Chapter 17 Matteo
Matteo
The afterglow should be enough. Should be everything.
We've barely left this bed all day. Just tangled sheets and whispered demands, Isabella's body underneath mine, over mine, pressed against me like she can't get close enough.
We managed food at some point, feeding each other strawberries and champagne like we're on our own private honeymoon instead of hiding from the world.
Then I had her again on the kitchen counter, her legs wrapped around my waist while she begged for more. And again in the shower, water streaming down our bodies while she cried out my name.
Now I lie here in the darkness, watching Isabella sleep beside me, her honey-blonde hair spilled across my chest like silk. The room still holds the scent of sex and sweat, the salt taste of her skin lingering on my lips. Her breathing is deep and even, no nightmares tonight. Just peace.
My peace.
This wasn't the plan. She was never supposed to mean anything.
The silver coin rests on the nightstand, catching moonlight through the windows.
I've been flipping it between my fingers since I was twelve, a nervous habit that surfaces when I'm thinking about dangerous things.
Tonight I can't bring myself to touch it.
My hands are too busy memorizing the curve of her spine, the way her pulse flutters at her throat.
Three weeks ago, Isabella Callahan was a photograph in a folder. A means to an end. Chase's weakness wrapped in elegant packaging.
Now she's the woman who cries my name when she comes. Who trusts me enough to fall apart in my arms. Who looks at me like I'm worth saving instead of something to survive.
The realization sits heavy in my chest, dangerous and addictive. I've spent my whole life perfecting the art of not caring, of keeping everyone at arm's length where they can't hurt me. But Isabella slipped past every defense I built, made herself essential when I wasn't looking.
My phone buzzes against the nightstand, the vibration sharp in the quiet room. Isabella stirs but doesn't wake, her hand curling against my chest. I should ignore it. Should stay here in this perfect moment where nothing exists except the warmth of her skin and the steady rhythm of her breathing.
But the phone keeps buzzing. Insistent. Urgent.
I slip out of bed carefully, grabbing the phone and my jeans. Isabella murmurs something in her sleep, reaching for the warmth I left behind. The sight makes my chest tight with something I don't want to examine.
The hallway is dark, all shadows and silence. I check the caller ID: Emilio. My twin brother doesn't call at three in the morning unless something's gone very wrong. Especially not from his honeymoon in Tuscany.
"What is it?" I keep my voice low, moving toward the office at the end of the hall.
"We need to talk. Now." Emilio's voice is sharp, all business. Gone is the easy humor, the casual arrogance. This is the voice of the man who built an empire from code and surveillance. "Encrypted video call. Five minutes."
The line goes dead. I stare at the phone, dread pooling in my stomach. Whatever Emilio found, it's bad enough to pull him away from his honeymoon with Mara.
The office is cold, all glass and steel and the kind of modern furniture that looks impressive but feels like sitting on ice. I boot up the secure laptop, the screen casting blue light across my face. Outside, wind moves through the trees, branches scraping against the windows.
Emilio's face appears on the screen, pixelated but clear enough to see the grim set of his mouth. Behind him, I catch a glimpse of Italian countryside through hotel windows. He's sitting at a desk, his dark hair disheveled like he's been running his hands through it.
"Tell me," I say.
"We found proof." Emilio's voice is steady, controlled. The way it gets when he's delivering death sentences. "About Isabella's parents."
My throat goes dry. The leather chair creaks as I lean back, processing. "What kind of proof?"
"The kind that changes everything." Emilio's fingers move across his keyboard, sharp clicks echoing through the connection. "Remember that contact we had in Chase's organization? The one who disappeared six months ago?"
"Vaguely."
"He didn't disappear. He died. But not before he copied some files to an encrypted drive. His widow just came forward." Emilio's fingers move across his keyboard, the familiar sound of my twin at work. "I've been analyzing the data all night. Matt, this is worse than we thought."
The screen flickers, and suddenly I'm looking at grainy surveillance footage. The timestamp reads fifteen years ago. My mouth tastes like copper as I watch Chase Callahan walk through what looks like a warehouse, his face calm and businesslike. Young. Ambitious. Hungry.
"Keep watching," Emilio says quietly.
The footage cuts to another angle. Chase is talking to someone off-camera, his body language animated. Angry. Then he nods, like he's agreeing to something, and walks away.
The camera pans, following his movement. And there, in the background, I see them. A man and woman, both dark-haired, both terrified. Blood on their clothes. Their hands bound behind their backs.
Isabella's parents.
My hands clench into fists. The laptop screen blurs for a moment, and I have to blink to focus. These people raised the woman sleeping in my bed. Sang her lullabies. Kissed her scraped knees. And Chase fucking Callahan ordered them executed like they were nothing.
"There's more." Emilio's voice cuts through the roar in my head. "I found the audio buried in the metadata."
