Chapter 14 #2
I sigh. “Well, am I just arm candy? Am I spiritual? Do I cleanse people’s auras and demand that the Feng Shui match Mercury’s retrograde?”
I meant to stop my questions there. Really, I did. But one look at his baffled expression, and I can’t help myself.
“Do I suffer from Tourette or amnesia? Do I secretly begrudge my parents for not driving me across state lines so I could attend a boyband concert when I was twelve?”
When he doesn’t answer immediately but instead looks like he can’t decide if my questions are serious or not, I realize he won’t be any help with this. It’ll be up to me to sell the charade and create the kind of woman Matteo would date.
By the time we step outside La Volta, the air’s cooled, carrying that faint scent of rain that always hits just before a storm. Matteo’s driver waits by the car, standing straight like he’s carved from marble.
Matteo opens the door, gesturing for me to get in, but instead of sliding inside, I plant my hand on the roof and say, “I want to go to the Leone Room.”
He pauses, one brow lifting. “Now?”
“Yes, now,” I say, matching his tone, daring him to call me out. “You said everyone needs to believe we’re together, right? Then it makes sense to start showing up together. And since it’s your place, I should see it.”
His eyes narrow as if he’s trying to read the subtext. Maybe there are some—mostly that I want to prove I’m not scared of his world. Or of him.
“You think I’m showing you my playground on our first date?” he asks, half amused.
I cross my arms. “I think if I’m supposed to play the part, I should know the set.”
For a second, he just looks at me with a quiet, assessing stare. Then his lips curve, slow and sharp. “Fine. Let’s go.”
I slide into the car, pulse quickening as Matteo follows, and the door shuts behind him, sealing us inside. While he taps away at his phone, I watch the city blur past in streaks of gold and red, the hum of the engine filling the silence between us.
“Are you trying to impress me?” I ask finally.
“No,” he says simply. “You wanted a glimpse. I’m indulging you.”
“Indulging,” I repeat, turning the word over in my mouth like it tastes foreign. “That’s what we’re calling it?”
He glances at me, mouth twitching. “What would you call it?”
“Testing boundaries,” I say, meeting his gaze head-on. “Seeing how far I can push before you remind me who’s in charge.”
His laughter is low, genuine, and it slides under my skin like a spark. “You’re learning fast, Little Thief.”
We fall quiet again, but it’s not comfortable silence—it’s anticipation. My pulse thrums in my ears by the time the car turns down a narrower street lined with dark glass and steel.
The Leone Room doesn’t look like much from the outside; sleek, minimal, anonymous. But the moment we pull up, two doormen step forward, the kind of men whose suits don’t quite hide the guns beneath.
Pinning that.
Matteo’s out first, circling the car to open my door. The gesture should feel old-fashioned, but coming from him, it feels like a warning disguised as courtesy. His hand is warm when I take it, firm enough to make sure I follow.
Rather than using the front entrance, he pulls me to the side where a man is already waiting by the emergency exit. He steps aside instantly and nods respectfully when we walk past.
Inside, the world changes. It’s nothing like what I expected. Nothing.
Instead of loud music and dimly lit rooms, it’s spacious and certain areas of the main room are brighter than a summer day in the park. The air isn’t drowning in heavy bass, it’s humming with low music and expensive perfume.
The space breathes money and sin, every inch designed to suit different… preferences.
At the back, where we’ve entered, there’s a stage where beautiful women dance. Though they’re scantily dressed, the burlesque moves make it more classy than outright stripping.
I suppose the few people going at it in the corners counter that, I think, mentally snorting.
Matteo uses the shadows at the edges to navigate us. And with everyone’s eyes on the stage or the bar, no one seems to be looking our way.
I’m so enthralled by everything, that it’s only when I feel his hand on my shoulder that I realize he’s let go of my hand. Not that I care. Nope, not at all. And his presence definitely doesn’t feel like gravity with the way I’m pulled toward…
Oh, would you look at that… another pin.
Ignoring the man behind me, I look around. The women are stunning. The men are sharp and dangerous-looking. No one in here is innocent.
“So,” I murmur, my voice steady even though my stomach is doing somersaults. “This is your empire.”
“My den of sins,” he corrects. “The one where pleasure is business and business is pleasure.”
We reach a booth tucked into a private alcove. Matteo gestures for me to sit first. When I do, I let my legs cross slowly, pretending I don’t notice the ripple it sends through his composure.
A woman wearing only a thong and nipple tassels appears so quickly I check if Matteo used his phone to summon her. He didn’t. While she puts down a glass of whiskey, I do my best to look away from the shiny material covering her nipples. But it’s a losing battle.
