Chapter Fifty
Matteo
I spend the entire day counting down hours.
Training should have distracted me - should have given me something else to focus on.
But all I’ve been able to think about is Daphne.
She told me she was fine. Told me not to worry.
But I’d been the one to hold her, to comfort her, the one who had seen her cry.
I barely made it through training without losing my temper. Every misplaced pass, every shot that didn’t hit the back of the net only made my frustration worse. When my teammates noticed, I shrugged it off, played it cool.
But my mind was elsewhere.
So, once we were finished, I called my agent. Told him exactly what I wanted done.
He assured me he'd speak to his wife. Given her position at The Tribune, as far as we’re both concerned, Mark Chapman’s career is as good as fucking over.
Good .
By the time I’m pulling up outside Daphne’s apartment building, my blood is still running hot - not just from training, but from the promise I made to her that I’ll sort this mess.
And I mean it. I will.
I am.
I don’t hesitate before knocking.
A few seconds pass before the door swings open, and there she is.
Daphne blinks up at me, her auburn hair falling in waves around her face, her lips curving up into a small smile. She looks a little tired - like she’s been carrying too much today - but still, she’s fucking beautiful.
“Oh,” she breathes. “It’s you. ”
" Buonasera , Daphne," I murmur. "Miss me?"
Her breath hitches for half a second - barely noticeable, but I see it.
I feel it.
She crosses her arms, arching an eyebrow, clearly trying to mask whatever reaction she just had.
"How did you know I’d be home?" she asks. "I could have been working this evening.”
I shrug.
"I called your boss."
"Richard?! You did not."
"No, not Richard," I say, enjoying the way her irritation sparks so easily. "Your neighbour. The old guy with the limp. Really chatty. He told me everything about your schedule."
She laughs despite herself, shaking her head .
"Signor Benedetti would absolutely do that."
I grin, then let my gaze drop, assessing her carefully.
"You okay?" I ask, voice softer now.
The laughter fades from her lips.
"I'm fine,” she nods.
I narrow my eyes.
"I know what fine means when you say it."
I step forwards as she steps back, and I follow her inside, shutting the door behind me with a quiet click .
And then my hands are on her.
One cups the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair, while the other grips her waist, warm and steady.
I study her face, searching for any sign that she's still hurting from yesterday.
That she's still thinking about that prick who thought he could treat her like she was nothing.
"Long day?"
She sighs. " Very ."
"Good thing I came over to help you unwind, then."
I tilt my head, letting my lips brush over hers in a featherlight tease.
"Help me unwind ?" she repeats, her pulse ticking faster beneath my fingers. "I don't remember requesting your services, Rossi."
"What can I say?” I smirk. “I’ve been watching you since the day you arrived, giornalista . I know how to anticipate your needs. "
Before she can respond, I kiss her, all slow and deep. I taste her, and fuck , it’s not enough.
It’s never enough.
She melts against me, and her hands move to my chest, her fingers gripping at my shirt like she needs something to hold onto.
I take my time peeling her blouse off, dragging it up over her head and tossing it aside.
And then I look at her.
My chest tightens. My cock twitches.
" Dio , look at you," I mutter.
A flush creeps up her neck, but before she can say anything, I lift her into my arms. She squeals, laughing softly as she wraps her legs around my waist, clinging to me.
"Not wasting any time tonight, I see," she teases, a little breathless already.
"I've been thinking about you all fucking day," I growl, nipping lightly at the sensitive skin beneath her ear. "Could barely focus at training. All I could think about was your mouth... your body... how fucking good you feel."
Her breath catches. I feel her thighs tighten around my waist.
And then, I remember him .
That smug, pathetic excuse of a man who dared to make her cry.
A dark edge seeps into my voice as I carry her into her bedroom, dropping her onto the mattress.
"And then," I continue, standing at the foot of the bed, watching the way she props herself up on her elbows, "I kept thinking about him . About how he made you feel like you don’t belong. How he made you doubt yourself."
Daphne opens her mouth, her expression shifting, but I cut her off.
"Don’t." My jaw clenches. "Don’t worry about anything. I made a promise to you, and I mean it. I’m handling it."
Her eyes search mine. "What does that mean?"
"It means I’ve made some calls," I say simply. "Mark's reputation was shit long before you got here. All I did was nudge a few people to take a closer look at his recent work and behaviour."
I tilt my head, letting my smirk turn razor-sharp.
"Let's just say… the wheels are in motion."
Her brows furrow. "I'm not sure -"
"Do you trust me?"
Her breath stills, and I watch as the answer forms in her eyes before she even speaks it.
"Yes," she whispers. "Of course I do."
" Good ."
I hold her gaze for another beat, letting her feel the weight of that promise.
And then my smirk turns wicked as I reach for the waistband of her flared trousers.
"Now..." I murmur, voice dipping lower. "Let me help you forget that asshole for a while."
I glide them down her legs, my fingers dragging over the smooth, bare skin of her thighs, and I hear the way her breath stutters.
" Matteo… "
"The only man you should be thinking about tonight is me ."
Her lips part like she wants to argue, but then I press my mouth to the inside of her thigh, teeth scraping lightly against sensitive skin.
And despite herself, despite everything , she fucking moans .
I chuckle darkly against her skin.
"That’s what I thought."