29. Azra
Azra
Matteo’s anger burned through my skin when he burst into Giovanni’s office.
It rolled off him in waves so strong that I almost let myself believe that the fury in his eyes meant something more than a bruised ego.
For a moment—a stupid, fleeting moment—I thought he was angry because the idea of me choosing someone who wasn’t him was unbearable to him.
Then I saw it.
The smear of lipstick on the side of his mouth.
It’s a raunchy, glossy red I’ve never owned.
Just like that, the illusion shattered and the fantasy dissolved. The truth settled over me like a cold, wet blanket. This is a game, and I can only win if I play my best hand, not fold anytime he hints that he wants to keep me.
So I lied.
I told him that I want to marry Antonio.
Now, with my spine straight and my chin lifted, I pretend I’m not dying inside as Antonio puffs up behind me, fluffing his feathers like a peacock who recently won a territorial battle.
“She told you her decision.” Antonio’s expression is smug as he straightens his suit jacket. “Now state your terms so we can move on with our lives.”
Matteo doesn’t move.
He doesn’t blink.
He just stares at me with a twitching jaw and dark, stormy eyes.
I don’t look away.
I can’t.
If I do, I’ll break character.
This is the role that will set my life’s course, so I have to play it to the very end.
Seeing Matteo’s silence as a negotiation tactic, Antonio sighs. “Fine. I’ll increase my bid to two million.” He drifts his eyes to mine, and I almost barf when he adds, “I’m sure she’ll make it worthwhile.”
I’m not a person to him. I’m a possession, a commodity, something to be bought, sold, and traded between men who think they own the world.
Anger twists inside me, but I keep my expression neutral, refusing to let either of them see the sting of their disrespect.
Matteo’s jaw tightens, but he remains stubborn. “I don’t want your money.” For a heartbeat, hope flickers in my chest—stupid, reckless hope—but then he sideswipes it. “But you could coerce me for the right benefits.” He says “benefits” in a way no one could misinterpret.
Needing to redraw the line we smudged, I murmur, “I have no interest in sucking your dick.”
Matteo doesn’t miss a beat.
“Again,” he says, his voice mocking.
He doesn’t stop at one stab wound.
“And that isn’t what I want.” His bitter tone could frost glass. “Why barter for something I know I can have for free?”
The room’s walls move in on me as my vision blurs. Even as my teeth grit so hard that my jaw aches, I don’t let a single emotion show on my face.
Matteo angles away from me as if I’m just a pawn before he says, “I’ll take Isabella. Don Adami’s oldest daughter.”
Antonio’s dark brows get lost in his hairline. “Isabella?”
Matteo nods. “I’ve heard she is very accommodating to her father’s friends.” His reply drips with implication, and each word sears through me with humiliating sharpness.
Antonio considers his barter for only a second before agreeing to it. “Fine. Once the purity test concludes tomorrow at ten a.m., I’ll collect Azra—”
Before I can react to him already booking the purity test, Matteo cuts in.
“I’ll drop Azra off.” His shrug is casual.
Indifferent. Cruel. “I took her from there, so it’s only fair that I make sure she gets home safely.
” Bile burns my throat from the way he says “home.” “Besides, I need to collect Isabella. May as well kill two birds with one stone.”
His words settle in my stomach like rocks, each one heavier than the last. I shrink even as I remain perfectly composed.
“Fair enough.” Antonio moves to stand in front of me, his expression smug and victorious. “I’ll see you tomorrow, darling.” Leaning in, he air-kisses both my cheeks. His breath is sticky and gross against my skin.
Then he leaves, abandoning me in a room full of Carusos.
I expect Matteo to follow him out after one last biting remark, but instead, he storms off without a single glance in my direction. His footsteps are loud against the marble, and he slams the door shut so forcefully that the frame rattles.
Don Caruso and Giovanni both stare at me with an expression I can’t decipher. It’s a cross of disappointment and resignation. I failed the test I didn’t realize I was taking or broke something they expected me to protect.
I don’t understand what they expected. I followed the plan. I played the part. I did exactly what I was supposed to do.
So why do they look at me like I ruined everything?
“The test will take place in the on-site doctor’s office. It’s on the third floor—”
I interrupt Giovanni. “Two doors down from Camille’s playroom. I’m aware.”
