Chapter 14
Raven
My laugh comes out sharp, brittle. “So I’m arm candy for a Mafia enforcer? How original.” I hear the slight tremor in my voice, and it pisses me off.
I don’t want to sound as nervous as I am sitting across from Matteo Russo. But it’s hard to sound confident when every nerve in my body feels like it’s tuned to the edge of a blade.
“You know my family,” he says, tilting his head, that gray eye studying me like I’m something to dissect.
“Everyone in Cleveland knows the Russos,” I reply, rolling my eyes for effect. “Though I’ll admit, I didn’t know until after… everything.”
“After you stole from me,” he clarifies, enjoying the flush that creeps up my neck. “After I killed for you.”
The words hit harder than I expect. Killed for me. My stomach twists, but I keep my expression neutral, tightening my grip on my wineglass until it stops trembling.
“Those men weren’t there for me,” I clarify as though it makes a difference.
No… not as though. It most certainly makes a difference. I work with optics, for fuck’s sake. I know the importance of spinning a point of view, and this is one of those times where it really does matter.
“No,” he agrees, voice smooth as glass. “But they would have hurt you to get to me. Same difference.”
He reaches across the table and catches my hand before I can pull it back. His thumb starts tracing lazy circles against my wrist. My pulse jumps, and I know my face portrays how shocked I am.
“You need to be a better actress than that,” he murmurs, leaning forward until I can feel the whisper of his breath against my skin. “What if we’re being watched and you look like my touch repulses you? Put your game face on, Little Thief.”
My throat works as I swallow, my pulse thrumming against his thumb. “What does that even mean?” I manage, though my voice isn’t as steady as I want it to be.
“It means remember how good you felt when my cock was buried inside you two weeks ago,” he murmurs, his tone almost a growl. “I need you to look as blissed out as you did when your cunt milked the cum from my balls.”
The words sear through me. The color drains from my face, only to come roaring back like a slap. And no, I’m not embarrassed. God, I wish I was because the wetness gathering between my thighs is so wrong.
My fingers tighten on the stem of my glass, the urge to throw it at him just to have something to do is almost overpowering.
But that would mean losing control, and if there’s one thing I won’t do in front of Matteo Russo, it’s break. I can do that later when I’m back home. For now, I’m pinning stuff as hard as possible.
I jerk my hand from his, ignoring the faint sting where his thumb had been. “What’s the real reason for this charade?” I snap. “I mean, you don’t strike me as someone who has to force women to join you.”
Piper’s words come back to me. “He’s got this whole scarred bad-boy thing going on that makes women throw themselves at him.” And for some reason, they bother me now.
“You’re right,” he says, leaning back like he’s granting me air. “I need your eyes and ears. Someone close to me is leaking information they really shouldn’t. You’re going to help me find out who.”
I blink, trying to process that. “You want me to spy for you?”
“I want you to listen,” he corrects. “You’re observant, Raven. I want you to watch and then report back to me.”
“That’s a lot more than one favor,” I dutifully point out, lifting my chin. My pulse is still unsteady, but at least my voice sounds calm now.
His shrug is both effortless and infuriating. “Better than ten separate ones,” he smirks.
The servers return, clearing plates and replacing them with the next course. I notice that I never actually ordered anything—of course I didn’t—and yet somehow my favorite, chicken piccata, sits steaming in front of me.
Coincidence or intimidation tactic? Hard to tell with him.
“So I pretend to be madly in love with you,” I summarize, cutting into the chicken harder than necessary, “while spying on your people.”
“Not all of them,” he says. “Just the ones at my club. It’s called the Leone Room—”
I stop mid-cut, staring at him. “You own the Leone Room?” My tone comes out more shocked than I intend, but excitement flickers anyway. “Wow.”
Something shifts in his expression, almost softening. “I do.”
“The Leone Room,” I repeat, shaking my head with a disbelieving laugh. “One of the most exclusive and talked-about scenes. Damn.”
I down the rest of my wine in one go, needing something to do with my hands.
“I feel better about this now. Yep, if I get into the Leone Room, it might be worth it,” I babble on.
He laughs, deep and rough. “Want permanent VIP access?”
I pause, fork midair. “Don’t tease me, Russo.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Carter,” he shoots back, amused.
As we finish eating, I find myself talking more than I planned—telling him about all the times I tried to get into the club. Each attempt, each failed plan. I even wave my hands like an idiot, gesturing too much, but he just watches me like I’m entertaining.
