Chapter 29 Matteo
Matteo
Morning light spills through the windows of my bedroom like warm honey, casting everything in golden relief.
Isabella lies stretched beside me, honey-blonde hair tangled across the dark pillowcase, her bare skin luminous in the early sunshine.
The sheet has slipped down to her waist, revealing the elegant curve of her spine, the delicate slope of her shoulders.
She looks peaceful. Satisfied. Mine.
I can't help myself. My hand slides under the Egyptian cotton, fingers tracing the silk of her thigh as I lean close to her ear.
"Can't start the day without getting my mouth on you," I whisper, my voice rough with sleep and need.
She stirs beneath my touch, a soft sound escaping her lips as I press kisses to the curve of her neck.
Her skin tastes like vanilla and something uniquely her, a flavor I've become addicted to these past months.
My mouth finds that sensitive spot behind her ear, and she arches into me with a sleepy moan.
"Matteo," she breathes, already melting for me. Always so responsive, my Isabella. Always so perfect.
"Mmm," I murmur against her throat, my hand sliding higher, finding her warm and ready. "Turn over, bella. Let me worship you properly."
She does, rolling onto her back with drowsy grace, emerald eyes heavy with desire as they meet mine.
The morning light catches in her hair, turns her skin to porcelain.
She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, especially like this.
Rumpled from my hands, marked by my mouth, looking at me like I hung the fucking stars.
"You're insatiable," she says, but her hands are already threading through my hair, pulling me down to her.
"For you? Every damn day." I settle between her thighs, taking my time with gentle kisses along her collarbone, down to the swell of her breasts. "Told you I was addicted, didn't I?"
She laughs, the sound rich and warm, and it does something to my chest. Makes everything feel lighter, brighter. Like the sun has finally risen after the longest winter of my life.
I worship her slowly this morning, with reverent hands and patient mouth. None of the desperate claiming from last night, just lazy possession and whispered praise. She comes apart beneath me with soft gasps and trembling thighs, my name falling from her lips like a prayer.
"Mine," I murmur against her skin as she shudders through the aftershocks.
"Yours," she confirms, pulling me up for a kiss that tastes like promises and forever.
Afterwards, we shower together in the marble bathroom, steam rising around us as I wash her hair with careful hands.
She leans into my touch, eyes closed, trusting me completely.
The sight of her like this still amazes me.
Isabella Callahan, the woman who faced down my family without flinching, melting under the simple pleasure of my fingers in her hair.
"What are you smiling about?" she asks, catching my expression in the mirror.
"You," I say simply. "Always you."
She turns in my arms, water droplets clinging to her lashes, and for a moment we just look at each other. The girl who was supposed to be leverage became everything. The playboy who never believed in love became a man willing to build his entire world around one woman.
"I love you," she says, like she's still amazed by the truth of it.
"I love you too, bella. More than I thought possible."
The steam clears as we towel off and move back to the bedroom, the morning routine feeling natural and domestic in a way that still surprises me.
We dress for breakfast, Isabella choosing a soft cream cashmere sweater and tailored pants that Carmela helped her pick out yesterday.
The symbolism isn't lost on either of us.
She's not wearing armor anymore, not dressing for battle or trying to disappear.
She's choosing clothes that make her feel beautiful, comfortable in her own skin and in this house that's becoming our home.
The dining room is alive with voices and laughter when we arrive, the massive table laden with enough food to feed an army.
Carmela stands near the sideboard directing the placement of serving dishes, her dark curls pinned back but already escaping in wayward tendrils.
She's orchestrated this entire breakfast, I know.
Our baby sister has been planning this welcome celebration since the moment Isabella proved her loyalty to the family.
"Finally!" she calls out when she spots us, rushing over to kiss Isabella's cheeks before hugging me tight. "I was starting to think you two were going to sleep all day."
"Some of us had important business to attend to," I say with a grin that makes her roll her eyes.
"Gross, Matt. TMI." But she's laughing as she links arms with Isabella. "Come on, I saved you the good seats. Away from Leo's table manners."
