Page 15 of Matteo

Matteo's reaction is immediate, his face contorting—not with anger, but a flash of something akin to regret. "Sorry, Son, I won’t do it again," he replies, the frown etching deeper lines into his already-weathered face.

"Right, you both need to pack a bag; we’re flying back to Sydney tonight," he declares, almost nonchalantly, as if dictating terms to underlings rather than uprooting lives.

"No." The word slips from my lips before I can stop it. It's not just defiance; it's the roar of a lioness protectingher cub.

"What?" Matteo's eyes narrow, the cold glint of a predator reflecting in them.

"I said no." I stand, facing him fully, every muscle tensed for the fight. His presence looms over me, oppressive and unyielding, but I'll be damned if I bow down without a fight.

I straighten up, steel in my spine, resolve to harden like ice. "I won’t just pack a bag and leave right now. I have responsibilities and a life here." My voice is a whip-crack in the tense air. "You’re welcome to return to Sydney; you don’t need us to come."

The silence stretches thin, ready to snap. "Do you honestly think you have a choice here, Eleanor?" Matteo's voice is a smooth and cold blade sliding out of its sheath.

"Yes, yes, I do have a choice. I'm a person with choices." I draw myself up to my full height, feeling every inch the warrior queen facing down her conqueror. "I chose to leave you ten years ago, and now I'm choosing to stay here without you."

His face shifts, the storm clouds of his emotions clearing into a blank, terrifying calm. "Go pack a bag now, Eleanor, before I throw you over my shoulder and walk you out of here." The threat slices through the air, chilling me to the bone.

"Fuck you," I spit at him, venom and defiance my only armor.

"You haven’t changed," he murmurs, his footsteps a predator's prowl. The distance between us evaporates with every step he takes toward me.

Each footfall is a drumbeat in the symphony of ourtwisted past—a rhythm echoing the chaos we're about to drag ourselves back into.

"Keep it up, Eleanor, and I’ll spank that ass of yours back into submission." His threat drips with a dark promise, one I know he's not bluffing about.

"Fuck." The word is a bullet, shot through the tension.

"Mum, just do what he says," comes the soft plea from Niko, tugging at my top with small, insistent fingers. My heart clenches tight, caught in a vice of maternal instinct and raging fury.

I whirl around, yanking him close, my arms a steel band of protection. "I'm sorry," I breathe out, a whisper meant only for his ears. My vision blurs, the room's edges melting away until it's just me and him—the eye of the storm.

"It's okay, Mum; you said this would happen one day," Niko murmurs, his voice a thread of innocence in this den of vipers.

"I did." The confession scrapes against my ribs. "I just didn’t think it would be today." The words are muffled as I bury my face in his hair, breathing in the scent of home, of safety—a lie now shattered.

Turning to face Matteo, I stand tall, summoning every ounce of defiance left in my marrow. "I cannot just go back. I got here illegally, and Niko has no records whatsoever." The words are a gambit thrown at his feet, a desperate play in our high-stakes game.

But even as I speak, I can feel the ground shifting beneath us, the inexorable pull of Matteo's gravity dragging us back into his orbit—a world where choices are illusions, and freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose.

"All good, Eleanor; I’ve already arranged for documents for you," he states flatly, pulling me back to the present moment. "I'll just simply add Niko to them." He doesn’t wait for an answer before closing the distance between us.

"Smile," he commands, and the flash from his phone blinds us for a fraction of a second. There's no warmth in the gesture—just cold, hard necessity. We’re screwed. I look back at Matteo, needing to see that familiar fire in his eyes, that telltale sign of his madness.

But he isn’t there. Where the hell did he go?

My heart hammers against my ribs, each beat echoing the sense of dread creeping up my spine. The air feels charged and electric, and I know better than to think he's backed down. Matteo Ricci doesn't retreat—he lurks, waits, and strikes when you least expect it.

The sound of wheels rolling against hardwood floors cuts through the tension. Matteo appears in the doorway with the suitcase in tow. His face is a mask of indifference, but his eyes are alive with the dark thrill of control. A cold sweat breaks out on my neck.

Well, that's shit.

"Fuck," I mutter, my words heavy with a defeat I refuse to accept fully. Inside, I'm seething, but I've got to keep it together for Niko. I'll have to call my boss from the road and tell him I won't be coming in tomorrow—or ever, if Matteo has his way.

My mind races, searching for an angle, any angle, to play this. But deep down, I know Matteo Ricci always plays to win, and right now, he's holding all the cards.

Chapter Eight

Matteo Ricci

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