15. Matteo
Matteo
The limousine hums beneath us, smooth and effortless, but I feel like I’m sitting on a live wire.
My jaw aches from clenching it. My hands won’t stay still, and every breath feels like it’s scraping against the bullets my brothers fired into my chest without remorse for how badly they’d take me down.
They knew exactly how they were manipulating me when they played me like a fucking fiddle.
One taste of her—just one perfectly delicious taste—and I was done. Addicted. Hooked. Dragged under without the possibility of coming up for air.
Azra’s pussy… fuck.
She tastes sweet and innocent, but also devilish.
And mine.
Definitely mine.
My last two thoughts bother me the most.
My brothers knew this would happen.
They knew no number of lies could beat an addiction this potent.
Yet here I am, heading to a charity gala where I’m supposed to pierce Azra’s heated cheeks, dilated eyes, and lust-tweaked body onto a hook and dangle her in front of Antonio so he can see what he lost and come crawling back.
The thought of our ruse working twists something ugly up my throat, but I swallow it down.
I’m not built for commitment. Monogamy and feelings are not for me. I don’t do… this.
Whatever the fuck this is.
I hate my brothers for the torment they’ve forced on me, but I hate myself more.
I’m a stubborn fuck when backed into a corner, preferring to come out swinging rather than go down like a coward, but it’s hard to move forward with that practice now, knowing Azra will most likely suffer the most because of my pigheadedness.
I remind myself that she’s doing this for Antonio. That he’s her preferred choice.
Despite my many affirmations, I know every word I speak is a lie.
I’m still furious about all of it.
Guess it’s lucky I’m a damn good actor.
Azra’s eyes align with mine in the tinted window, her brow lifting. “Are you okay? You’re being strange.”
I huff out a laugh, pitch-black humor my go-to when snowed under. “Why are you acting like that’s new? I’m fucked in the head, remember?”
“I remember.” She turns back to the window to hide the faintest curve of her lips.
“If you’ve changed your mind about needing help, you’ve left it too late.
” Sparks of the feisty brunette who knocked me on my ass with one sideways glance shoot out of her in invisible waves.
“The GPS says the gala is only three minutes away. I’d never have enough time to unhinge my jaw, much less bring you to climax. ”
Needing to soften the blows of a fight she didn’t instigate, I say, “Liar. Have you seen your face? I could come just staring at you.”
My tongue peeks out between my teeth when she plays the game with more skill than my brothers and me combined. “Prove it.”
“If you think the threat of attending a charity event in cum-stained pants will have me backing out, I hate to tell you, sweetheart, I’m not known for coyness.”
I twist to face her before acting like I haven’t spotted a blinking red light in the air vent in front of us. It isn’t security from the transport company. My gut tells me this, let alone my brothers’ recent obsession with surveillance.
They’re probably sitting around the projector screen, eating popcorn and taking bets on how fast I’ll slam my fist into Antonio’s nose before tossing his fiancée over my shoulder and dragging her back to my cave to finish what they started with the brutality of an inbred beast.
They’d never anticipate this.
“But if you’re wanting to skip this event, speak now, and I’ll have this car immediately turned around.”
The only time I walk away from a fight is when I’m convinced I can’t win.
It should come as no surprise that this is the first time I feel the odds are too stacked against me to walk into the ring unprepared.
After twirling a tattered bracelet around her wrist, Azra sheepishly shakes her head. Her headshake silently declines my offer, but the pleading spark in her eyes reveals a desire for me to ignore her right to decide for herself—as I’m sure every male figure in her life has done so far.
She doesn’t want to attend this event, but something is forcing her to continue with her ruse. Or should I say someone, since it only took one glance at a frayed friendship bracelet to deny my offer?
Even without the earrings she dumped somewhere in the dressing room, she’s wearing enough jewelry to rival a clear night sky, so not only does her bracelet stand out but it also sparks many questions.
It reminds me that she’s several years younger than me and I still have so much to learn about this woman and the ruse she’s conducting.
After a beat, Azra mumbles, “I just wanted to know what it felt like to be wanted without restraint.”
Only now do I remember what my mother always told me: Personal growth is the most powerful form of revenge. It frees you from negativity and helps you thrive.
If my mother’s theories are correct, Azra needs to make Antonio jealous because she’s not yet ready to forgive herself for the failure of their relationship.
