Chapter Eighteen
The moment they arrived back at the villa, Matteo didn’t give Isla a chance to move. He grabbed her wrist, pulling her out of the car and through the grand entrance, his grip firm but not painful—controlling, possessive. The guards stationed at the doors averted their gazes as Matteo stormed past them, dragging Isla up the grand staircase.
She fought him the entire way, yanking against his grip, her breath coming in sharp bursts. But Matteo was immovable.
"Let go of me, Matteo!" she hissed, her voice low but furious.
His jaw was set, his silence more dangerous than any shouted words. He didn’t speak, didn’t acknowledge her struggle until they reached her bedroom. With a sharp motion, he shoved the door open and pulled her inside before slamming it shut behind them. The click of the lock sent a chill down her spine.
"You don’t get to run from me," Matteo said, his voice deceptively calm. "Not now. Not ever."
Isla’s breath caught in her throat. "You think locking me in here is going to fix this? That it’s going to make me forget that you and my father planned something behind my back?" Her own words startled her, the realization settling in as Matteo’s expression flickered, just for a second. That was it—there was something more, something he wasn't saying. And now she knew she was closer to the truth than ever before.
"I don’t need you to forget. I need you to understand," Matteo said, his voice quieter now, as if he wasn’t just speaking to her but convincing himself.
She laughed bitterly, shoving at his chest, but he caught her wrists before she could push him away. "Understand what, Matteo? That I’m just a pawn in whatever deal you made with my father? That I was never meant to be more than a bargaining chip?"
His grip tightened, pulling her closer, their bodies a breath apart. "You think I see you as just a pawn?" he murmured, his voice low, rough. "You think this is just about business?"
"Isn’t it?" she shot back, her heart pounding. "Isn’t that all I am to you?"
Matteo exhaled sharply, his forehead pressing against hers for the briefest moment. "No, Isla. You have become so much more. That’s the problem."
His admission sent a jolt through her, but before she could process it, his lips crashed against hers.
It was desperate, raw, filled with anger and need. Isla hated how easily she melted into it, how her body betrayed the war raging inside her. Her fingers curled into his shirt, clutching him like he was both her salvation and her ruin.
Matteo lifted her with ease, pressing her against the door, his hands gripping her thighs as if grounding himself in the fire they had both ignited. Every kiss was a battle, every touch a demand.
Tell me to stop," he murmured against her lips, his breath ragged.
She should. She should tell him to let her go, to put distance between them before this spiral consumed them whole. But instead, her nails dug into his back, her lips parting in invitation.
She didn’t say stop.
She couldn’t.
And Matteo knew it.
The moment their mouths met, the world outside the room ceased to exist. The war, the betrayals, the whispered threats—none of it mattered. All that remained was the way his hands gripped her waist, firm yet reverent, the way his lips moved over hers, demanding and desperate. The heat between them ignited like gasoline, consuming, insatiable.
The taste of him was intoxicating, a mixture of danger and need that sent fire licking through her veins. Every brush of his fingers against her skin sent her pulse into chaos, every stolen breath fueling the storm between them. His body pressed against hers, heat radiating from every inch of him, as though he was trying to fuse them together, trying to claim her in a way that went beyond words.
Matteo pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against hers as he caught his breath. “You make me reckless.”
Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, holding him close. “Then don’t stop.”
A growl rumbled deep in his chest, and then his lips were on hers again, fiercer, more desperate. This wasn’t a kiss meant for hesitation. This was surrender and battle all at once. Their bodies moved together, drawn by an invisible force neither could fight any longer. Every touch was a promise, every breath stolen a declaration of something unspoken but undeniable.
His hands roamed her body, memorizing the curves and dips, branding her in ways that went beyond touch. She wasn’t just a woman he wanted—she was a woman he needed, a necessity etched into his very existence. His grip tightened on her hips, his fingertips pressing into her skin as if he could mark her without leaving bruises.
Her head tilted back, her breath hitching as his mouth traveled lower, tracing fire along her throat. He lingered at her pulse, his teeth grazing her skin, his control fraying at the edges. “You’re mine,” he murmured, his voice rough, filled with something more than just possession. Something deeper. Something irrevocable.
She shivered at his words, not from fear, but from the way her body responded to him—instinctive, helpless. She had fought this, had told herself she wouldn’t fall, but Matteo was inevitable. He had always been inevitable.
At some point, the frenzy broke into something slower, deeper. Their fingers traced familiar paths, lingering as if to commit each other to memory. Matteo whispered her name against her skin like a confession he hadn’t meant to make, like an oath he had no choice but to keep. And in that moment, Isla didn’t fight him, didn’t question what this was.
She let herself fall, even though she knew the ground beneath them was unstable. Even though she knew that loving Matteo DeLuca meant walking the edge of a blade, balancing between ruin and redemption.
