25. Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Five
Mariella
“ W hat?” Mateo’s voice sounds like I’ve slapped him. “He wants you to spy on me?”
My heart sinks. This is going to end badly, I can just tell. But I have to tell him the truth, most of it, anyway. I could never repeat some of the things Father said to me.
“Flirt with him,” he had ordered.
If I hadn’t been so scared, I would’ve laughed.
How would I even know how to do that? He’s kept me away from men my whole life. They feel like a foreign species to me, and flirting might as well be a language I’ve never learned.
But that wasn’t the most jarring thing he said.
“Whatever you do, do not spread your legs for him.” Heat rushes to my face all over again at the memory. I’ve never felt more humiliated.
You’d think Father said those crude words because he’s worried about my marriage prospects if I lose my virginity, but that’s not the real reason.
No, judging by what came next, his only worry was that if I gave myself to Mateo, it would guarantee he’d lose interest in me.
“Men like Mateo De Marco enjoy the chase,” he said. “Once they’ve had their fun, they move on to the next challenge.”
That hurt!
I still doubt that Mateo sees me as anything more than Antonio Accardi’s daughter. Father just believes his own version of reality.
But then, Mateo is here, isn’t he?
It was he who picked me up, despite Gustavo already waiting for me.
What does that mean?
I shake my head, trying to rid myself of my father’s words.
“I told Father I don’t see you often and that I’m not privy to anything important. But he insisted I keep my eyes and ears open.” I mimic air quotes as I repeat his words. “He said there’s always something to learn by listening to the guards or watching who shows up at Carloso.”
Mateo’s expression darkens, fury clouding his features.
“Please, you have to believe me. I would never betray you or la famiglia .” My voice wobbles. “Father must be worried about not becoming consigliere after what happened recently. He’s a control freak who—”
“Don’t make excuses for him,” he interrupts, his jaw clenching tight. “He doesn’t deserve your kindness.”
Merda. He’s angry now, fuming actually.
“Tell me, Mariella, did Antonio place you in Tiero’s house on purpose when he was looking for someone for Ella?”
My heart races, every muscle in my body tensing at the question.
Oh god, now I’m really worried about my father’s future and how he’ll come after me if he doesn’t make consigliere because of what I admitted. But Mateo must have already worked it out.
“Go on, Mariella.”
I force myself to meet his eyes.
“He wanted me to befriend Ella. He hoped I could influence her, and in turn, have her sway the Don on certain matters.” My lips twist into a bitter smile. “It shows how little he knows me. I’m not the kind of person who can influence anyone, especially not someone as confident as Ella. But defying my father, there’s always a price to pay.”
Mateo’s gaze sharpens, but he says nothing.
“I went because I had no choice. I served Ella the best I could. We did become friends, in a way, but that was because I genuinely liked her, not because of anything my father wanted. He got mad when I didn’t give him the information he was expecting.”
The tension between us is thick. His eyes are on me, searching for a lie, but I keep my gaze steady. I might be scared, but I’m not going to betray him. Ever.
“You are angry with me now.” It’s a realization I didn’t mean to voice. And it stabs my heart.
“I’m so sorry.” My voice trembles and tears begin to well up. “I never meant for any of this to happen. But what was I supposed to—”
“I am angry. But not with you,” Mateo cuts in, his features softening.
He reaches over and unbuckles my seatbelt. Then, gently taking both my hands in his, he gives a slight pull, urging me to turn until I’m fully facing him.
When a lone tear tips over and runs down my cheek, he cups my face, his thumb brushing it away with such tenderness it makes my chest ache.
“Thank you for trusting me. I know telling me wasn’t easy and comes with its risks.”
His hands stay firmly on my face, and I can’t resist leaning into his warmth.
I close my eyes, letting myself get lost in the feeling of his skin on mine. But then, with the gentlest touch, he lifts my chin, wordlessly asking me to look at him.
Unable to deny him, I slowly open my tear-filled eyes.
What greets me isn’t anger, but… torment?
His sigh is long and heavy. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m the one who owes you an apology.”
His eyes darken as he watches my forehead crease.
What is he talking about?
“I’ve failed you again.” His voice is thick with regret. “Your father should never have been able to get near you, not while you’re under my protection, let alone accost you and make demands.”
What? No!
I shake my head firmly, unfortunately dislodging his hands.
“You’re not responsible for me like that. It was my choice to go to Rome. There was always a chance one of Father’s men might follow me. I never thought he’d come himself. I really believed he returned to Sicily.”
“Did he hurt you?” Mateo’s eyes flick to my cheek, lingering on the bruise hidden beneath the makeup.
He doesn’t need to see it to know. It’s like he feels it, and I can see the worry etched in his face. It makes my heart melt.
“Other than scaring me half to death when he dragged me into that alcove, no, he didn’t touch me,” I assure him.
Mateo gives a curt nod, his features relaxing in quiet relief.
He really does feel responsible for me. I just don’t understand why.
“In the future, if you plan to leave Carloso, you’ll take a guard with you,” Mateo says, his tone firm but not harsh. “It’s too dangerous for you to be out on the streets alone. You’re the daughter of one of our highest-ranking men. You’re a target.”
I blink, my eyes widening. Oh , I hadn’t considered that.
“And please call me,” he adds after a heartbeat.
Call him?
“Give me your phone,” he says, holding out his hand. “I’ll put my number in it so you’ll have it.”
I stare at him, a bit stunned.
Umm.
How do I navigate this?
I can’t lie to the man, something inside me just won’t allow it, but I can’t reveal my secret phone.
“Uh, I don’t have a phone.” The words come out awkwardly. His eyebrows shoot up, his expression screaming, Who doesn’t have a phone these days?
