Chapter 8
Matteo
She enters like sin in silk. The red dress hugs her skin, every step a challenge. The gown marks her as forbidden and wanted at once. Hunger passes through other people’s eyes, the same hunger I feel. Her ivory-and-gold mask only sharpens it. She looks like a myth and a weapon braided together.
My mouth goes dry. She doesn't glance my way, but she knows I’m here. I can’t stop watching.
She laughs, she drinks, she smiles with that mouth I’ve kissed and dreamed of. I feel rage. The kind which is burning slowly. The kind that screams to tear her out of this room and pin her somewhere dark where no one can see the way I want her.
I turn fast and stalk into the hall. “Whoa, here we go,” Marco says, pushing off the wall as Milo joins him. “He’s storm-walking. You see that twitch in his jaw, classic.”
“Shut up,” I grunt, pacing the marble.
“Let me guess,” Milo smirks, following. “It’s the red dress or the way she walked in like she was about to own your soul.”
Marco leans against a column. “I mean, if I were engaged to a man twice my age and I looked like that, I’d come to the ball looking for war too.”
“Or a good fuck,” Milo says, chuckling. “She looks like she wants both.”
“Maybe she wants revenge,” Marco adds.
“Maybe she wants Matteo’s hands on her throat again,” Milo teases.
I flip them both off and roll my shoulders, because the fucking rage moving through my body is crazy.
“Just fuck her,” Marco deadpans. “Get it out of your system. You’ll feel better.”
“Yeah.” Milo grins. “Fuck the enemy. It’s every mafia fantasy, danger, lust, and trouble.”
“Sounds like our family dinners.” Marco shrugs.
I can’t help it, I laugh, low and dry. They’re right. But they’re also wrong. Because I don’t think one night will be enough. This thing I feel, it’s not just sex. It’s fire and fury and something darker.
“Holy shit,” Marco says, squinting. “You’re serious. You’re actually caught up on her.”
I don’t answer. That is enough.
We hear heels clicking against stone, sharp and certain.
I turn to Marco before Rosa appears, and whisper, “You make your move, I’ll make mine.” I joke with him, and he tells me to fuck off.
Rosa appears from the corridor, wrapped in black satin, her mask edged in silver. “What are you three scheming?” she asks, grabbing a flute of champagne from a passing tray.
“Our brother is losing his mind over a girl,” Marco says, already grinning like a devil.
“She’s not just a girl,” Milo adds. “She’s his apocalypse.”
Rosa raises a brow. “Let me guess. The Irish one.”
I don’t say anything.
That makes her smirk. “She looks good tonight,” she admits, then narrows her eyes. “Too good for you.”
“I don’t want her to look good,” I snap.
“Oh, we know,” Marco nods sagely. “You want her to look ruined. Preferably beneath you.” They all laugh, and I shake my head at them. Their time will come, and I’m remembering every comment they make.
“You three need therapy,” Rosa mutters, sipping.
“No,” Milo says, lighting a cigarette. “We need Matteo to either fuck her or kill her. The in-between is making him dangerous.”
“I’m already dangerous,” I growl.
“Yeah,” Rosa says. “But now you’re distracted. That’s worse.”
They’re right, and it pisses me off.
“She’s not yours,” Rosa says softly, leaning against the column beside me. “And she never can be.”
“She already is,” I say before I can stop myself. Everyone goes quiet. Rosa’s brows lift.
Milo laughs. “Oh, fuck.”
I look out into the ballroom again, and there she is. Smiling, talking. The little lamb, dressed for a wolf.
“I need her,” I murmur.
Rosa stares at me. “Then you better take her before someone else does, rumor is she is to get married soon as she’s finished here. Your secrets are safe with us, from the family.” The three of them nod but smile knowing Father will burn me alive if he finds out about what I want.
I watch her, not able to look away, and the moment she leaves the ballroom, I’m following her. Making sure no one is watching me, or her. I don’t care. I’m too far gone. Her red dress is a trigger, her silence is a fuse, and I’m the fucking match.
She moves fast down the corridor, unaware of me shadowing her, but not for long. In two strides I catch up with her, my hand on her wrist and yanking her back, dragging her into the nearest door.
The library. Dark. Empty.
I slam the door and pin her there, one hand flat to the wood, the other locked at her hip.
“You want to jump, little lamb?” I growl, my mouth inches from hers. “Then fucking jump.”
Her lips part, but no sound comes out.
“You want me to not touch you?” My fingers curl into her thigh, moving the slit of her dress to the side. “Say no, and I’ll walk. Right now. I’ll fucking vanish. My family…we kill, we rule, but respecting a woman is something we honor.”
She doesn’t say a word, she doesn’t push me away, and that’s all the permission I need.
My mouth crashes into hers, a violent snarl of teeth and lust. Her body arches into mine. She fights me, at first. Her nails claw at my shirt. Her thighs clench shut.
