Chapter 16 - This is More Than Just an Arrangement
Matteo
It’s official. I’m in love. Madly in love at that and for the first time in years, instead of pushing away my feelings and burying myself in work, I’m embracing them.
Memories of last night flood my mind—the fierce possessiveness that overtook me when I found Sasha in that club, the heated exchange in the alley, the way we’d barely made it back to the villa before tearing each other's clothes off.
I smile at the thought as I pull on swim shorts, glancing at Sasha's sleeping form. Her hair spills across the pillow, her breathing deep and even. I consider waking her but decide against it. She deserves to rest after the night we've had.
After several laps, I pull myself from the pool, water streaming from my body as I reach for a towel.
The sun feels good on my skin as I dry off, my mind clearer now, decision made.
I'll tell Sasha how I feel. Properly, without anger or jealousy clouding the moment.
I'll ask her to stay in Italy, to give what's growing between us a real chance.
I'm so absorbed in these thoughts that I don't notice her approach until she's standing before me, her face pale, her body rigid with tension.
"Sasha," I greet her, my smile fading as I register her expression. "What's wrong?"
She thrusts her phone toward me, her hand trembling slightly. "Explain this."
I take the device, scanning the screen. It's a tabloid article, the headline bold and damning: "DE LUCA HEIR'S SHOCKING PAST: VIOLENCE, THREATS, AND WOMEN LEFT brOKEN."
My blood runs cold as I read further. The article paints me as a monster. A man who uses and discards women, who silences them with threats and money when they try to speak out. There are quotes, supposedly from former girlfriends, describing emotional abuse and manipulation.
"This is garbage," I say, my voice tight with anger. "Complete fiction."
"Is it?" Sasha challenges, taking back her phone. "Because there are direct quotes here, Matteo. Names. Dates."
I run a hand through my wet hair, struggling to maintain composure. "Someone fed them lies. This isn't me, Sasha. You know that."
"Do I?”
"Sasha, please," I reach for her hand, but she steps back. "You have to believe me. This article is nothing but lies."
"Then why did Alessia Romano say you threatened her when she tried to end things?
Or Sofia Bianchi claiming you had her blacklisted from every modeling agency in Milan when she refused to keep your relationship secret?
" Her voice trembles as she scrolls through the article.
"There are five women here, Matteo. Five. "
I clench my jaw, fury building not at Sasha but at whoever is behind this. "Those relationships didn't end well, I admit that. But I never threatened anyone. I never used my influence to hurt them."
"The article says you paid them off. Made them sign NDAs." Her eyes search mine, looking for a truth I'm desperate to provide.
"Some, yes," I acknowledge, knowing honesty is my only option. "It's standard practice in my position. To protect my family's privacy, our business interests. Not to silence victims, Sasha. There were no victims."
She hugs herself, as if suddenly cold despite the warm Tuscan sun. "It says your last girlfriend was hospitalized. That she tried to…" her voice breaks.
"Valeria. She had struggles long before we met. Depression, addiction issues she kept hidden from me. When I found out, I tried to help her, but she refused. After we broke up, she..." I can't finish the sentence.
"She attempted suicide," Sasha completes for me, her voice hollow.
"Yes." The admission feels heavy on my tongue. "But not because of me, Sasha. Her family confirmed that. The press twisted it, made it seem like I was responsible."
Sasha shakes her head, tears gathering in her eyes. "I don't know what to believe. This article says your family paid off journalists to keep the story quiet. That you've done this for years. Charmed women, used them, discarded them when you got bored."
"Is that really what you think of me?" I ask. "After everything we've shared?"
"I don't know what to think!" she cries, throwing her hands up. "I've known you for two weeks, Matteo. Two weeks! And suddenly I'm discovering there's this whole history I knew nothing about."
"Because it's not true," I insist, stepping closer despite her defensive posture. "Someone is trying to hurt me by hurting you. Can't you see that?"
"What I see," she says, her voice steadying though tears still shimmer in her eyes, "is that I jumped from one disaster straight into another. I left my fiancé at the altar and fell into bed with a man I barely knew.”
"Sasha, please…" I reach for her again, but she recoils as if my touch would burn her.
"I need space," she says, backing away. "Time to think."
Her words slice sting. I stand frozen as she turns and hurries across the terrace. I should follow her, force her to listen, but something in her posture, the rigid set of her shoulders, the determined stride, tells me it would only push her further away.
Inside the villa, chaos erupts. Within minutes, Sasha's friends have materialized, their faces a mix of concern and accusation. Gabriella clutches her phone, the damning article still visible on the screen.
"What did you do?" Erina demands, positioning herself like a shield between me and the staircase where Sasha has disappeared.
"Nothing," I insist, frustration making my voice sharper than intended. "That article is nothing but lies."
"Then why is she packing?" Naomi challenges, arms crossed.
The word hits me like a physical blow. Packing. She's leaving.
I push past them, taking the stairs two at a time, my heart hammering. The door to our suite stands ajar, and inside, Sasha moves with frantic energy, throwing clothes into her suitcase with trembling hands.
"Don't do this," I plead from the doorway. "Don't run away without giving me a chance to explain."
She doesn't look up, continuing to fold and pack with mechanical precision. "There's nothing to explain, Matteo. I was fooling myself, thinking this could be real."
"It is real," I insist, stepping into the room. "What we have—"
"What we have is an arrangement," she cuts me off, finally meeting my gaze. Her eyes are red-rimmed but dry now, her expression hardened into resolve. "That's all it ever was. I just forgot that for a while."
Her words land like physical blows. "You don't mean that."
She zips her suitcase. "This whole thing between us started as a lie, Matteo. A convenient fiction. And now I'm finding out there are more lies beneath that one."
"I've never lied to you," I protest, desperate now. "Not about how I feel."
A bitter laugh escapes her. "You've never told me how you feel. Not really. We've had sex, amazing sex, and you've shown me Italy, but feelings? Those weren't part of our deal."
The truth of her words strikes me with painful clarity. I've never told her I love her. I've shown her in a thousand ways, the villa, her friends, the way I touch her, but never in the three simple words that matter most.
"Sasha, I…”
“Don’t Matteo,” she stops me. “I’m leaving and don’t come looking for me.”
I watch in desperation as she walks away, dragging her suitcase behind her. I watch from my room as Sasha and her friends get into the car then drive away. It’s heart wrenching. The most painful thing ever.