His lips moved back to hers, gentler this time, a contrast to the intensity that had driven them moments before. His hands cradled her face, his thumbs brushing over her cheekbones as if she were something fragile, something worth cherishing. The thought sent an unexpected ache through her chest, a longing she had never allowed herself to feel.
“Say it,” he murmured against her lips. “Say you’re mine.”
She hesitated for only a second before breathing, “I’m yours.”
The night unraveled between them, reckless and consuming, leaving no room for doubt, no space for anything but the fire burning between them. The world beyond this room, beyond these sheets, was cruel, filled with betrayal and bloodshed. But in this moment, there was only them. Only the way he pulled her closer, the way she clung to him as if he were the only solid thing in her world.
And when morning came, when the world outside beckoned with its threats and consequences, she knew one thing with certainty.
There was no turning back.
She was his.
As dawn broke, streaks of soft gold slipped through the curtains, casting long shadows across the room. The warmth of the night still lingered between the sheets, but reality had already crept in, unyielding and sharp.
Matteo sat at the edge of the bed, rolling his sleeves with precise, practiced movements. He didn’t glance back, didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. The silence between them was enough.
Isla shifted beneath the sheets, her body sore, her mind a mess of things she refused to untangle. She watched him, her fingers twitching against the fabric, the weight in her chest heavier than it should have been.
His voice came, quiet but firm. "This still changes nothing."
She let out a slow breath, tilting her head just enough for a smirk to mask the sting. "I never thought it would."
But as he walked out, leaving her alone in the silence, she knew they were both lying.
She lay back against the pillows, her body still humming from his touch, her mind a storm of conflicting emotions. Matteo had claimed her in more ways than one, but the truth still loomed between them, unanswered and unspoken.
And Isla wasn’t sure how much longer she could pretend this war between them had only one possible ending.
But Isla wasn’t the only one left reeling.
****
Matteo stormed down the hallway, his fists clenched at his sides. The scent of her still lingered on his skin, the memory of her touch burned into his mind. He had lost control, had given in to something he had sworn to keep buried. And worse, he had let her see it.
He reached his study, slamming the door behind him, his breath ragged. Luca sat in the corner, already nursing a drink, his gaze sharp as it flicked over Matteo’s disheveled form.
"So," Luca drawled, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "Rough night?"
Matteo shot him a glare, running a hand over his face. "Not now, Luca."
Luca smirked but didn’t press. He leaned back, studying Matteo carefully. "She’s getting under your skin."
Matteo didn’t respond. He didn’t have to. The truth was written in the way his jaw clenched, the way his fingers twitched at his sides as if resisting the urge to reach for her again.
Luca exhaled, setting his drink down. "You can fight it all you want, but we both know how this ends."
Matteo met his gaze, his expression unreadable. "Do we?"
Luca smirked, standing. He poured a fresh glass of whiskey and placed it on the desk in front of Matteo with a knowing look. "Yeah. And so does she."
Matteo clenched his jaw as Luca left, leaving him alone with the weight of the truth he didn’t want to face.
Because despite everything, despite the lies, the betrayals, the war raging between them—he knew he wasn’t letting Isla go.
And that terrified him more than anything.
The glass in his hand shattered under his grip, shards embedding into his palm. He barely registered the pain. Instead, his mind was consumed with the memory of her—the fire in her eyes, the way she had defied him, challenged him, and yet, melted under his touch.
He cursed under his breath and grabbed a cloth, pressing it against the bleeding wounds. His body ached, but not from the glass. No, this was a different kind of ache—one that had been festering since the moment she walked into his life.
He had spent years mastering control, ensuring no one could ever wield power over him. And yet, here he was, unraveling because of her.
Luca stood by the window, watching Matteo's response with quiet scrutiny. He arched a brow at the blood on Matteo’s hand. "You keep breaking things, you’re going to run out of whiskey glasses."
Matteo didn’t look up. "What exactly did you need this morning?"
Luca hesitated, something rare flickering across his face. "She’s not like the others. She fights. You respect that. Hell, maybe you even love that."
Matteo stilled. Love. The word was foreign to him, meaningless. Love was weakness. Love was a chain. Love was the weapon his enemies would use to destroy him.
"She’s a complication," Matteo muttered, his voice colder than he felt. "One I should have never entertained."
Luca chuckled. "Then why haven’t you let her go?"
Matteo didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Because the truth was something he wasn’t ready to admit.
Luca sighed and clapped him on the shoulder. "Figure it out before she does. Because if she realizes what she means to you before you do, she’ll be the one walking away. And we both know you won’t survive that."
Matteo clenched his jaw, staring at the shattered glass on the floor.
Because Luca was right.
And for the first time in his life, Matteo didn’t know how to fight the war raging inside him.