Page 89 of My Italian Love Affair

His face turns a dull, angry red as he stumbles back slightly, caught off guard by the insinuation.

He’s not used to being challenged like this.

Especially not in front of anyone.

“You wouldn’t dare -”

“Oh, I would,” Matteo interrupts.

His voice filled with an icy finality, the chill in it unmistakable.

“This ismybusiness now. And if you don’t back off, I’ll make sure it’severyone’sbusiness.”

His gaze doesn’t leave Mark’s, unflinching and resolute, and for a moment, there’s a stillness in the air.

The two men are at an obvious standoff, neither of them so much as glancing in my direction. It’s like I’ve disappeared completely.

But then I spot the exact moment that the weight of Matteo’s words finally lands with a punch.

Mark’s fists clench by his sides, and it’s obvious that he’s absolutely seething, but he also knows he’s beaten. He shoots me a look - one that’s a combination of disdain and barely-contained fury - before muttering something unintelligible under his breath.

His steps are quick and unsteady as he hurries down the hall, eager to escape the situation he’s found himself in.

The silence that follows feels oppressive.

The sound of Mark’s footsteps echo as he retreats, but Matteo’s presence fills the hallway, and it’s impossible to ignore the energy shift between us.

He doesn’t move. Instead, his eyes remain fixed on the space where Mark had been.

It’s like he’s daring anyone to challenge him again. Daring an invisible person to take another step forward.

I stand there, frozen on the spot, and I can’t help but feel an odd combination of relief and fury.

Relief because I’m not trapped in that awkward momentanymore, but anger because I didn’t need or ask for anyone’s help.

Especially notMatteo’s.

The frustration bubbles up from somewhere deep inside me, and before I can stop myself, I turn toward him, my voice tight with irritation.

“I didn’t need you to do that,” I snap, my voice sharper than I intended. “I was handling it just fine on my own.”

Matteo’s eyebrow arches slowly, his gaze darkening, but he doesn’t step back. Instead, he steps closer, leaving his tall, broad body mere inches from mine.

His grin is mocking, but there’s something more in his eyes.

Something challenging.

Somethingdangerous.

"Right. Yes. You looked like you were handling itgreat," he says, his thick accent adding a layer of sarcasm and judgement that makes my blood simmer. "I'm sure Mark was just about to change and besorespectful."

I feel my chest tighten with indignation.

“Don’t patronise me, Rossi,” I grit out, forcing my voice to stay steady despite the fact that every inch of my body is practically vibrating with the urge to yell at him.

“I’m not being patronising,” he replies easily. “I was just making sure you didn’t end up in a worse situation. And for the record - most people saythank youwhen someone saves them.”

I scoff at the actualnerveof him. It honest-to-god makes me want to punch him in the arm.

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