Chapter 36
Annamaria
I toss and turn on the large bed, sleep evading me like it has for the last few days. My inability to quiet my mind long enough to fall asleep is starting to be a problem. Exasperated, I snatch my pillow and throw it clear across the room.
Your brain is fine, Anna. It’s just too hot in here. That’s why you can’t sleep.
The air conditioner humming softly in the distance contradicts my thoughts, though. It’s not the summer heat that’s keeping me awake. It’s my guilty conscience. My guilty conscience and Matteo.
The last time I was in the same room as my husband, he looked like his whole world had just ended. He looked… lost. Defeated.
“Good,” I mutter to myself, then cringe when the word echoes off the empty walls.
I don’t know why I feel this heavy weight of guilt on my shoulders.
It wasn’t my fault that Matteo jumped to conclusions.
I mean, it’s true I had a few shots, just enough to keep my head from getting in the way of what I was trying to do.
But kissing him had nothing to do with Raffaele.
Absolutely nothing. I wanted to kiss Matteo. It was as simple as that.
Still, he just had to twist it into something else. To him, the only plausible explanation was that I was either too drunk to know what I was doing or that I was pretending to kiss his brother.
Since that night, Matteo—the man who claims to love me—has avoided me every chance he gets. When I wake up in the morning, he’s already gone to work. And when I turn in for the night, he still hasn’t come home, off doing God knows what to God knows who.
I don’t even know which room he’s been sleeping in these past few nights. If it weren’t for Paolina telling me he came home late the night before, I wouldn’t even know he’d been home at all.
Not that I care. I don’t. What I care about is him questioning my honor. I would never kiss a man while imagining I was kissing someone else. I wouldn’t do that to him, or to anyone else. And the fact that Matteo thinks I would stoop that low aggravates me.
No. It does more than that. It infuriates me.
Stop thinking about Matteo and go to sleep already.
I let out a slow breath and close my eyes, willing sleep to come. But instead, my hand drifts to the empty side of the bed, and I hate how cold the sheets feel beneath my touch. Even his scent is gone. Stubbornly, I turn my back to his side, refusing to acknowledge his absence.
“Sleep, Anna. Sleep. You can do this,” I whisper to myself, trying to force my mind to quiet.
It doesn’t work, so I stare at the small clock on the nightstand instead, watching the hours crawl by. When it hits two in the morning, I give up.
Sleep isn’t what I should be fighting anyway. My so-called husband is.
Yes. That’s it. Maybe if I give Matteo a piece of my mind, then I’ll finally be able to get some rest. Once the thought of confronting my husband takes root, there’s no point lying in bed any longer.
I push the covers off and slide out of bed, the cool floor grounding me as I grab my silk robe and slip it on.
If I have to search every room in this entire house to find him, then so be it. However, I don’t think it will come to that. There’s only one place he could be holed up in. The same place I’ve been avoiding—his office.
I descend the stairs to the second floor slowly, the quiet of the penthouse pressing in around me, each step louder than it should be. By the time I reach the landing, my pulse has picked up, though I’m not sure if it’s from nerves or anticipation. Probably both.
When I reach his office, I find the door slightly ajar. Without making a sound, I push it open a bit wider, just enough to slip inside, my heart kickstarting the moment I see Matteo. He stands behind his desk, his back to me, staring out at the New York skyline as if trying to lose himself in it.
If he senses me, he doesn’t say anything. But a good capo is always attuned to his surroundings, so I’m sure he knows I’m here.
Barefoot, I move toward him slowly, the plush carpet silencing the sound of my steps. When I finally reach him, his name is on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it down when something on his desk catches my eye. A tablet lies there, its screen still lit with a familiar message.
Anna: What beauty did you see today?
I pick up the tablet and realize Matteo has been hiding in his office, reading our messages. All of them. Every conversation and every line. Going all the way back to the first time he pretended to be Raffaele.
However, this doesn’t look like the original thread I had on my phone. It looks like he’s compiled them somehow, organized them into something permanent. Something he can revisit whenever he wants. Something that won’t disappear.
Our own little book of love poems to each other.
My throat tightens when I notice a separate folder with all my videos. I don’t need to press play to know what they are. They are little moments I sent him throughout my day to feel closer to him. Moments I wanted him to be part of. Moments that only felt real when shared with the man I loved.