“P-I mean, one of my friends has been there,” I say finally, “and I almost asked her to get me on the list.”
“Why didn’t you?” he asks, curiosity genuine.
“Because I don’t like handouts,” I reply, shrugging. “I prefer to get myself the things I want.”
He smirks, voice dripping with mockery as he says, “Whether or not they belong to someone else, right?”
I smirk, refusing to give him the satisfaction of cowering. What’s done is done, and I’m here, reaping the consequences of my shitty life decisions. I twirl a lock of hair around my finger instead.
The candlelight flickers against the glass, painting his face in golds and shadows. His gaze drags down my dress, lingering too long on the curve of my breasts, the side cut that shows just enough skin to make men stupid.
“That dress should come with a warning,” he growls. “If another man looks at you for longer than two seconds, he leaves without his eyes.”
Even though that’s terrifying and absolutely not funny, I laugh. “Possessive much?”
“Observant,” he counters. “I’ve been hard since I picked you up. And every time I get my dick under control, you’re flashing me your breasts.”
I use my hand to fan myself. “Whew, are you flirting with me?” I ask, batting my eyelashes. When he just arches an eyebrow, I roll my eyes. “You make it sound like fashion is a crime.”
“Tonight it is,” he retorts, and the way he looks at me tells me I’m in trouble for liking that answer as much as I do.
By the time dessert arrives, I’m still pretending not to be affected, but my pulse keeps betraying me. The panna cotta smells divine. My stomach flips between hunger and adrenaline as I study him over the rim of my glass.
“If I’m playing the part, I need details,” I say, trying to sound casual. “Tell me, what did little Matteo want to be when he grew up—before becoming whoever you are now?”
His brow lifts slightly, and for a second, something vulnerable flashes in his gaze. “A firefighter,” he says, irony curling through the words. “Guess that didn’t pan out.”
My gaze drifts to the burns along his jaw before I can stop it, but I don’t comment. Instead, I grin. “Do you have any pets? Please tell me you have a tiny dog that you carry around in a designer bag when no one’s looking.”
His mouth twitches. “No pets. I’m not a dog person. Or a cat person. Or any animal person.”
“So you’re completely dead inside,” I gasp, taking another sip of wine. “Good to know.”
The silence that settles between us isn’t awkward. Just… heavy. Charged. I cut a piece of the dessert and lift it toward him, smirking when he reaches for the fork. I slap his hand away.
“Let me feed you, dearest,” I coo, turning the teasing into a performance. I raise the fork to his lips, keeping my smile sweet. “Here you go.”
He looks at me like he can see straight through the act.
“That nickname really doesn’t work,” I say absentmindedly as I feed him another piece of the dessert. Mentally, I run through the list of options.
Baby sounds… not right. An idea hits me, and I can’t hide the smile that follows.
“You got yourself a deal, Matty,” I purr, acting like I’ve been deciding even though we both know I don’t have a damn choice.
I slide around the curved booth until I’m beside him, resting my hand on his arm in the perfect picture of affection. Anyone watching would think I’m smitten.
Only he feels the press of my nails digging through the fabric of his jacket.
He leans closer, angling his head like he’s coming in for a kiss. “Glad to hear you’re on board,” he rasps.
“And just so you know, I’m an excellent actress,” I gulp. “But I’ll need some boundaries.”
“Like?”
“My work is off limits to you,” I say sternly. “And leave poor Holston alone. You’re messing with my career here, and I worked hard to be where I am.”
“I’ll leave Nathan alone,” he grins. “I’ll even consider forgetting about the favors he owes me if—”
I beam up at him. “Good…” Then I trail off, realizing I was just about to celebrate his ‘if’. Oops. “If what?”
Matteo cups my cheek, and I lean into the gesture. “Never mind.” His voice is husky and deliciously low. “Any other conditions?”
My pulse jumps again, but I don’t show it. “I’ll let you know if I think of any.” My voice is all sugary while my eyes promise blood.
Christ, this entire conversation is a mindfuck. If it wasn’t for all the pins I’ve put in things, I’m sure I’d be running for the hills. But mama Carter didn’t raise no fool. Pins are my go-to survival tactic.
He laughs and turns his arm to catch my wrist, squeezing just enough to make my nails retreat. “We’re going to have so much fun together, Little Thief.”
My smile doesn’t falter, but inside, something cold and sharp twists. “I can’t wait,” I lie, and it sounds beautiful. “Now tell me, what kind of woman are you dating?”
“What do you mean?” he asks, sounding baffled by my complete one-eighty on the conversation.