Don Caruso walks around the desk and props his backside against the glossy wood. “If you want someone to attend the appointment with you, I can organize that for you. Antonio said you would be fine, but I understand this could be daunting. You are a young woman, thousands of miles from home.”
“I’ll be fine,” I assure him, continuing with the mantra I’ve used for the past twenty-four hours. “But thank you for checking.”
He assesses me with kind eyes I’ve never seen from my father before he accepts my assurance with a brief chin dip.
Minutes later, a maid appears at the doorway, wheeling my suitcase.
When she signals me to accompany her, Giovanni gives me a small, reassuring nod.
I should be relieved they’re not making me sleep in Matteo’s room, but my stomach twists.
Sleeping in any room under this roof feels fraudulent.
I’m going back to Antonio tomorrow, so this couldn’t feel more like trespassing if I tried.
The maid leads me to the first room I was assigned upon my arrival here—the room Matteo usually takes his women to.
Yes, plural.
Although I cleared the room out the night I arrived, it still smells faintly of the perfume the woman Matteo referred to as “Tuesday” wore.
My chest tightens.
“Is there any other room I can sleep in?” Everything inside me is unraveling, but my question comes out smoothly. “I’ll take the couch. The hallway. A broom closet. Anything but this room.”
Dark locks swish when the maid shakes her head. “Signor Caruso specifically asked that I bring you to this room.”
I want to ask which Signor Caruso—Matteo, his father, or one of his brothers—but I’ve endured enough hurt today. I doubt I’ll survive the answer, whichever one it is.
After smiling at the maid, I wheel the suitcase someone packed in a hurry into the room, shut the door behind me, then collapse onto the bed.
The sheets smell like the bodywash of the woman I scared out of here on my first day, and it churns my stomach.
It’s a reminder that I am not special or different.
I was nothing more than a temporary occupant in Matteo’s world.
I change out of the dress I barely wore, then brush my teeth before returning to the main part of the bedroom. I don’t think I’ll sleep. The chair in the corner of the room isn’t overly comfortable, but my exhaustion from a sleepless night the night before eventually drags me under.
When I wake, sunlight spills across the floorboards, and my phone’s annoying chirp announces that I’m late.
Panic shoots through me as I rush out of the room, my heart racing. Antonio scheduled the purity test, which makes my skin crawl just thinking about, for ten. It’s already ten past ten. I should have been there by now.
While raking my fingers through my hair, trying to tame the unruly knots, I rush down the hallway. The thuds of my bare feet are silent, so I have no issues hearing raised voices when I approach the room where the appointment is taking place.
One of them is unmistakable.
Matteo.
“I don’t care what the contract says.” His low tone sends a shiver darting down my spine. “She’s either examined by a female doctor or no one.”
My breath catches. I didn’t know the doctor undertaking the exam would be male. I had no idea I would have to strip naked and let a strange man examine my private parts—and god knows where else.
Panic claws at my throat. The idea of a stranger—even one with a medical degree—touching me like that locks up my body.
I grip the doorframe, steadying myself, as Matteo continues arguing. Even though he has every reason to let my contract play out as written, he doesn’t.
He fights.
Hard.
He bombards the doctor with threats so believable that I wouldn’t be surprised to see the doctor leave the room in soiled pants.
Eventually, the male doctor relents. As he hurries out, he stammers that he will arrange for a female colleague to attend my appointment on his behalf. “She’ll be here shortly.”
I’m so relieved that I don’t dart out of view before Matteo sees me. He’s standing in the middle of a room that looks exactly like a doctor’s office, chest rising and falling with the force of his anger.
When I step inside, mindful that no amount of anger should harness manners, he turns his head just enough to look at me. His bloodshot eyes flick over me in silent assessment before he moves to a bench seat near the window and sits down.
“You don’t need to stay.” My voice is firmer than I intend, still hitched with jealousy. “I’m sure the blonde draped over you last night is awaiting your return.”
He huffs out a short, irritated sound but doesn’t nibble at the bait I threw out.
He doesn’t even look at me when he replies, “I’ll stay until I know it’s a female doctor examining you.”
I want to argue, tell him to leave, that I don’t need him, but I fear what might happen if he’s not here.
There are many frightening traditions in the Turkish mafia, such as the man I give my virginity to is the man I’ll be forced to marry.
The rules have shaped my life and are the sole reason I’m still a virgin.
