Page 29 of Matteo

"Fuck," I exhale, resting my head against the porcelain, letting the water steal the tension just for a moment longer.

The room'schill slaps me awake, a rude contrast to the bathwater's embrace. Blinking against the harsh light, I see Matteo hovering over me, his inked arms reaching down. He's got that look in his eye, part concern, part something darker, more possessive.

"Come on, Princess, you've turned into a prune. Let's get you dressed and reheat this pasta," he growls, his hands firm under my arms as he lifts me from the water.

"Shit, sorry," I slur, consciousness still tangled in sleep's heavy curtains. My mind's a scrambled mess, and my limbs feel like they're made of fucking lead.

"Nothing to be sorry for," Matteo says, setting me down with a smirk playing on his lips. He's amused, the bastard. "Can you stand enough for me to get your clothes on?"

I swat at him, annoyed, not needing his goddamn help. "I can get dressed myself; I'm not that old yet."

"Could've fooled me," he chuckles, backing off. "We could hear your snoring from downstairs."

"Fuck off, I don’t snore," I snap, but my voice lacks heat. I know it's true; I just never thought I'd let my guard down enough around him.

"Bullshit," he fires back, grinning now. "Niko heard it, and I quote and say, 'That would be Mum asleep in the bath again,' so clearly, this is a regular thing for you. He even offered to come up and help get you out."

"Shit, cat's outta the bag," I mutter, feeling the flush creep up my neck. Niko and his innocent observations. And Matteo? He loves this, seeing me as less than perfect.

"Big time," he agrees, that familiar dangerous glint in his eyes. "Now come on, Angel's just heating up your pasta for you."

I grab a towel and wrap it around myself, refusing to look at Matteo as he leans against the doorframe, watching me with a predator's patience. Everything about him screams power.

Dragging my feet, I follow him out, already missing the seclusion of the bath, the brief respite from this life I'm trapped in. But the hunger gnawing at my belly won't let me linger, and neither will Matteo's presence, pulling me back into the chaos I’ve woken up to.

Chapter Fifteen

Matteo Ricci

Watching Eleanor snore in that oversized bath, it's almost comical. The dame is damn close to divine, all elegance and sharp edges, but here she is—mouth agape, drool glistening on her chin like she's some angel knocked off a pedestal. It's fucking adorable.

The evening trudges on, exhaustion has painted dark circles under her eyes. She's fighting jet-lag, forcing herself through motions and mouthfuls of pasta. Niko's yawning too, practically asleep on his feet, and Eleanor's got that determined tilt to her jaw as she marches him off to bed.

"Bedtime, bubs," she says, nudging him gently towards his room.

She doesn’t linger in the kid’s room. There’s a storm brewing behind those tired eyes as she shuffles past me and the lads, grunting a weary goodnight. Fuck, even with that scowl, she's something else.

I'm about to follow her when Spike sidles up, loweringhis voice. "Now that we got her back here, Boss, what are we going to do about Enzo?"

Shit. Enzo. That snake's been wriggling through my thoughts since he dropped the dime on Eleanor's location. How'd he find her? Why now? Angel's tech is top-notch; his software should've caught her ages ago.

"I don't know, Mate," I confess, raking a hand through my hair. "He's gonna want something for the info he supplied. I can bloody feel it." I scowl, thinking about how that bastard outmaneuvered us all. "And I wanna know how he found her in the first place when Angel was unable to. Even with his facial recognition software."

Spike's nodding along, eyes narrow, calculating.

I'm pacing the dimly lit room like a caged animal, every muscle tense, my mind racing faster than my footsteps on the cold floor. The shadows cling to the walls like specters, whispering secrets and deceit.

"Considering how often she was photographed with Patrick you would think the software would have picked her up," Angel huffs, frustration lacing his tone.

"Something's off." I snarl, turning to face him. "Our tech doesn't just glitch out, especially not in the fucking UK."

Spike leans against the doorway, arms crossed, his eyes sharp as knives. "I feel like Enzo might know the answer to that one," he says, and it chills me to the bone because he’s probably fucking right.

"Enzo's been playing us." The words taste like poison on my tongue. "What if he knew where she was this whole time?" My voice is a low growl, dangerous, and filled with a predator’sintent.

Spike nods, his expression darkening. "Waiting for the perfect time to dangle the info when he needed something."

"Exactly what we don't need," I huff, slamming my fist against the wall, feeling the plaster crack beneath the impact. Not now, not when I've finally got her back.

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