Page 88 of My Italian Love Affair

He’s got me pinned.

“What’s the rush?” he asks. “You know, I’m really starting to think you and I -”

Before he can finish his sentence, the sound of footsteps echo in the hallway. I turn my head instinctively towards the interruption, my heart skipping a beat -

Because it’shim.

Of course it’s him.

Matteo appears in the hallway, striding towards us like he owns the place. His sharp, dark eyes flicker between Mark and I before narrowing.

“What’s going on here?”

His voice slices through the tense silence like a blade, his words carrying an immediate weight as his presence fills the space, making him impossible to ignore.

Mark’s jaw clenches so hard, I’m surprised he doesn’t crack his teeth.

He glares at Matteo, his eyes cold and calculating.

“None of your business,Rossi,” he spits.

The venom in his tone is unmistakable, but Matteo doesn’t so much as flinch. In fact, he steps even closer, minimising the distance between them.

He’s unphased, his expression a mask of cool indifference as he stands tall, looming over Mark in a way that feels more like a challenge than an exchange of words.

“I’d say it’s definitely my business if you’re bothering one of my favourite journalists,” he retorts.

His words are smooth and deliberate, his strong, dominant gaze never leaving Mark’s, and the air around us thickens with unspoken animosity.

Mark’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t retreat.

“I mean it, Rossi. Stay out of this,” he warns, his tone becoming more menacing. “It’s not your concern.”

“Back off,Chapman,” Matteo says.

His voice is firm, carrying an edge that makes it clear he’s not playing around.

“I don’t care what you think this is, but I’m not going to letyou intimidate her.”

Mark sneers.

“You think you can just come in here and make demands aboutmyassistant journalist?” he huffs. “You’re a player, not her fuckingbabysitter.”

Matteo doesn’t budge. His jaw tightens, his expression unyielding.

“You’re notlistening, are you?” he says, his voice low but charged with a quiet intensity.

Mark opens his mouth to retort, but Matteo continues before he can get a word out, his voice suddenly lower.

“I have to wonder... how do you think Giovanna Falcone will feel when she finds out about yourprofessional relationshipwith a junior colleague? A woman nearly twenty years younger than you?”

Matteo’s voice is deceptively calm, but the undertone is unmistakable.

The words hang in the air between the men, sharp and pointed.

A threat that’s only thinly disguised.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as my pulse races at an alarming rate, and I watch as Mark’s eyes flicker with the first sign of uncertainty.

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