The sound is tinny, distorted, but clear enough. Chase's voice, fifteen years younger but unmistakably him.
"Make it look like an accident. A robbery gone wrong, or a car accident. Whatever. The girl can't know the truth."
"What about the will?" Another voice, one I don't recognize.
"I'll handle the will. Isabella gets the trust fund, the foundation, all the pretty things that keep her happy and quiet. But the real empire stays with me."
The recording cuts to static. I stare at the screen, my chest tight with rage.
Every muscle in my body screams for violence.
For blood. For the satisfaction of putting my hands around Chase's throat and squeezing until his eyes bulge.
The woman sleeping in my bed, the woman who trusts me, who calls me her safety—she's been living a lie her entire life.
"We've got bank records too," Emilio continues. "Forged documents. Chase has been using her as a front, making her the legitimate face of an empire built on her parents' blood."
I can't breathe properly. The air in the office feels thin, suffocating. "She doesn't know. She doesn't know any of it."
"No. But she will. And when she does, she'll be more than just Chase's weakness. She'll be his greatest threat."
The truth settles over me like ice water. Isabella isn't just leverage anymore. She's not just the woman I've been falling for despite every instinct telling me to run. She's the rightful heir to an empire, the one person who can destroy Chase Callahan completely.
And she's lying naked in my bed, trusting me to keep her safe.
"There's something else," Emilio continues, his voice grimmer. "Our sources say Chase is planning to clean house. He's been letting her live because she was useful, controllable. But now that she's been with us, now that she's seen behind the curtain..."
The words taste like ash. "He'll kill her."
"He'll try. Question is, are we going to let him?"
I close my eyes, thinking about Isabella's nightmares. The way she flinches when people mention her parents. The gaps in her memory that she's always been afraid to examine. She's been living in a cage of lies, and she doesn't even know it.
"Send me everything," I say. "Every file, every recording, every piece of evidence."
"Matt—"
"Send it all. She deserves to know the truth."
"Are you sure about this?" Emilio asks, and I hear something in his voice I've never heard before. Worry. For me. "Once she knows, there's no going back. She'll never be the same."
I think about the woman upstairs, about the way she looks at me like I'm her whole world. About the trust in her eyes when she tells me she's not afraid of me anymore. About the way she surrenders to me completely, body and soul.
"She's already not the same," I say quietly. "She just doesn't know it yet."
"And you?" Emilio asks. "What happens to you when she finds out you've been lying to her too?"
The question hits me harder than the surveillance footage. Because he's right. I've been lying to Isabella since the moment I took her. About why she's here, about what I want from her, about the way she makes me feel when she's wrapped around me in the darkness.
About the fact that somewhere between the kidnapping and now, I've fallen completely, hopelessly in love with her.
The call ends, leaving me alone in the cold office with the weight of everything I've learned. Isabella Callahan isn't just a woman anymore. She's a weapon. A key. A queen who doesn't know she's been dethroned.
And I'm the only thing standing between her and the uncle who murdered her parents.
The realization crashes over me, steals the air from my lungs. Love. That's what this is. This desperate, consuming need to protect her. This way she's carved herself into my chest, made herself essential when I wasn't looking.
I'm in love with her. Completely. Irrevocably. The kind of love that makes men burn down empires and start wars.
The kind of love that gets you killed.
I make my way back to the bedroom, my bare feet silent on the hardwood floors. The house feels different now. Charged with danger. Every shadow could hide a threat, every sound could be Chase's men coming for her.
Isabella is exactly where I left her, curled on her side with her hand stretched across the space where I was lying. The moonlight turns her skin to pearl, highlights the curve of her shoulder, the elegant line of her neck. The scent of her perfume mixed with sex still clings to the sheets.
Beautiful. Trusting. Completely unaware that everything she believes about her life is a lie.
I slip back into bed, my skin still cold from the office.
She turns toward me instinctively, seeking warmth, and I gather her against me.
Her body is soft and pliant, molding to mine like we were made to fit together.
The silk of her hair brushes my chest as she settles into my arms with a soft sigh.
Perfect. Mine.
But as I hold her, I can't stop thinking about the surveillance footage. About her parents' faces, terrified and resigned. About the way Chase looked when he ordered their deaths, casual and businesslike, like he was discussing the weather.
About the fact that tomorrow, I'm going to have to destroy her world all over again.
"You're not safe," I whisper against her hair. "Not even close."
She stirs, eyelashes fluttering against my chest. "Matteo?"
"I'm here." I stroke her hair, the same gentle touch that's been soothing her nightmares for weeks. "Go back to sleep, bella."
But even as she settles back into dreams, I stay awake. Watching. Planning. Preparing for the war that's coming.
Because Isabella Callahan isn't just the woman I love anymore. She's the woman I have to save. And I'll burn down the entire world to keep her safe.
Starting with her uncle.