3. Azra
Azra
Idon’t breathe for a full minute after the stranger pulls away from me. I can’t. My lungs have forgotten how to work, and my thoughts are scattered like startled birds at a gun range. All I can do is stare at the man with dark, stormy eyes and a mouth that shouldn’t feel as gentle as it does.
My lips tingle and my body shakes as if someone jolted me awake after I spent years pretending to sleep.
I’ve been kissed before—by Antonio and men my father approved of when testing the waters of an arranged marriage—but none of them ever kissed me like the stranger just did.
None of them staked a claim without first demanding ownership, nor did they offer something without expecting immediate obedience.
The latter terrifies me the most.
I know who this stranger is. Matteo Caruso is the enforcer for the Caruso family. He’s whispered about in the same breath as violence, loyalty, and danger. A notorious bad boy with a reputation for breaking bones and rules.
He has absolutely no character for understanding anything resembling emotional responsibility. Men like him don’t show tenderness. They don’t display softness. They take what they want and offer no mercy.
But today, he did.
Today, he proved his critics wrong.
Matteo was right.
Antonio wants what he can’t have.
And now, apparently, that’s me.
Matteo’s kiss turned my plans upside down, but I’m too captivated by it to figure out how to organize the scrambled pieces to my advantage.
Butterflies take flight in my stomach as I try to remember why I am here. I didn’t come to Sicily to fall into the arms of a stranger, nor do I want to be rescued. I came here for one reason and one reason only: to marry Antonio Adami.
I’m not supposed to be breathless and flustered. And I am most definitely not supposed to be looking at Matteo like he’s the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.
I need to be strategic and calculating.
This is about more than just surviving.
My whole life depends on this coupling.
So, with my head held high and my spine straight, I grab Matteo’s hand and rush to the SUV he was guiding me toward only minutes ago.
Instead of pulling back as expected, Matteo’s fingers tighten instinctively around mine. His grip is warm and solid, and for a moment, something dangerously close to safety blisters through me.
I shove that thought away before it can take root.
“Come on,” I mutter as I gallop down the back stairs of the Adami mansion.
Matteo doesn’t resist. He lets me lead him away from the armed Adami men staring at us, from Antonio’s furious, betrayed gaze, and from Don Adami’s stunned silence, which is more unsettling than the quiet he displayed when he lost his finger for disloyalty to the Caruso family.
He ought to consider himself lucky.
In the Turkish mafia, disloyalty like that could get you killed.
I lead Matteo toward a blacked-out SUV near the back stairs, keeping the neutral and serene expression I learned to wear since childhood, even though everything inside me is chaotic.
If it weren’t for Matteo’s large hand steadying me, I’d be a mess.
I shouldn’t notice that.
I shouldn’t care.
You’re not in Sicily for him, I remind myself again.
As we pass through the tall walls of the compound, cold air hits me like a slap. Its briskness clears my head enough to remember the plan I’m supposed to be following.
I yank Matteo forward with more force than I realized I had, and he stumbles—actually stumbles—into the back seat of the SUV.
The surprise on his face is comical. If I weren’t so worked up, I might have laughed. Instead, I climb in after him and slam the door shut.
The moment the latch clicks, the outside world vanishes, and the tension from all the gawkers fades away. It’s just the two of us in the dim interior, the air thick with adrenaline and something else I would rather not name.
Matteo opens his mouth, probably to say something infuriatingly calm or annoyingly perceptive like he did during our debate in my room, but I don’t let him.
Continuing the ruse, I straddle his lap, grab the front of his shirt, tug him forward, and kiss him hard on the mouth.
It’s not a gentle or questioning embrace. It isn’t even hesitant. It’s a collision of anger, confusion, strategy, and if I were honest, a desire I refuse to admit out loud.
I don’t have time to question the rampant tingles or my soaked panties. The “act” needs to continue. I’ll deal with the consequences later.
Matteo’s hand creeps across my spine, fingers splaying over the two dimples low on my back. He doesn’t pull me closer. He grounds me as if he knows I’m one breath away from unraveling.
His unspoken chivalry makes the situation even more intense.
Throughout the next few minutes, he kisses me back with so much certainty that my heart beats out the ballad of a hardcore rock band. He kisses like a man who doesn’t second-guess himself or fear the consequences of his actions.
