Page 28 of Matteo

"Okay, Princess," he concedes, pressing a kiss onto my hair, a softness in his touch that belies the iron in his tone. "But next time I ask, you will answer me."

"Next time," I agree, letting myself melt into him for a moment longer. But there's a part of me itching for escape, the need for freedom gnawing at my bones. With Matteo, it's always about control, but today, I'll let him think he has it.

My stomach'stwisting into knots, the kind that only hunger—or dread—can weave. Niko's voice cuts through the thick tension like a knife. "Mum, I'm starving."

"Again?" I arch an eyebrow, but a smile tugs at my lips despite the sinking feeling in my gut. Kids and their damn bottomless pits for bellies.

Angel's already on us like a hawk, circling his prey. "What are we thinking for dinner?" His eyes flicker to me, expectant.

"Carbs," I grunt, stifling a yawn. "Pasta, noodles, whatever." My mind drifts to a place with red-checkered tableclothsand the scent of garlic in the air. "Is Fratellis still kickin'? After the 'rona shitstorm, who knows what's left standing."

Matteo's laughter rumbles through the room before he even steps in. The sound sends shivers down my spine. "Fratellis? Baby, we own that joint. Been cleaning our dirty cash there for years. It's as alive as ever." He flashes that wolfish grin, all teeth, and no remorse.

My eyebrows shoot up—the audacity. "Since when do we chat so openly about the family biz?"

"Princess," Matteo's smirk could cut glass. You're not going anywhere. You're mine, remember?" He looms closer, his presence all-consuming. And now you're my PA. You learned the ropes, including how to launder our money."

"Fuck, Matteo." My gaze darts to Niko, hoping he's too young, too innocent to grasp the gravity of those words. "Keep him outta this."

"Relax." Matteo's voice is silky and steely. He'll work with Angel. Be our tech wiz, not my successor." We stride out, leaving the conversation—and my unease—behind us.

"Longest fucking day of my life," I mutter, dragging my hands down my face as if I could wipe away the weariness and the weight of this new world I'm trapped in. Power and control are all a game to Matteo, one he plays with a master's hand. But even masters can lose, and I've got a few cards up my sleeve he hasn't seen yet.

I announce my dinner choice to the void of the living room, my voice echoing off the high ceilings. "Prawn linguine." My words hang in the air as I trudge upstairs, each step declaring exhaustion. Matteo's bedroom awaits, a sanctuary with strings attached.

Opening the bathroom door, it hits me—the need to wash away the grime of the day, the filth of the life I'm shackled to. Cupboards fly open under my frantic search, and then, jackpot. Epsom salts and body wash—manly scents that promise to scrub clean more than just skin. I chuckle—a dark, humorless sound. "That'll do."

The tub groans as I twist the tap, water gushing like a waterfall. Time ticks by, a slow drip of moments waiting to be drowned. I slip into his wardrobe, a sea of organized chaos, where grey sweats line the shelves—uniforms for the hot and damned. Snatching a pair, I can't help but wonder about his obsession with tens. It's a compulsion, a need for control so deeply ingrained.

I reach for an oversized tee, another set of ten. Fucking typical. And there he is—Matteo, looming in the doorway, arms barred like the gates of hell. His smile is a razor's edge, slicing through the tension.

"Shit, Fuck Matteo," I yelp, hands flying to my skirt as a trickle of betrayal dampens my thighs. "Don't sneak up on me! My bladder is shot after having Niko.”

"Sorry, Princess," he drawls, not sorry at all. "Just admiring your pillaging skills."

"Fuck off," I snap back, but my heartbeat betrays a different kind of flutter. I storm past him, leaving the scent of borrowed masculinity on my skin.

The bath is nearly spilling over in the safety of steam and tile. A good tap, or maybe just another way for Matteo to show how everything he owns works better than you had before. I shed the layers of the day, stepping naked into the near-scalding embrace of the water. Red blooms across myskin, a map of heat that soothes achy muscles and inflamed thoughts.

Heavier's footsteps this time were a deliberate intrusion. "Did you stomp so that I'd hear you?" I don't turn, eyes closed, as I let the water seep into every pore.

The glass hits my hand with a clink that echoes off the tile—Matteo's offering, liquid gold swirling in crystal. "Yes, Princess, I didn't want to scare you and have you leaking again," he says, the low rumble of his chuckle stirring the steam around us.

"Thank fuck for whiskey," I mutter, wrapping my fingers tight around the calm surface. The burn as it slides down my throat is a welcome flare of warmth against the bath's heat. "Dinner soon?"

"Ten minutes out," he replies, leaning against the doorframe, all casual arrogance and tailored suit. "Need it upstairs?"

I shake my head, droplets of water flinging from my hair. "Nah, I'll come down. But Niko—" I pause, catching the shift in Matteo's expression, something like concern creasing his brow. "Can you make sure he showers and gets into his PJs?"

"Me?" His voice is a mix of surprise and something else, something softer. "You're trusting me with that?"

"Shocked?" I smirk up at him through the haze. "I figure you can handle a kid's bedtime routine."

"Thank you," he whispers, bending to press his lips to my damp forehead. The kiss is a brand of ownership that still sends shivers down my spine.

"Trust doesn't mean shit in our world, Matteo," I say as he retreats, but inside, I'm wondering if maybe, just maybe,it could. Could I let this dangerous man inch closer to my son, step by cautious step?

"Ten minutes," he calls back before disappearing, leaving me alone with the weight of decisions I never wanted to make.

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