Chapter 30
ELIZABETH
A vein pops in the middle of Matteo's forehead. He's sitting near the window, but he's squashed. I offered to take his middle seat, which would have been worse for him, sitting sandwiched between me and the large elderly woman sitting beside me.
Matteo has been trying to sleep. His head bent at an awkward angle, jaw locked tight. And every few seconds he keeps shifting position. Trying to get comfortable. The U-shaped travel pillow around his neck isn't helping much.
I feel so bad when I see the way his long legs are bunched up and pressing against the back of the seat in front.
I place a hand on his thigh, just because. Because I'm touched by his sweet solidarity and I'm so happy that he's sitting here with me in economy instead of first class. I hate that he's uncomfortable, but I don't mind that he's grumpy.
I’ll make it up to him when we land.
I manage to get a few hours of sleep somewhere over the Atlantic, my head tilted awkwardly against the window, but every time I stir, he’s awake. Staring ahead. Restless. By the time we land in Dubrovnik, after what feels like a lifetime of flying from New York to Frankfurt and then on again.
When we step into the arrivals hall, I’m already reaching for my phone to check the hotel address and to call a taxi when I notice a man standing just beyond the barrier, holding a sign.
Elizabeth Raven.
I blink, slowing to a stop. The man notices, and steps forward. “Elizabeth Raven?” He’s wearing a uniform of sorts, and is the epitome of polite professionalism.
“Yes,” I say, surprised.
“I’m here to take you to your hotel.”
I hesitate, glancing at Matteo. “I was just going to get a taxi,” I tell the man.
“There is no need. Your travel is already arranged,” the driver replies smoothly, reaching for the handle of my trolley bag. Beside me, Matteo lets out a quiet breath, low enough that only I hear it.
“You wouldn’t travel first class,” he mutters, “but your friend Vlad has booked you a chauffeur and you’re okay with that.”
There’s an edge to his voice which I ignore because I don’t want to pour fuel over the fire.
We’re both exhausted and grumpy with one another, barely talking.
A fourteen-hour flight has killed the joy, even though we were so excited last night after ending up in bed, my knees boneless from Matteo eating me out in the kitchen.
We’d barely slept before the flight and things have only deteriorated.
We follow the driver outside into the warm Croatian air, a welcome relief after the stuffiness of recycled cabin air.
The Merc is sleek, black and expensive. I sink into the seat and watch the city blur past as we drive toward the old town.
What possessed Vlad to get a driver when I could have so easily called a taxi?
I haven’t seen him in three years, not since he left the States.
We text, sometimes. Once a month, maybe.
Just enough to check in. Just enough for him to make sure I’m okay.
At least, that’s what it always feels like.
Even from another continent, Vlad makes sure I’m okay.
He knows about my cybersecurity firm, but I didn’t tell him that I had a contract with Knight Enterprises.
Soon enough the car slows to a halt, pulling up outside the hotel. My breath catches.
“Holy crap.”
I can’t believe what I’m seeing, or where I’m staying.
Where Vlad put us up.
I didn’t pay much attention to it when I looked it up online after he gave me the address. It seemed like a typical old building.
But looking at it now, it’s not just any old building.
It’s not just a hotel. With its stone walls and balconies it has an olde world feel to it—it’s distinguished and moneyed.
I’m curious and feeling guilty for not asking what he’s been up to.
He seems to have money now, and I have no clue what he does.
I wonder if he’s still hacking, because this is a level of wealth Vlad never had before.
Matteo steps out beside me, a tightness in his expression. He looks up at the building. “You didn't want to fly first class yet you can afford this?”
“I-I didn’t pay for this,” I say quickly. “Vlad did. He booked the room.”
“He booked this?” His voice goes cold. “It's okay for him to send a chauffeur and put you up in this, but it's not okay for me to try to do something nice for you?”
I have a feeling Matteo’s going to hold this against me for the entire time we’re here.
“This is his wedding, Matteo.” But I feel uneasy, because our vacation has gotten off to a terrible start. I feel like a hypocrite now, telling Matteo not to bring the jet. He seemed so excited about it, now that I look back.
I was so against it because I knew Vlad would be horrified that I'm with someone who has the type of wealth we used to disapprove of.
I was so scared of Matteo taking the family jet to the wedding, and now that I'm here, Vlad is the one who has surprised me. “Please tell me you’re not going to be moody every time his name is mentioned,” I beg.
“I don't have anything against a guy I've never met, but ...”
“But what?” I lay my hand on his arm.
“Let's not go into this.” He looks ahead, nodding as the concierges take our luggage.
“Vlad and I are good friends,” I insist, hating that he’s got the wrong impression of us.
“So you keep saying.”
“You asked.”
“He seems to be a very good and wealthy friend.”
“What are you insinuating?” I snap.
“I'm not insinuating anything. I just wish you'd open up and tell me.”
“I have told you.”
If only Matteo wasn't as watchful. He knows I'm withholding information and he fills those gaps with his own misinterpretation.
I don't think he's jealous, because he's already said that he doesn't care if Vlad and I were together; it's all in the past.
We were never together. I just don't want to elaborate on our relationship for fear it might reveal things I want to keep hidden.
“You tell me selective pieces, Elizabeth.”
We’re still bickering as we approach the reception desk. Inside it’s marble floors and soft lights. It’s hushed, but understated. This place screams exclusivity and wealth, and my mind churns with so many questions.
The receptionist watches us approach, a polite smile fixed in place as Matteo and I fall into strained silence. I feel ridiculous. Embarrassed. Like everyone can see the tension between us.
I smile, give her my name and check in. We take the keys and get into the elevator, then walk down the thickly carpeted hallway to our room.
Neither of us says a word.
