Chapter Nine
The party had stretched deep into the night, the echoes of laughter and hushed deals swirling through the halls of the DeLuca villa. The clinking of crystal glasses and low murmurs of whispered alliances wrapped around Isla like a suffocating veil. She had stood in the midst of it all, drowning in the spectacle, watching as Matteo commanded the room with an ease she despised. He didn’t have to say much—his presence alone was enough to keep men in line, to make women pause mid-sentence, shifting in their seats as his dark gaze swept the crowd.
She had barely touched the champagne in her glass, watching from the sidelines, a reluctant guest at a celebration she wanted no part of. The weight of Matteo’s claim on her had been tangible all evening, his hand resting at the small of her back whenever she moved too far. A reminder. A warning.
It had been infuriating.
Luca had been an easy distraction—charming, playful, and just dangerous enough to pique her interest. She had let her fingers trail along the rim of her glass, offering him coy smiles, whispering just close enough to draw out a reaction. And it had worked.
By the time the last of the guests had filtered out, Isla had taken her opportunity to slip away. She needed air, distance—anything to escape the weight of Matteo’s claim. She had wandered onto the balcony, letting the night air cool her heated skin, the distant hum of Rome’s nightlife a stark contrast to the opulence suffocating her inside.
And then, he had found her.
Matteo moved like a shadow, silent and inescapable. The moment she felt his presence behind her, her fingers curled tighter around the railing.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” he said, his voice rough, edged with something unreadable.
Isla didn’t turn, keeping her gaze fixed on the moonlit city. “Are you worried about me, husband?”
Matteo exhaled sharply. “I’m worried about what I might have to do if someone else finds you first.”
A humorless laugh escaped her lips. “I think you made it pretty clear to everyone inside that I’m off-limits.”
There was a pause, and then, in a single stride, he was beside her. Close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him, close enough that she could smell the whiskey on his breath.
“I don’t like being tested.”
Isla turned to him, tilting her chin up in defiance. “And I don’t like being controlled.”
His gaze flickered down to her lips before returning to her eyes, his expression darkening. “You think this is a game?”
She smirked, the champagne making her bold. “Isn’t it?”
Something snapped.
In a blink, her back was against the cold marble wall, Matteo’s body caging hers in. His grip on her wrists pinned her in place, his breath hot against her cheek. Isla’s pulse roared in her ears, but she refused to look away, refused to yield.
“You don’t own me,” she whispered, her voice shaking, not from fear, but from something far more dangerous.
Matteo’s lips barely brushed the corner of her mouth, his voice a low rasp. “I don’t have to own you. You already belong to me.”
The words sent a thrill through her, a mix of fury and something she couldn’t name coiling deep inside her. She should have fought him, should have pushed him away, but instead, her hands curled into the fabric of his shirt, dragging him closer.
And then, it happened.
His lips crashed against hers, punishing, desperate, filled with every unspoken battle between them. Isla gasped against his mouth, her body reacting before her mind could process it. His hands slid to her waist, gripping her as if daring her to pull away.
She didn’t.
Instead, she met him with equal fire, her nails digging into his arms, her breath mingling with his. The tension that had simmered between them for weeks finally snapped, igniting into something wild and untamed. His kiss wasn’t gentle—it was raw, claiming, like he was trying to burn the fight out of her with nothing but his mouth.
And worse—worse than the fact that he had kissed her, worse than the fact that she had let him—was that she kissed him back.
With every ounce of defiance she had left in her.
Then, as suddenly as it started, he pulled away.
They stood there, breathless, their chests rising and falling in sync. Matteo’s forehead pressed against hers for a fleeting moment, his fingers still curled around her waist, as if he wasn’t ready to let go. Isla’s lips tingled, her body betraying her as a shiver ran down her spine.
“This doesn’t change anything,” he murmured, his voice rough.
Isla forced herself to smirk, even as her heart pounded. “Good,” she whispered. “Because I still hate you.”
Matteo chuckled darkly, stepping back, his gaze never leaving hers. “Liar.”
His eyes flicked down to her lips again, his breath still uneven. There was a moment, a heartbeat, where Isla swore he might kiss her again. The tension stretched between them, heavy, intoxicating.
Instead, he turned on his heel and left, his footsteps echoing down the corridor, leaving her breathless, shaken, and more confused than she had ever been.
She raised a trembling hand to her lips, the heat of his kiss still lingering.
Because deep down, she knew he was right.
And that terrified her more than anything.