How many times has he gone through our messages?
How many times has he watched those videos?
Whatever anger I had before stepping into this room is long gone now, replaced by something I don’t dare name.
“Matteo,” I whisper, setting the tablet down to the side and placing my hand gently against his back. He stiffens under my touch, and a part of me breaks. “Look at me… please.”
It takes him a second before he turns to face me. My heart clenches at the sight of him. Deep shadows hollow the skin beneath his eyes, his face drawn and tired, looking like he hasn’t slept in days. He looks… worn, and I hate that I was the one who caused it.
“Is there something you need?” Matteo asks, his tone clipped and unfeeling.
I hate it. I hate everything about it.
“I just wanted—” I start, taking a step closer to him, only for him to back away.
The movement is small, but it hits like a blow.
So this is what it feels like for a heart to break.
I draw in a steady breath, forcing myself to hold his gaze, refusing to show how much that small action shattered me.
“I wanted to apologize.”
“For what?”
“For kissing you. I shouldn’t have done that while you were asleep.” Matteo’s expression hardens.
“You think that’s why I’m upset?” he says.
“You think I’m pissed that my wife took advantage of me?
” He lets out a short, humorless breath.
“I’m your husband, Anna. If that word meant anything to you, then you would have known that I’d be more than happy to have my wife take advantage of me anytime she wanted. ”
“Not asking for consent is the only thing I have to apologize for,” I counter.
“Really?” he quips, taking a step closer. “So getting drunk just to kiss me is perfectly acceptable behavior to you?”
“I’m a grown woman, Matteo. If I’m old enough to marry the boss of the Cosa Nostra, then I’m old enough to have a drink if I want one.”
Matteo’s lips press together, and a traitorous thrill stirs inside me when he closes the remaining distance between us. So much so that I have to tilt my head back just to hold his cold gaze.
“And what about my brother?”
“What about him?” His eyes narrow.
“Was he who influenced your decision to kiss me that night? Did your little talk push you into it? Or did he leave you so worked up that I was your only option?”
Heat crawls up my neck at his callous words, their only purpose to wound. I don’t take the bait, though. I go for the truth instead. If only this once.
“Rafe had no bearing on my decision. He wasn’t even on my mind at the time. I wanted to kiss you, and I acted on it. That’s all.” His brows pull together in confusion, the hard line of his mouth easing.
“You… wanted to kiss me?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Then why do you sound angry about it?”
“Because… because…” I try to find a lie and fail. “Because you jumped to conclusions and then left me. You left me, Matteo.” His Adam’s apple bobs as his eyes search mine.
“I thought that would be best,” he says quietly. “I thought maybe you’d prefer it that way.”
“Well, I don’t,” I admit, my voice just as low.
“So where does that leave us?”
“Honestly? I don’t know.”
I hold his gaze for another beat, then let my eyes drop to his lips. His warm, inviting, perfect lips. Before I can stop myself, I rise onto the balls of my feet, eager to feel them on mine again.
“Don’t,” Matteo murmurs, gripping my shoulders to keep me still. “Don’t kiss me if you don’t mean it, vita mia. I’m too weak when it comes to you.”
One look into his eyes, and I know he means it. Every word. He is weak. I make him weak.
“Kiss me,” I say, my voice stronger than it’s ever been.
Matteo swallows hard, his hands slipping from my shoulders to my hips.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Just… kiss me, Matteo. Please.” The words barely leave my lips before he’s on me.
Matteo’s mouth crashes against mine, and unlike the soft kiss we shared before, this one is demanding and all-consuming. I barely manage a breath before he’s on me again, his lips moving with urgency. His tongue slips past my lips, and I whimper softly as it tangles with mine.
My hands find his shoulders, clinging to him as my knees threaten to give out.
His mouth finds mine again and again, driven by a hunger that leaves me dazed and breathless.
His grip tightens on my hips, pulling me flush against him as if he can’t get close enough, as if the space between us is something he needs to erase completely.
I gasp into his mouth, and he takes full advantage of it, deepening the kiss, claiming it. Claiming me.
My fingers curl into his shirt, clutching at the fabric as his lips move against mine with a desperation that makes my head spin.