Chapter Thirteen
The echoes of the ballroom still clung to Isla’s skin, the weight of Matteo’s hands burning into her memory. She had played with fire on the dance floor, and she had seen the embers smolder in his gaze. But it wasn’t enough. Not yet.
The game wasn’t over.
She needed to be smarter, bolder. The DeLuca villa held secrets—secrets that could set her free. She had spent weeks watching, listening, piecing together the whispers of Matteo’s business dealings, the way his men operated, the names that held power in his world. Tonight had proved one thing: Matteo might hold the leash, but Isla wasn’t meant to be caged.
Slipping from her room under the cover of night, she moved with careful, measured steps. The villa was heavily guarded, but she had learned its blind spots. She had counted the rotation of the guards, memorized their habits. It was reckless, dangerous—but so was staying here, waiting for a man like Matteo to break her completely.
The study was where he kept his files. Locked, but not impenetrable. She had seen him enter the passcode enough times, watched the way his fingers moved over the keypad. Now, standing before it, she exhaled slowly and keyed in the numbers.
The safe clicked open.
Her hands shook as she reached for the files. Inside, she found pages of names, transactions, shipments—evidence of the empire Matteo controlled with an iron grip. If she could get this information out, if she could find the right leverage, she could have a bargaining chip. A way out.
She turned each page with growing fascination, piecing together the threads of his savage empire. Certain names repeated. Codes that she suspected were locations. Financial records that spoke of dealings that weren’t entirely legal. It was a blueprint of power, the foundation of Matteo’s rule. And she had it in her hands.
But the moment the thought crossed her mind, a deep voice cut through the darkness.
"I expected better from you, wife."
Isla’s blood turned to ice. The room was silent, save for the sound of her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Slowly, she turned, her pulse thrumming as she met Matteo’s gaze. He stood in the doorway, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up. He looked relaxed. Casual.
Dangerous.
"Going somewhere?" he asked, stepping closer, his voice laced with amusement and warning all at once.
She lifted her chin. "Maybe."
His smirk was slow, predatory. "And here I thought you were starting to enjoy being my wife."
She scoffed. "Don’t flatter yourself."
In a flash, he was in front of her, his body pressing hers against the desk, caging her in. The papers slipped from her fingers, scattering between them like a discarded illusion of control.
Matteo’s fingers traced the line of her jaw, his touch deceptively soft. "You think you can play this game with me, Isla? That you can win?"
She swallowed hard but refused to break his gaze. "I don’t need to win. I just need to be free."
His eyes darkened. "You’re mine. And I don’t let what’s mine slip away so easily."
She opened her mouth to retort, but the words were stolen when Matteo’s lips crashed against hers. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet. It was a warning, a punishment, a promise.
Heat coiled in her stomach, anger and desire tangled in a brutal fight for dominance. She hated him. She wanted him. And when he pulled away, his breath ragged, his grip still firm on her waist, she knew one thing for certain.
She was in just as much danger from herself as she was from him.
But Matteo wasn’t finished. His thumb traced over her lips, his breathing still uneven. "You think you can outmaneuver me? That I won’t know every move before you make it?"
She licked her lips, feeling the pulse of danger between them. "Everyone makes mistakes. Even you."
He chuckled darkly, shaking his head. "Is that what you’re counting on?" His grip tightened, pulling her flush against him, the heat of his body suffocating. "Because I don’t make mistakes when it comes to things I own."
Isla bristled, shoving at his chest, but he barely moved. "You don’t own me."
Matteo smirked, tilting her chin up. "Don’t I?"
His lips hovered just above hers again, teasing, testing. Isla’s breath hitched, her resolve wavering. She could fight him, deny the pull between them, but her body was betraying her.
Then, just as she thought he’d take her mouth again, he released her suddenly, stepping back with an infuriating slowness. He bent down, gathering the scattered papers from the floor, glancing at them before flicking his gaze back to her.
"If you were looking for leverage, wife, you should have been more careful." He tossed the pages back onto the desk, watching her with a knowing expression. "I own everything in this house—including the game you think you’re playing."
She clenched her fists, anger burning through the remnants of lust still clouding her mind. "We’ll see about that."
Matteo’s grin was slow, wicked. "Oh, we will."
And as he turned to leave, the tension still thick between them, Isla knew one thing for certain.
The game wasn’t just dangerous anymore.
It was deadly.