“Not officially, anyway,” I add quickly.
He cocks his head, waiting for me to explain.
“Father never allowed us to have phones, but Isa managed to get two burners so we could stay in touch after I got married. I’ve been hiding it from everyone.”
A flicker of understanding lights up his face, and to my surprise, a small grin follows.
“I love your defiance,” he says, amusement coloring his tone. “I’ll get you a new phone. One that you can be seen with, since it’ll come from me. And please, keep it on you whenever you leave the property. I’ll install a tracking app so we can find you easily and ensure your safety.”
I can’t help but smile, wide and genuine. Most people would balk at the idea of being tracked, but for someone living in the Mafia, it’s a safety net I hadn’t realized I needed.
And okay, I admit it, I’m swooning a little.
Over a damn phone.
But the way he takes charge and cares enough to protect me like this? Yeah, it’s doing something to me.
Before it can get awkward, my stomach steals the spotlight with a growl so loud it sounds like a bear waking up from hibernation.
Mateo’s raised brows make it worse. “Was that your stomach?”
I slap my hands over my abdomen, as if that could somehow silence the rumbles. Spoiler alert: it doesn’t.
“Have you not eaten?” he asks.
I shake my head. My face feels like it’s on fire, and I’m suddenly very interested in the floor of this car. It’s very clean.
“Why didn’t you get yourself something?”
Mateo’s question hangs in the air, but I can’t bring myself to answer.
This is so embarrassing.
I really don’t want to admit to the man who has an endless supply of money that I don’t have a single cent to my name. My fingers fidget with the hem of my dress, twisting it tighter and tighter.
“Mariella?”
The way he says my name, in that soft, cajoling tone, it’s like warm chocolate sauce poured over strawberries, deliciously smooth and irresistible.
Still, I can’t bring myself to meet his eyes but finally whisper, “I don’t have any money.”
There’s a pause. His fingers drum lightly against the steering wheel, his expression thoughtful.
“No credit card either, I suppose?” His voice is calm, no judgment, and not even a hint of surprise.
I widen my eyes at him, giving him the look that clearly says, Duh . That coaxes a smile from him.
God, this man! When he smiles, it’s like my heart forgets how to beat properly.
Mateo’s gaze drifts over the park next to us, his fingers rubbing over his lips as he thinks.
“Wait here. I’ll get you something to tide you over until we have a proper dinner,” he says, stepping out of the car before I can respond.
We’re having a proper dinner? Together?
My heart leaps at the thought, excitement buzzing through my veins. Now that I’ve told him about my father’s meddling, the awkwardness between us seems gone, replaced with a natural easiness.
I watch as Mateo strides across the park toward a small food stand. From here, I can’t tell what they’re selling, but my stomach growls louder.
A few minutes later, he’s back, holding a small white box and something wrapped in parchment.
He slides into the driver’s seat and opens the box.
“Cannoli,” I say, my mouth watering.
“They only had sweet stuff at that stand. We’ll get something proper soon,” he says, almost apologetically.
“This is perfect.” I grab his forearm and give it a squeeze, letting him know just how much I appreciate it. “I’ve never had one before.”
Mateo’s brows arch, his smile turning playful. “You’ve never had a cannoli?”
I shake my head, suddenly a little self-conscious. “Nope.”
“Well, that’s about to change,” he says, handing me the box.
I take one, but hesitate, eyeing the creamy, powdered pastry. “Umm, these look kind of… messy.”
Mateo smirks. “Yeah, they can be. Why? You afraid of making a mess?”
I glance around the spotless interior of his car. “Honestly? A little. I don’t want your black leather seats looking like they’ve been caught in a snowstorm.”
He chuckles, his gaze dropping to the pastry in my hands. “Fair point.”
I offer a sheepish smile. “Maybe we should eat these outside? You know, just to be safe.”
Mateo grins and pops open his door. “Good call. Stay put.”
He gets out and rounds the car, opening my door like a gentleman. Naturally, the gesture makes me blush. He’s so thoughtful, and I’m not used to that kind of care.
We head over to the grassy area under the trees. Sitting down, I carefully lift the cannoli again, savoring the crunch of the pastry as I take my first bite. The creamy filling bursts with sweetness, and I let out an involuntary hum of approval as pastry flakes fall onto my dress.
Mateo watches me, amusement and something I can’t quite name in his eyes. “And?”
I laugh happily and lick a bit of cream from my thumb. His eyes follow my tongue, turning darker by the second.
My stomach somersaults and I have to clear my throat before I can answer.
“So so good.” And I’m totally referring to the cannoli and not Mateo’s reaction, or am I?
“Would you like one too?” I ask, lifting the box toward him, but he shakes his head.
“No, thank you. I’ve got this.” He lifts the parchment bag that’s been sitting between us on the grass with a grin. “I couldn’t resist grabbing these. Sfogliatelle , my favorite. Ever had those before?” he asks, playfully drawing out the word ‘those’.
I peek into the bag, eyeing the golden, shell-shaped pastries. “Nope. Father doesn’t let us have sweets. He doesn’t want us to ruin our figures. The only dessert he ever allows is tiramisu because it’s his favorite.”
Mateo frowns slightly. “And you don’t like tiramisu?”
I shrug, feeling a bit awkward. “Not really. Probably because it’s what Father enjoys.”
He pulls two sfogliatelle out of the bag, and, leaning closer, hands me one. Our fingers brush, and a warm tingling spreads up my arm.
The soft touch seems to linger, the air between us getting charged.
I glance at him, and his eyes are already on me. Intense, and… I don’t know, with something that makes my heart stutter in my chest.
His gaze is like a quiet storm, pulling me in, and the pastry in my hand is all but forgotten.