But for some fucked up reason I can’t stop.
I press harder into her. My hand moves up, fingers wrapping around her throat, not to choke, just to hold. To claim. To control the chaos unraveling between us.
“You’re the enemy,” I whisper into her mouth. “And I need to fuck you out of my system, because you’re stuck there.”
What’s about to follow isn’t love. It’s war.
I pull the mask from her face. My mouth moves down to her jaw, to her neck. I hold her wrists above her head with one hand while the other tears at the lace she’s wearing.
She moans; I clamp a hand over her mouth. The music is loud; I’m not risking her moans to be heard.
Wrapping her legs around my waist, I move away from the door and lay her on the table behind me.
Her hips buck when I press against her. Her thighs tremble when I whisper how much I want to ruin her, my mouth moves to her ear, as I rub her pussy. “So wet, and all for me. Tell me to stop,” I ask once more.
No response, but I can see it in her eyes. She wants this.
Moving away, I undo the button to my trousers, and before they drop I take out the condom. No fucking way I’m fucking her bare. I rip it open quickly with my teeth, then I slide the condom on, pull her to the edge of the table, and drive into her hard and fast.
Every thrust is a punishment. Not sure if it’s for me or her.
Her moans disappear into my hands, her nails clawing into my shoulders.
Removing my hand, I replace it with my mouth, a kiss full of a curse, I swallow the moans escaping her.
I grip her hips tighter, so I can thrust in deeper.
“Fuck—” I gasp. “You’re so tight.”
She screams and moans in pleasure. I clamp my hand over her mouth again and keep going, trying to drive everything out of me, hate, lust, rage, until there’s nothing left.
She starts shattering under me, my hand moves a little, knowing that this is the only time this can happen between us, but I want to hear it, my name from her lips. I want to hear so I can hear it over and over, when I walk away from her.
“Matteo,” my name escapes her lips, and it’s a sound of fucking music. Her whole body begins to tremble beneath me.
I thrust hard, a few more times, and I feel myself come hard. Something I’ve wanted to do all week, as I bury myself in her.
When it’s over, I don’t move. I’m still inside her, chest heaving, hands planted on the table like I’ll fall if I let go.
I stare at Aoife, her body knowing it’s now buried with my handprint.
She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t run. And neither do I.
Because I know when I leave, that’s the end.
It has to be the end.
Her body is still trembling beneath mine when I finally pull out of her, and that’s when it hits me, I see the blood. Fuck. I still, then snap my eyes to her.
I pull back just enough to see her face. Her eyes aren’t defiant anymore, they are wide. Raw.
The tension. The way she moves beneath me. The slight hesitation.
Fuck!
I hold my gaze on her. “Was this your first time?”
She doesn't answer. Just stares past me, lips parted, breath still shaky.
“Answer me.” My voice comes out lower, darker, barely under control, because I’m fucking losing it.
She nods, just once.
Everything in me snaps, I can feel my blood boiling.
“FUCK!” I shout, slamming my fist into the table beside her head. The wood groans under the blow. My chest heaves. My lungs burn.
I didn’t want it to be like this. Not like this.
Not rough. Not in rage. Not… this!
“You better leave, little lamb,” I growl, backing up. “Before your cousin comes and more Irish blood gets spilled by my hands.” I have no words for her; I have nothing to comfort her. She should have told me to stop. Fuck!
She doesn’t speak. Just bends down, picks up her mask, and walks away.
No words. No glance back. And I let her go.
I storm through the layers, fists clenched, jaw locked. I need to hurt something.
I should’ve known. I should’ve felt it.
Her body trembled. She hesitated. Her eyes said she was giving something she couldn’t take back, and I took it. Blind. Thoughtless.
I tore into her like she was built to break. Now she’s branded, burned by me.
Rage churns in my chest; at her, at myself, at everything. I can’t take it back. Worse, I don’t want to.
That’s what kills me. I don’t want to take it back. I want her to think of me every time someone else touches her. To always remember me.
Leo is there when I push through the doors beneath the school. He leads me to the training chamber like he already knows what I need.
“I need something to hit,” I snap.
He doesn’t blink. Just grabs two sets of gloves and tosses me mine. “Good. Because I need to test your footwork,” he says with humor in his tone, but I’m not in the mood for it.
We don’t speak. Only fists, breath, and tension.
Until I snap. “How long have you been with my family?” Leo adjusts the pad. “Since the day you were born.”
I blink, wiping the sweat from my eyes.
“My dad worked for your grandfather, then your father. When you three were born, I was brought in. Hired to train you. Watch over you.”
“So, you’ve been watching us?”
“No. I’ve been training you. Watching is passive. I’m not here to babysit. I’m here to make you killers.” He meets my eyes. “And if what happens above the layers puts you or your brothers in danger, I step in.”
He raises his gloves again. “Now stop thinking. Start swinging.”
I smile. I need this. I need to bleed some of the rage out.