Dom looks up as we enter, his sharp green eyes taking in our joined hands, the way Isabella moves with easy confidence instead of careful calculation. He nods once, a gesture of quiet approval that settles something in my chest.
"Good morning," he says, rising to kiss Isabella's cheeks in the traditional greeting. "You look radiant."
"I feel it," she replies, and means it. The shadows that haunted her eyes for months are gone, replaced by something that looks like joy.
Besiana glides over next, elegant in the way only old money can achieve. She gives Isabella an appraising look, then a genuine smile before pressing kisses to both cheeks.
"Welcome, finally," she says warmly. "You belong with us, dear. You always did."
Rafe grins from his position at the table, raising his coffee cup in mock salute. "Matteo Rosetti, off the market. World's ending."
"Shut up," I say, but I'm laughing as I pull out Isabella's chair, making sure she's seated before taking my own place beside her. Not across from her anymore. We're a unit now.
Sloane beams at us from Rafe's other side, her whole face lighting up with genuine happiness. "I'm so glad you're staying," she tells Isabella. "We need more estrogen in this testosterone-heavy family."
Leonardo appears in the doorway with Eleanor, his wild red hair still bearing marks from sleep, tattoos visible beneath his rolled-up sleeves. He's moving easier now, the bullet wounds finally healed enough for normal activity.
"Well, well," he says, grinning at us with undisguised mischief. "Look what the cat dragged in. She'll keep you from being a smug asshole, Matt. Good choice."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I say dryly, but I'm touched. Leo's approval means something, especially after everything we've been through.
The dining room doors swing open again, admitting Emilio and Mara, both looking golden and relaxed from their Italian honeymoon.
My twin brother moves with that familiar quiet confidence, his gray eyes finding mine across the room.
The tension that existed between us for months is gone, replaced by something I'd almost forgotten we could have: brotherhood.
"Emilio," I stand, clasping his hand in a firm shake that turns into a brief embrace. "Good to have you back."
"Good to be back," he says simply, but his eyes say more. We're solid again, the way twins should be.
Mara practically glows with happiness, her dark hair longer now, her smile soft and genuine in a way that speaks of true contentment.
"You must be Isabella!" She approaches with a warm smile, extending her hand before pulling Isabella into a gentle hug. "I'm Mara. I've heard so much about you from everyone. It's wonderful to finally meet you properly."
Emilio steps forward, offering Isabella a slight nod of acknowledgment. "You chose to stay," he says simply, and for my brother, that's practically a speech. "Good."
"Thank you," Isabella replies with elegant composure, understanding that from Emilio, those words carry weight.
Emilio just nods, the conversation already over for him, but I catch the approval in his gray eyes.
I watch Isabella warm to the introductions, see her face light up with genuine pleasure at meeting my twin and his wife. These are the moments that matter. Not the violence or the power plays, but this. Family. Belonging. Love in all its messy, complicated forms.
The meal is decadent but relaxed, conversation flowing around the table like water.
Stories from Emilio and Mara's honeymoon, gentle teasing about Leo's recovery, plans for upcoming family events.
Isabella contributes easily, her sharp wit and gentle humor fitting seamlessly into the family dynamic.
"So Emilio," Rafe says, cutting into his eggs Benedict, "did you actually relax in Italy, or did you spend the whole time setting up surveillance networks?"
"Both," Emilio answers without missing a beat, earning laughter from the table.
"He tried to hack the hotel's security system on our second day," Mara adds with fond exasperation. "I had to hide his laptop."
"The security was pathetic," Emilio defends. "Someone could have walked right into our room."
"Someone did," Mara says sweetly. "Me. Every night."
Even Dom cracks a smile at that. Isabella catches my eye and grins, clearly charmed by the easy banter.
I watch her laugh at one of Rafe's terrible jokes, see her listen intently as Dom discusses the museum's latest acquisition, notice how she automatically passes the bread basket to Leo before he even asks. She's not performing anymore. She's just... here. Present. Home.
