Page 59 of Mafia King of Lies

And I want him to lose.

I tilt my chin up, just slightly, daring him to close the distance. “You want me, Matteo.” I don’t whisper it. I state it. Like a fact. Like the undeniable truth we both know. “So stop pretending you don’t.”

His exhale is sharp, his nostrils flaring as his control wavers for a split second. His fingers twitch—like he might grab me, might give in—but then he moves away.

His eyes are like steel now, his walls snapping back into place, forcing himself into that cold, emotionless mask I hate.

“Too bad,” he mutters, “I’m not that easy.”

The wave of disappointment nearly rocks me.

“Go to bed, Maria.” His voice is hoarse, rough, but there’s no mistaking the finality in it. “Before I forget myself.”

Matteo’s jaw tightens, his fists clenching like he’s holding onto something just out of reach. His eyes—those dark, reckless eyes—burn into mine, but he keeps himself locked behind the bars he’s spent years building.

And then, like a blade sliding between my ribs, his voice cuts through the silence.

“One woman already claimed my heart. There’s nothing left for you.”

18

MATTEO

“You want me, Matteo. So stop pretending you don’t.”

For a heartbeat, I say nothing. I just stand there, jaw tight, breathing hard like she’s physically shoved me against a wall.

Because—fuck. She’s right.

She’s always been right, and that’s the problem.

My fists clench at my sides because if I don’t hold on to something, I’m going to grab her—fist my hands in her hair, drag her close, and kiss her until neither of us can speak. But I won’t. I fucking can’t.

Because wanting her is dangerous. Wanting her makes me weak. And if I give her that much power, if I let her see just how badly I still crave her—she could destroy me.

But God help me, she’s standing there in those fucking clothes, all fury and heartbreak and heat, and I want her more than my next breath.

And yet, none of it matters.

I force the words out, voice low, cold, deliberate. A sentence meant to cut her throat with a whisper. A dagger aimed at her heart.

“One woman already claimed my heart. There’s nothing left for you.”

The silence that follows is deafening. It’s not shock—not really. Maria has known this truth for longer than she cares to admit. It’s the reason she tries so damn hard, the reason she puts on dresses I might like, cooks meals I never asked for, touches me like she still has the right.

She knew. Of course she knew. But hearing it from my mouth—as a weapon—still slams into her like a fist to the ribs.

She stiffens, her throat working as if swallowing down a sob. Her nails bite into her palms, a desperate attempt to hold herself together when everything inside her is coming undone.

But inside? Inside, something cracks wide open.

Because no matter how hard she tries, no matter what she wears, what she says, how much of herself she’s willing to offer—she knows she will never be her.

And I? I will never let her forget that.

But it’s not just that.

If she knew the truth—what I’ve done, what my hands are stained with—she wouldn’t just hate me. She’d run.

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