25. Matteo
Matteo
The gun range manager snaps a gun case shut with a clean metallic click, and the sound settles in my bones like a promise I’m not sure I have the right to make.
I just purchased Azra a gun. It’s a small, sleek design for someone who shouldn’t have to lift a finger to defend herself. She should be protected by the people around her.
But Azra isn’t that kind of woman, and I’m not that kind of man.
She handled herself fine at the gym. More than fine. She tossed me around like a fucking rag doll, and I loved every damn second of it. But a niggle in my gut won’t leave me alone. It warns that she needs more protection than she realizes.
Possibly even more than I can give her.
The manager of our on-site range clears his throat. Clarke is a good man. Too old to still fight on the front lines, but smart as a whip. He’s kept the Caruso soldiers at the top of their game for the past ten years with marksmanship skills that rival those of world champions.
“Make sure she knows how to use it before you give it to her. Gun safety first.” He lifts his eyes to mine. “This isn’t a toy.”
I nod. “I’ll bring her in tomorrow for her first lesson.”
My cock stiffens imagining Azra holding the gun while her eyes home in on her target. My job as her teacher will be to stand behind her and adjust her grip and aim. I’ll have to be close—real fucking close.
I gag at myself.
While I sound like a lovesick idiot, the worst part is I don’t hate it.
Clarke grins as if he heard my private thoughts. “She’ll pick it up fast, but if you need any help—”
“I got it,” I interrupt, uninterested in replacing the visual of me cozied up to Azra’s back, my dick digging into her ass, with one that includes him. He’s older than my father, though that wouldn’t stop him from sampling a cunt as fine as Azra’s if he had the chance.
It’s not on the market, and I itch with the desire to kill him just because of my suspicion that he’d accept the offer.
What the fuck has this woman done to me?
I don’t get jealous.
Well, I didn’t.
Can’t offer the same guarantees anymore.
Before I do something stupid, I tuck the gun case under my arm and head out, gravel crunching under my boots. The sun is low, casting long shadows across the property. The firing range sits on the far edge of the compound. It’s a private facility that most people don’t know exists.
Of course, we have our own firing range. We’re the Carusos, the top rung of the Cosa Nostra ladder in both respect and marksmanship.
When I reach the main house, I slip inside through the side entrance and then turn toward Camille’s toy room. I tell myself I’m just checking on Azra since she’s a guest in our humble abode, but the truth is, I’m lying to myself.
I want to see her.
Upon finding an empty toy room, I twist my lips.
Dust-free shelves hold neatly arranged toys, and perfect rows of crayons line Camille’s drawing table, yet no one is inside, let alone the person who makes my dick ache.
It takes a beat, but when I spot all the dance costumes Dante has bought over the past six months on a free-standing rack, I remember Camille has dance class today.
She couldn’t color with Azra even if she wanted to.
Does that mean Azra’s afternoon is free?
Eager to spend more one-on-one time with Azra, I pivot sharply and head down the hall, moving faster than I should.
I collide with Nico as I round the corner, and his eyes blow wide.
“Matteo…” I don’t recognize his tone. He sounds nervous. It’s never good when a Caruso sounds nervous. “I was looking for you. Can we talk?”
“Can it wait?” I ask, confident that if I don’t capitalize on the tension that’s been building between Azra and me for the past several hours, I’ll fucking combust.
That’s how white-hot it’s been. I’ve been leaking pre-cum into my jeans all day, and I’m fairly certain Azra’s panties are just as filthy.
Now, without a doubt, I need to raincheck our talk.
Azra could be washing off the stickiness of a brutal workout, which means I’m only seconds away from adding another pair of her panties to my collection.
“I’ll find you later.”
Nico blinks. “Uh… I mean—”
I’m already gone.
“If I’m not here, I’ll be at one of my clubs. Have Elio trace my phone,” he shouts, and I throw my hand in the air, announcing I heard him.
As my heart pounds for reasons I refuse to examine, I bound up the stairs. When I reach my room, I don’t bother knocking. Why would I? It’s my fucking room.
Pushing open the door, I find Azra on the bed. Regretfully. Magazines lie scattered around her, and her hair falls loosely around her shoulders.
Her expression is unreadable when she peers up at me, and something in her eyes is off.
They’re guarded and distant.
“Look at this,” she says, her voice steadier than her hands.
She holds up a magazine. A photo of us from the gala is on the cover. We look like the perfect couple. Our smiles are perfect, and we’re angled toward each other like two magnets incapable of withstanding the pull.
She shows me another feature article, and another, and another.
“We’re everywhere,” she says. “Our act is Oscar-worthy. Everyone is lapping it up.”
Act?
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
With a forced smile, Azra flips through a magazine. “I won’t lie. I was hesitant when I ruminated over this plan, but it’s working well. Better than I expected. I’ll be back to my old life in no time.”
My jaw cracks from how fast I clench it, but she doesn’t notice.
Or pretends not to.
She glances up, eyes bright but empty. “This is what you want, right? This is the point of the ruse… to help me make him beg for my forgiveness.”
The desire to kill burns through me, but I must hold back the urge. She didn’t say his name. She just insinuated who she was referencing.
After angling her head, she studies me like she’s trying to solve a puzzle. “That’s why you made me climax, isn’t it?” she asks softly, unflinching. “To prove your point that men only want what they can’t have.”
The room goes silent as my pulse roars in my ears.
I kissed her to pull the wool over my eyes, but one swipe of my tongue against her plump lips changed the rules.
This isn’t a game. I’m not pretending. None of this is an act for me.
Proof? The thought of her with Antonio makes me physically ill.
Every time our eyes collide, I feel something I shouldn’t.
Something dangerous.
Something real.
I drench my throat with spit, hopeful that a bit of wetness will force words through the carnage.
None comes out.
If I speak the truth out loud, everything changes.
Not just between us, but the rules that govern me as well.
I don’t know whether I’m ready for that.
I don’t know if she is either.
“Don’t worry about offending me, Matt.” I grit my teeth at her horrendous nickname, but she keeps talking before I can voice my annoyance. “This is exactly what we want. Right?”