The realization hits me with quiet certainty. This is forever. Not the desperate possessiveness that drove me to kidnap her, not the obsessive need to own her, but this. Deep, steady love that doesn't demand or take but simply exists, as natural as breathing.
"You're staring," she murmurs, catching my gaze.
"Can't help it," I reply honestly. "You're beautiful."
She blushes, actually blushes, and my chest tightens with tenderness. After everything we've been through, she can still be shy about a simple compliment. It's devastating.
The conversation dies down as plates are cleared and coffee is refilled. I flip my silver coin once, twice, then catch it with a grin. The familiar weight feels different now. Lucky, but not because I need luck anymore. Because I've already won everything that matters.
"Actually," I say, standing up and pocketing the coin, "there's something Isabella and I wanted to tell everyone."
The table goes quiet, all eyes turning toward us. Isabella looks up at me with curiosity, eyebrows raised in question. She doesn't know what I'm about to do, but she trusts me. That trust still amazes me.
I reach into my jacket pocket and pull out the small velvet box I picked up during those three days she was at her apartment, thinking.
The ring inside isn't some flashy statement piece.
It's a perfect emerald surrounded by diamonds, classic and elegant, just like her.
I bought it because I knew she'd come back to me.
Knew she'd say yes. Some things you just know.
"Isabella Callahan," I say, dropping to one knee beside her chair as the table erupts in surprised gasps and delighted laughter. "Will you marry me? Properly this time, with a ring and witnesses and everything?"
Her hands fly to her mouth, emerald eyes wide with shock and joy. "Matteo, you already asked me last night," she says through her fingers.
"I know," I grin, opening the box to reveal the ring. "But I was inside you at the time, and I didn't have proper equipment. Figured you deserved better than a sex-drunk proposal."
"Oh my God," Carmela squeals, bouncing in her seat. "Say yes!"
"The man's already on his knees," Rafe adds helpfully. "That's progress."
Isabella laughs, tears streaming down her cheeks as she extends her left hand. "Yes," she says simply. "Always yes."
The ring slides on perfectly, catching the morning light as I stand and pull her into my arms. The table explodes in cheers and applause, Carmela literally bouncing in her seat as she claps.
"I knew it!" she shrieks, abandoning all Rosetti dignity. "I fucking knew it! When you asked me to help pick out her outfit yesterday, you had that look."
"Language, Carmela," Dom says mildly, but he's smiling.
"Oh, bite me, Domenico. My brother just got engaged!" She's already out of her chair, pulling Isabella away from me for another hug. "We have so much planning to do. The venue, the dress, the flowers—"
"Breathe, princess," I laugh, but I'm touched by her excitement.
Dom stands, raising his coffee cup with ceremonial gravity. "To the future Mrs. Rosetti," he says, and the formal acknowledgment carries weight. This isn't just a celebration. It's acceptance into the family legacy.
"Welcome to the chaos," Besiana adds with elegant amusement.
Emilio approaches, clasping my shoulder with quiet approval. "She's good for you," he says simply, but coming from my twin, it means everything.
The moment stretches around us, warm and complete and real. No more games, no more walls, no more pretending this is anything other than what it is.
"You're stuck with us now," I tell Isabella, spinning the emerald ring on her finger. "The whole crazy family."
"I wouldn't have it any other way," she says, and means it.
I pull her close then, unable to resist, and kiss her properly right there in front of everyone. Not claiming or possessing, just celebrating. Pure joy.
Leo groans dramatically. "Get a room."
"We have several," I point out without breaking the kiss.
Carmela throws a piece of toast at my head. "Behave! And yes, you have several rooms, but we're eating breakfast here like civilized people." She turns to Isabella with sparkling eyes. "Don't let him corrupt you too much. Some of us still have standards."
"I'll do my best," Isabella promises, laughing.
When we break apart, Isabella is laughing, the ring catching the light as she touches my face. Around us, the family continues their good-natured ribbing, planning our future with the kind of loving chaos only family can provide.
This is home. This chaos, this love, this woman in my arms who chose to build a life with all of us.
The playboy is dead. Long live the man who learned that the best conquest is the one who conquers you right back.