“Can I get you anything else?” she purrs, leaning toward Matteo.
“I’m fine, Gia,” he replies dismissively.
Acid gathers on my tongue and I shoot her a glare she doesn’t fully deserve. Well, maybe sixty-five percent of it is deserved since she’s hitting on the man I’m supposed to be dating.
“Don’t,” I hiss when she lifts her hand toward his face, “touch him.”
Chuckling, Matteo places his arm over my shoulders and nuzzles his nose against the crook of my neck. “Jealous, Little Thief?”
I wait until the woman disappears, and as soon as she’s gone, I shrug his arm away and stab a finger into his hard chest. “If we were actually dating, that would be enough for me to leave,” I sniff. “If you want the world to think you’re mine, do better.”
With those epic words, I grab the glass and tilt it back, gulping down the whiskey. The liquid burns its way down my throat, and I welcome the fire. I need it to steady myself.
“Consider me warned,” Matteo grins, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
I shake my head, deciding to change the topic. “So this is where I’m supposed to listen and watch?” I ask.
His gaze drifts to the far end of the room, where a man in a pale suit is laughing too loudly beside a redhead draped in diamonds.
“Yes. Rule one,” he murmurs, leaning close enough for me to feel his breath against my ear. “Everyone here owes me a favor.”
I turn slightly, meeting his gaze. “Really?”
“If they don’t, they will soon.” He says it with absolute conviction. “This is where I conduct business. Where I decide what favors to grant and which to decline.”
Like it isn’t a little scary to know that almost everyone is here for him. To… I don’t know. Suck up to the Mafia enforcer? I should have asked Piper more questions.
It’s times like these that I wish my bestie were as dumb as a rock. Then she wouldn’t get suspicious when I ask questions about her Mafia in-laws. But alas, that’s not my life.
“I need more,” I murmur. “Am I the kind of girl who’s glued to your side? Am I a rebel without a cause? Do I dance on the bar and shake cocktails?”
He lets out a low, menacing growl. “My woman doesn’t fucking dance on any bar.” A delicious shiver works its way down my spine. “When we come back tomorrow night, people will learn you’re mine.”
Those words should not make my thong damp, so I’m going to pretend that didn’t just happen. Yep, I’m completely dry. Like the Sahara. And that’s the story I’m sticking to.
The entire thing is so ludicrous it takes everything in me not to laugh. Any amusement I might have felt vanishes when he grabs the nape of my neck and squeezes until I angle my head upward so I’m looking up at him.
Before I can even come up with any semblance of a counterargument or just a good ol’ quip, he presses his lips to mine in a bruising kiss that has me panting in no time. I eagerly open up to him, meeting his tongue halfway and stroking it with mine.
I get so lost in the kiss and his hands on my body that I completely forget this is just a performance. That is until he pulls back and rests his forehead against mine.
“Now everyone looking knows you’re mine,” he rasps while dragging me onto his lap like I weigh nothing. I shift so I’m sitting sideways so I can still see his face.
One arm cages my waist, the other traces lazy circles against my thigh while he tells me about his club. I can’t stop smiling at how proud he sounds. Every word he speaks about his club makes it clear this is his baby.
“I think I get it now,” I say somewhere around the second or third drink. “Having someone you can’t trust in your home is the ultimate betrayal.”
He grins. “This isn’t my home. You’ve been in my apartment, Little Thief.” He catches my earlobe between his teeth.
“I meant that metaphorically,” I clarify, shivering when he licks and nibbles his way down my throat.
I tell myself it’s still part of the act—his part, my role—but the lie gets harder to hold. The way his breath skims my skin feels too deliberate, too practiced, too perfect. For one impossible heartbeat, I believe this version of us.
His phone vibrates against my hip. The change in him is instant; jaw tight, eyes flashing silver before he smothers it beneath control.
“I have to take you home,” he mutters, voice rougher than before. “Business calls.” Regret edges the word, or maybe I just want it to.
The drive back is quiet. He walks me up to my door and patiently waits while I fumble for my keys. When I have the door unlocked and open, he tilts my chin, and kisses me again—slower this time, softer, as if sealing something that never should have existed.
“Goodnight, Raven.”
I manage a nod, though my pulse is still sprinting. The door closes behind me, and I stand there stupidly, palm pressed to my mouth like a teenager who just got kissed for the first time.
That… that wasn’t a performance, was it? I mean, there was no one else to see it. So that means he wanted to kiss me, right?