His kiss reveals that he’s lived his entire life in the spotlight and has no plans to hide in the shadows anytime soon.
I hate how I memorize every stroke of his tongue and the sultry movements of his lips, and I hate how my body reacts eagerly to each touch. But more than anything, I hate how much I don’t want this to end.
His erection digs into my pussy, yet he does not shift away when I grind against it like an orgasm will solve all my problems.
Would it really hurt anyone if I granted myself this one small moment of pleasure?
With only one answer echoing in my mind, I stop kissing him—eventually.
It requires an enormous effort.
As the SUV turns a corner, the compound slips out of sight, and I pull back. I’m so breathless from his heart-stuttering kiss that my forehead rests on Matteo’s longer than it should.
His reputation isn’t one I should mess with, but can I really be blamed? He started this ploy. I merely ran with it once it proved successful.
“You’re playing a dangerous game.” Matteo’s breath is warm against my cheek.
“Yeah.” My voice is calmer than the shudders making a mess of my stomach. “I am. But that’s the point, isn’t it?”
He studies me, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that twists my stomach. “To make him jealous?”
“To make him furious,” I correct after settling into my side of the seat. “There’s a difference.”
A small knowing smile tugs at the corner of his kiss-swollen mouth, but he doesn’t deny my claim. He simply addresses my libido rather than my always-cautious head.
“Then why’d you stop?” He adjusts the tilt of his hips, destroying the mask I’ve been endeavoring to rebuild since he shattered it with one swipe of his tongue.
We’re a measly thread pop away from his dick springing free from his trousers.
“A kiss will keep Antonio seething for an hour… two at most. More will keep him furious for days.”
“More?” I ask, already knowing his reply.
Even a good righteous girl couldn’t mistake tension this white-hot.
“More,” Matteo repeats, his tone unchanged. There’s no forced coercion or stigma of involuntary participation. The ball is entirely in my court—just like it was in the mudroom of the Adami mansion.
If he hadn’t kissed me when he did, I doubt I would have held back a moment longer.
I wasn’t solely desperate to prove his theory fraudulent.
I wanted to do anything in my power to remove Isabella’s lustful eyes from him.
She was stalking our departure as much as her brothers were, but her eyes didn’t veer from Matteo for a moment.
For some unknown reason, her hungry gawk made me furious.
Silence lingers between us as we undertake an intense stare-down.
It isn’t uncomfortable. It’s charged with the hum of life.
I can feel the imprint of his mouth on mine, the warmth of his hand on my back as he encouraged my grinds, and the stability of his presence in a world that has never given me consistency.
The quiet swirls chaos low in my stomach, but it also gives me plenty of time to rehearse Matteo’s plan in my head. He laid it out so confidently that one kiss has me believing in miracles.
All I have to do to make Antonio come crawling back on his hands and knees is make him insanely jealous.
It’s that simple.
Making him desire what he can’t have is a strategy I understand and can execute without a sliver of remorse.
My heart just needs to get the memo that men like Matteo are casualties of the game.
They can’t be a main player.
I know a great way to soften the blow to a man as dominating and imposing as a Caruso.
“Did you… Should I… If-if you want… I could…”
Matteo hooks his thumb to the scenery whizzing by the tinted window of the SUV. “Shall we head back there to undertake another lesson on how quickly the cutesy act deflates a man’s cock, or shall I whip out my dick and show you?”
He’s so crude, but for some reason, my pulse spikes instead of deflating.
“If you want me to suck your dick to thank you for your help, I can. But if you’d rather wait until you are home to stroke out the tension of our kiss like a loser with a baboon’s ass for a face, that’s fine too. Your loss.”
I’m disgusted by the words that left my mouth but lose the chance to issue a single apology.
“Do you know how to suck dick? Or did you throw out the first offer your lust-hazy head came up with?”
Ignoring the mirth in his tone during his last question, I nod to his first question.
The sternness of Matteo’s scald soon shifts my response to a headshake.
“I’m a fast learner.”
“Maybe on a dick as small as Antonio’s, but you need more than a few lessons for a Caruso cock. The jaw strengthening alone will take a week of vigorous physical therapy exercises.”
His laughter grates on my last nerve. I roll my eyes before shifting them to the window next to me.
I assume my bratty act will be the end of our conversation, until the privacy partition slowly glides into place, hiding the Adamis’s driver’s head from view.