."
My cheeks burn with embarrassment, but Matteo doesn't let me step away. His arm tightens around my waist, keeping me pressed against his side. Claiming me in front of his family without apology.
"We should go," he says, his voice still rough with need. "I have plans for the rest of the afternoon."
The way he says it, the promise in his voice, makes heat pool between my thighs. I know exactly what kind of plans he means, and God help me, I want them too.
I want him to take me home and finish what we just started. Want him to strip away every last barrier between us until there's nothing left but skin and heat and the kind of honesty that only comes in the dark.
Want him to make me forget everything except the way he says my name like a prayer.