Although I’d sign up for a year of abstinence to learn what Antonio did to make her feel unworthy, I’ve got more important matters to attend to right now.
Like building this beautiful woman’s confidence to a point where even if I’m not by her side, Antonio will wish I’d loaded the gun I forced him to perform oral on.
“Did our time in the closet not show you that, micina?”
“It did.” The limousine slows as we approach the gala venue, and she scoots forward. “But I’m still not convinced I’m not dreaming.”
Her shriek bounces around the cabin of the limousine when I pinch her thigh.
“You’re not dreaming.”
Her eyes narrow as a wish to stab me blasts through them. Good. Because her fury could be the sole thing capable of containing mine.
She’ll never move past her quest for revenge if I kill Antonio the instant I step out of the limousine, and my family’s name will remain tarnished for eternity.
I fucking hate that they forced me to look more deeply into whatever the fuck is keeping me on edge, though I’d rather not drag them to hell and back unless it’s to recover a soul corrupted for the greater good instead of evil.
When the limousine stops, flashing lights burst against the windows as paparazzi swarm like moths to a flame. Usually, I effortlessly slip into the role of a charming, controlled, and untouchable mafia figure.
Tonight, I feel like a grenade with the pin half pulled.
The driver opens my door, and I step out, buttoning my suit jacket as if something more ludicrous than a wish to breathe occurred during the commute.
I don’t rush around the limousine to open Azra’s door like the attendee ahead of me does.
Instead, I signal for the driver to back off before he takes on a task that previously held no appeal for me.
With the driver back behind the wheel, I bob my torso back into the limousine and extend my hand in offering to Azra. She exhales a shocked breath before she slips her hand into mine.
We don’t get near the reserved media area before we’re swarmed by them. As over two dozen paparazzi members shout my name, Azra cozies up to my side, chin high, expression perfect.
The paparazzi are surprised they can photograph me at an event with someone of the opposite sex. Normally, I’m only photographed sneaking out the back entrance with more than one female attendee in tow.
“Matteo, who’s your date?”
“Can we get a name for our article?”
“This way, sweetheart. Let us capture every angle of your beautiful face.”
They adore Azra. They snap her photo while shouting for her to give them the money shot they’ll splash across every glossy magazine’s front page tomorrow morning, which will only add another million names to my hit list.
A handful of the paparazzi are smarter than they look.
“Isn’t that Azra ?ahin?”
“I thought she was engaged to Antonio Adami?”
I glare at the two reporters who caused Azra to stiffen before guiding her toward reporters with cameras that are much bulkier than the ones at the start of the gauntlet.
Azra answers a series of questions while I hover in the background.
The attention isn’t on me, and for once, I don’t hate it.
I didn’t realize how exhausting putting on an act could be until I had to perform the role of my life.
Pretending I didn’t become an addict after only one hit was an Oscar-worthy production.
I behaved.
In the walk-in closet, with my head buried between the most stellar pair of legs I’ve ever seen, I actually behaved.
Who would have thought? I didn’t think I had a gentlemanly bone in my body. Yet, against all expectations, I’m walking a red carpet with my zipper imprinted on my cock rather than it being coated in the scent of the delicious cunt soaked into my cropped beard.
Forgetting the no-penetration clause of our contract would have been the fastest way out of my dilemma, but I couldn’t disrespect Azra like that.
I’ll never admit this out loud, but my brothers are right.
I’m wholly fucked.
Inside the gala, the atmosphere shifts from playful to obligatory.
Sultry lighting bounces off gold accents, and chandeliers drip crystals like frozen rain.
The room is full of people in tailored suits and glittering gowns who want to pretend they’re not desperate for their wealth to reward them a power they’ll never hold.
The crowd reacts the moment they notice my entrance.
They always do.
Men straighten their ties, women adjust their postures, and heads turn.
As I guide Azra toward the bar, my fingers brushing the bare skin on the small of her back, people approach with smiles too wide and voices too eager.
“Matteo! Good to see you.”
“How is your father? Well, I hope.”
“We’re honored by your attendance. Truly.”
They circle like sharks dressed in the finest silks. I barely hear their greetings because every time a woman leans in too close or laughs too loudly at something I didn’t say, Azra notices.
Oh, she notices.
She’s teeming with jealousy, and I’m grateful as fuck.
It makes me hopeful that I’m not a complete fucking idiot.