Page 17 of Matteo

I flick my gaze away from Angel's knowing eyes and back to Eleanor. She's a picture of defiance even in sleep, curled protectively around Niko. Her silk pyjama top sleeve has crept up, revealing ink-stained skin—my design etched into her flesh. It's a silent claim that runs deeper than words, branding her as mine in a way that can't be erased.

The first tattoo I gave Eleanor was like sealing my vow to her. Watching the needle dance over her skin, the way she bit her lip to keep from moaning—it was more intimate than any fuck I've ever had. Each line, each curve I drew, was a testament to the hold she unknowingly had on me.

I lean against the plush leather of the private jet's seat, my thoughts clawing back to the day our paths first crossed.She was sitting in the shop, all fire and spirit, the late afternoon sun catching those wild eyes. Fuck, those eyes. Like molten gold, they seared through me, and I knew—I was utterly fucked.

She was a force, a goddamn siren luring me into uncharted waters. And I dove headfirst, with no life jacket or second thoughts. It was her or nothing; it's always been her.

Eleanor's chest rises and falls steadily, hypnotic underthe soft cabin lights. There's an ache in my gut—a raw, gnawing hunger that has nothing to do with food. She's so close yet miles away in her dreams, and it burns me that I can't reach into her mind and see myself there.

"Mine," I mutter under my breath, the word a prayer and a curse. I'll drag her back into my world, kicking and screaming if I have to. She's the queen of my fucked-up kingdom, whether she wears the crown willingly or not.

"Mine," I say again, a growl this time. Because in this life, you take what you want, claim it, brand it, or lose it. And Matteo Ricci doesn't lose. Not ever. Not when it comes to Eleanor Wang.

I snatch the crumpled form from the clutter of the shop counter, the ink barely dry. Eleanor's handwriting is a scrawl of defiance, each letter a piece of her I'm claiming. The address on Bridge Rd is etched in my brain, burning hot and urgent. I have no plan, no second thoughts, just the primal need to have her.

The city swallows me whole as I drive through the concrete jungle of Sydney, but her apartment block stands out like a sore thumb—a relic, old and vulnerable. One fucking door between her and the rest of the world. Not safe, not nearly enough for what she's worth.

Apartment 5. My boots thump up the stairs, echoing the thunder of my heart. 'Wicket'—the nameplate's got some cheek, considering it's Wang I came for. It's a shitty shield, a laughable attempt to hide from the world.

My knuckles rap against the wood, a sharp, commanding sound. Gotta keep it together; don't let the nerves show. Dad always said, "Matteo, don't you puke your guts out when there'swork to be done." Ten bodies deep before my stomach got the memo.

The door swings open, and fuck me, there she is. A vision of sass and spirit, with those eyes that fucking haunt me. "Fuck," slips out, crude and raw.

"Matteo?" Her voice does things to me, things that claw at my insides with desperate fingers.

"Hello, Princess," I can't help the smirk that curls my lips; it's all part of the game.

"Umm, what are you doing at my front door?" She's a mix of confusion and fear, a cocktail I'm too eager to drink.

"Came to claim what is mine." The words are a growl, a promise of things to come. She's mine, and it has been since I laid eyes on those amber flames dancing in her gaze.

"Um, ok, I’m a little confused. We only met three hours ago in a tattoo shop. That doesn’t make me yours," she tries to close the door, but hell no, not on my watch.

My foot wedges firm and unyielding against the door. "It's okay, Princess—you’re not mine yet, but you will be." And I mean every goddamn word.

"Okay, you're starting to freak me out now. I would appreciate it if you left before I call the police," she hisses, her delicate hands shoving at my boot. It's a futile gesture; she knows it, I know it.

"Princess, you can try, but they don't usually come running for a Ricci." The words drip like acid from my tongue, and I watch the blood drain from her face as realization hits her like a sucker punch. She knows the reach of my name—feared, respected... or whatever the fuck people feel when they hear it.

"Shit," she breathes out, eyes wide and fixed on mine, a deer caught in the headlights of my unyielding gaze.

"Are you going to let me in, Princess?" There's no question in my voice—only expectation. She falters, then parts the door wider, giving me an entry I'd take with or without her blessing.

She turns, showing me her back—a canvas of smooth skin I intend to mark as mine. "In the future, Eleanor, don't show anyone your back; you don't know what they will do," I warn, darkness lacing my words as the door thuds shut behind us, sealing her fate with mine.

In that dim hallway, I surrendered my heart to her. She stood, all defiance and beauty wrapped in a package made just for me. Fucking perfect. Submissive yet strong enough to keep me on my toes. Mine. All fucking mine.

Possession is second nature to me, handed down with the billion-dollar empire I was born into. Toys were never shared, and neither were women. But Eleanor, she wasn't just another trinket—I'd be damned if I'd ever let another man touch her.

Monogamy, a word alien to a twenty-year-old bloke in Sydney with more money than sense, now clings to me like a second skin. Eleanor was the only one who felt my touch, tasted my kisses, and bore my ink for two years. And ten years later? I haven't sunk into any other cunt—haven't wanted to. But has she kept herself just for me?

The thought sends a spiral of rage and jealousy through me, clawing up my throat. I need to know. Now.

I lean forward, my fingers tapping against the softness of her leg, jolting her awake. My voice is a low command, brooking no argument, "Come with me. NOW."

Her eyes snap open, alert and fiery, meeting mine. There's a storm brewing there, and fuck, do I want to dive into its eye. She knows better than to argue—when I say jump, she'll ask how high. This won't be any different. Not now, not ever.

Chapter Nine

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