When the door to the suite opens, I stop dead, my eyes sweeping across the large space. I step inside. It’s not a room. It’s almost an entire apartment. A wide, open living space with big, plush sofas, a sleek, polished dining table, and floor to ceiling windows looking out over the Adriatic.
I walk around, heart racing, pop my head inside a door to see a huge bedroom, with more floor to ceiling windows and a bed as big as the one Matteo has. I’m drowning in overwhelm. This is… too much. Too far removed from the Vlad I knew. Too far removed from anything I understand.
Behind me, Matteo is silent. And I don’t know what to say because the tension between us just went up a notch.
This is wealth. Real wealth. The kind we used to go after. The kind we used to expose. Vlad and I… we weren’t like this. We didn’t belong in places like this. We were the ones digging through systems, pulling apart corrupt corporations, exposing the kind of people who owned places like this.
We were against all of it. Against the oligarchy. Against the imbalance. Against the men who thought money made them untouchable.
Now I have knots in my stomach thinking about Vlad.
Where did this come from? What is he up to? He said he’d stop hacking, so what’s he doing now? Something worse?
“You didn’t tell me your friend had Knight Level wealth.” Matteo’s quiet voice behind me startles.
I turn to him, already tired of this. “I didn’t know,” I admit.
He studies me for a second, like he’s trying to decide whether to believe that.
I don’t blame him for being annoyed. After everything.
After refusing the private jet. After refusing first class.
After insisting we do this my way. And now we’re here, being driven around by a chauffeur, staying in a place like this, all because of a man he doesn’t know and already doesn’t trust.
I press my lips together. “I didn’t know.” He softens, pulls me into his arms and hugs me. I let out a heavy exhale. “Please don’t be moody.”
“I’m sorry.” He tightens his arms around me, and I feel so relieved, like he’s absorbing every drop of anxiety oozing out of me.
There’s a knock at the door. I go to open it, to find that it’s the luggage boys. They wheel our suitcases in, placing them neatly by the wall. Matteo slips them some notes before they leave, closing the door softly behind them.
We stare at one another. “I haven’t seen him in three years, Matteo. We text and email. There’s the occasional phone call. That’s it. He’s a very busy guy, but I don’t know how he can afford this.”
“If he means so much to you, why don’t you know?”
“I just don’t.” I’m bone tired and I don’t have the energy to have another argument.
“I’m taking a shower,” he says, before disappearing out of sight.
I go into the bedroom, and lie down, wondering what nightmare the next few days will bring.
After a few minutes of rest, I spring out of bed and get moving.
I order room service and unpack. By the time my clothes and toiletries have all been put away, Matteo walks in wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. His skin is still damp from the shower, and droplets of water cling to the dark ink across his body.
I swallow, feeling the familiar pull towards him, and force myself to stay where I am, fully aware of the tension simmering inside him.
“I’ve ordered room service. Just a few light bites. We can go to the restaurant if you like.”
“Room service is fine. Thanks,” he says, but there’s a lightness to his tone. Maybe because he can see the hunger in my eyes as I check him out. I walk up to him.
“You’re welcome. I need a shower.”
I make to move away, but he grabs my wrist. “Not so fast.” He reels me in until my body is flush against his chest. I instinctively sniff. He smells clean and fresh. Delicious.
“Sorry for being grumpy,” he says, nibbling my earlobe. I instantly forgive him.
I pepper his chest with kisses. “I just want us to have a good time.”
He tilts my chin up and gives me another one of his long, sloppy kisses; the kind that make my toes curl, and my panties slick.
“Wanna fuck?” he asks, like he doesn’t already know the answer to that. My insides combust. That loaded question implies hard and fast love making. Rough and feral. It’s exactly what we need to expel that bone-deep frustration.
“Don’t you want to eat first?” I suggest, trying to break away. “I should shower, I’m feeling dirty.”
His hand tightens around my waist. “I like you when you’re feeling dirty.”
In no time at all, his towel drops, and I’m quickly throwing off my clothes.
We’re on the bed, when he’s already rolling on a condom.
But when he flips me onto my stomach, hands on my hips, ready to slide them back, I flip to my side and push him down quickly.
Then I straddle him, my hands sliding up his chest as I stare down at him.
“I told you I’d make it up to you,” I murmur.
His hands slide to my hips. “Yeah?”
I kiss him, slow at first, then deeper, needing to erase the tangled mess in my head.
His cock pokes me, and I kneel, legs either side of his thighs, positioning his tip against my opening, before sitting down and letting his length slide inside me.
The friction burns sweetly, as I swallow him up, feel him filling me completely.
His hands tighten around my waist as I move against him, finding a rhythm, grounding myself in him. Sweet, sweet bliss. Him inside me, filling me. He tweaks my clit, his other hand playing with my breast.
I throw back my head, heat rushing through my body as I ride him, taking every ounce of pleasure from him.
Everything else fades as we come together, his grunts meshing with my sighs and soft moans.
I milk every last drop from him, refusing to move off, squeezing everything from him, until I finally collapse, spent and sweating, onto his chest.
“Fuck,” he cries. “That was ...”
I lift my head just enough to look at him. “Told you I’d make it up to you.”
“That was fucking awesome.”
His finger circles around the little bud between my butt cheeks, sending a tremor through me. We kiss again, long and deep, tongues sliding together. He slips the tip of his finger inside me, and I shiver because it feels so good. So different, but so good.
“Matteo,” I murmur.
A sharp knock at the door freezes us.
We stare at one another, trying to determine if it’s a knock or our imagination.
Another knock.
I blink, breath still uneven, my heart still racing.
I move off him, and quickly put on my robe before I rush to the door. We’re not expecting anyone, but something in my chest tightens.
Because I already know who it is.
I open the door and see him.
Vlad.