Blanketing my pride with a flat, toothless grin, I head for the examination table. My hands tremble when I spot the blue gown I need to change into before the doctor arrives.
“There’s a bathroom over there.” Arms still folded over his chest, Matteo nudges his head to a door next to the examination table.
With a quick nod, I race into the bathroom.
I don’t recognize the girl peering back at me in the vanity mirror.
She isn’t the strong woman who tossed around a mafia man like a rag doll only forty-eight hours ago.
She’s a shell of the woman she needs to be to keep the promise she made to her best friend when she laid her to rest.
This needs to stop.
The whining needs to stop.
Hattie deserves better—and in all honesty, so do I.
After dressing in the gown thinner than a tissue, I re-enter the room, sit on the examination table, and wait for the female doctor to arrive.
Matteo stays in the corner, silent and brooding.
Guarding me even when he won’t look at me.
I don’t know what hurts more—that he’s here or that he’s here like this.
Before my heart can convince my head that it is the latter, the door swings open, and a petite lady in a white coat enters.
She offers a faint smile and asks me a series of questions.
Most are about my age, height, and weight, but a few are more personal, like when was the last time I engaged in sexual activity, including oral sex.
“Um… I think three days ago.”
“Think?” the doctor asks, placing down her clipboard and peering at me in concern.
“Um… I, ah…” I thought her poking and prodding me below the waist would be the worst part of the examination. I was wrong. This is far worse. It’s embarrassing trying to explain that I can’t differentiate between a dream and reality. “It was Wednesday—”
“Night,” Matteo interrupts, his tone stern. “Her last sexual activity was Wednesday night.”
The doctor pays him no attention. She stares at me as if my mouth isn’t hanging open and I’m scarcely breathing. My dream was real? “Did this activity involve penetration?”
Unable to answer that question without help, I shoot my eyes across the room. Matteo is clearly on something, but it hasn’t dazed his mind enough to alter the facts. He shakes his head.
I want to crawl under a pillow and die when he murmurs, “Your fingers don’t count, right, micina?”
Of all the parts that could have been true, why did my comment about being able to finger-fuck myself for eternity and still pass the purity test have to be it?
“It depends.” My eyes rocket back to the doctor. “If you were rough and caused internal vaginal tears, it could alter the result.” She pats my knee before sitting on a chair on wheels and wheeling closer to the examination table. “How about we take a look?”
My thighs shake uncontrollably when she pulls out the stirrups from under the bed and guides my legs onto them. I almost pull my knees together when the coolness of the air brushes over my exposed vagina. One glance at my friendship bracelet stops me.
I need to do this.
“Relax for me.”
I try to follow her instructions, but I can barely breathe, let alone unclench my muscles. Her head is right there, between my legs.
When a solemn tear trickles down my face, I slant my head to the side, praying the white sheet covering the examination table will absorb it before anyone sees it.
I’ve clearly run out of genie wishes. Matteo’s exhale is as rough as his chair slamming into the wall when he pushes up onto his feet and crosses the room in two heart-thrashing seconds.
With his hand curled over mine, he bobs down until we’re face-to-face.
“Look at me. Keep your eyes on me. Don’t pay any attention to what she’s doing.”
I inhale a shaky breath before returning his stare.
My eyes dart away when something cool and foreign breaches my vagina. It isn’t the doctor’s gloved hand.
“Keep your eyes on me, micina. She’s not doing anything. She won’t touch you. She’s just looking. Right, Doc?”
She must miss the fury in his tone. “I need to check for internal tearing.”
“There is none,” Matteo’s voice booms. “Look at her fingers; they’re tiny.”
“I can’t report that there is no damage unless I check—”
“Then prepare to report the death of you and everyone in your fucking family,” Matteo barks out. “Because there’s no vaginal tearing, as I’ve told you. More than once.” He stares her down, shifting my shaking legs to her. “Do I need to repeat myself again?”
The doctor’s swallow is as audible as her headshake. “No. You are correct. There is no vaginal damage for me to report.”
When she lowers the sheet covering my wobbly knees and tells me I am free to get dressed, I almost gush about Matteo’s unexpected assistance.
My relief is short-lived.
Assuming Matteo is the man getting the stamp of approval to marry me, the doctor says, “Your husband-to-be is a very lucky man.”
Matteo is already gone before all her sentence leaves her mouth.