Page 32 of Matteo

He’s peeling off his clothes, piece by piece, revealing the ink-stained canvas of his skin. Each tattoo tells a story, and each scar is a battle won. But he's not just undressing; he's stripping away the day’s armor, showing me the man beneath the mafia kingpin who still comes home to me.

And here I am, powerless against the pull of sleep, a queen brought low by the curse of early slumber, fighting to reclaim her throne one conversation at a time. Tonight, I'll make sure my voice is heard.

Matteo's chuckle rumbles through the dimly lit room, a low sound that makes the shadows dance. "Princess, you were never a night owl," he says, his voice threaded withamusement as he recalls my younger days. "You used to fall asleep in the taxi on the way home from the club when you were nineteen. So I’m not surprised that you’re a nanna now."

"Fuck off! I’m not a nanna. I like my sleep," I snap back, the words rough and jagged as they leave my lips. My hand finds his chest—a barrier—and I push him slightly, a weak attempt to keep the space between us clear of distractions. Matteo climbs into bed next to me, the mattress dipping with the weight of this man who is both my sanctuary and my storm.

"What did you wanna talk about?" he asks, his tone casual, but there's a hungry edge to it as his hand begins its familiar path up my leg, inching towards my center. There's a promise in that touch that could so easily pull me under.

"Enough of that," I command, sitting up abruptly, drawing my legs up to my chest like a shield. My heart thumps against my ribcage, trying to outrun the heat of his proximity. "I want to talk about a few things."

"O.K." He spells out each syllable as if testing my resolve, breaking the word into separate notes of challenge. His fingers are still, but the air between us is thick with unspoken desires and lethal secrets. He sits up, reaches over, and flicks on the bedside table lamp, bathing us in a soft glow that does nothing to soften the hard lines of his face or the dangerous glint in his eyes.

With light framing his dark form and illuminating our nocturnal cocoon, we're poised on the edge of revelations that might shatter the fragile peace we've carved out in this twisted world. In his gaze, I see the reflectionof every sin we've committed, every line we've crossed together. And yet, I'm about to draw a new line that could bind or sever us tighter.

My pulse hammers, the truth a grenade in my hand, pin pulled, waiting to see if Matteo will be the one to blow. "Ok," I rasp out, voice barely above a whisper. I have two things I need to address."

He tilts his head, those shark eyes assessing me. "Well, now, don't you sound all professional; all the PA work must have rubbed off on you."

"Fuck off, cunt." The words tumble out, as natural as breathing, and his lips twitch with the ghost of a smirk.

"Argh, there she is, my little gutter mouth; I wondered where it went."

"Seriously, Matteo, you're the only person I know who doesn’t seem to mind my house voice," I shake my head, trying to derail the dread twisting in my gut.

"Okay, enough of that." I hold up a hand, needing to stem the tide of his taunting. "First, I need you to get fake paperwork for Niko’s schooling in the UK so I can get him a teacher."

His reply comes quickly, with no hesitation. "I have Angel already working on it."

"Thank you." I nod, the slightest wave of relief cresting before it crashes into the shore of the next confession. I glance down at my hands, knotted together like they could strangle the fear in my throat.

"And I want to tell you why I left," I start, the words scraping against my vocal cords. "I know you said you would look after us, keep us safe, and we have been fine since we've been back, but I know once I step one foot out of that gate, it’s a whole different ballgame."

I suck in a breath that feels like glass shards in my lungs. "I cannot stay locked up here forever; I know that, and you know that. So, you need to know the threat before I do."

Matteo's hand, calloused and commanding, slides under my chin, lifting my face to meet his stare. "Princess, no matter what it is, I’ll deal with it, okay."

"Okay," I whisper, leaning into him, my lips pressing against his in a kiss that isn't sweet or soft—it's steel borrowed from his spine, just enough to keep me upright.

The room's chill seeps into my bones, but it's nothing compared to the ice flooding my veins as I begin. "You know the war you were in the middle of when I left?" Matteo nods, his eyes shadowed with memories best left buried. "Yes."

"One of the four seats murdered my parents." The words tumble out, raw and jagged. "The day before I ran away, I got a letter slipped under my door with photos of their bodies; the four seats symbol stamped on the back."

Matteo goes rigid beside me, every muscle tensing as if ready for battle. His fury is almost tangible, a dark energy that fills the space between us. "There was a note attached that said I was next if I didn’t disappear."

His voice explodes in the silence. "Why didn't ya tell me? I could’ve kept you safe!" He's up now, pacing like a caged animal, his hands clenched into fists.

"There is more," I force out, my heart pounding against my chest, threatening to break through skin and bone. My resolve wavers, but this secret has festered too long. "I ignored the photos and just threw them in the bin. They haddied over six months before, so I thought it was just someone messing with me; plus, this wasn’t the first time I’d gotten threats sent to me." My throat tightens around the confession, "The truth was I got a lot."

Matteo halts, his eyes drilling into mine, searching for lies I don't have. "They started the second I met you. Notes left in my car or slipped into my mailbox." I swallow the lump forming in my throat. "At first, I thought it was just a jealous ex or someone you fucked once." A bitter laugh escapes me, devoid of humor. "I just threw them away every time I got one; I didn't even read half of them anymore."

"Princess, I don’t understand why you didn't tell me." His voice is a low growl, and frustration is etched deep into the frown marring his handsome face.

"Because you were in the middle of a war," I whisper, reaching out to trace the hard line of his jaw, feeling the thrum of his pulse beneath my fingertips. "I didn’t want to add to your burden. And I just thought... it was part of being with you." I shrug, trying to seem nonchalant, though my insides are shaking. "I never took them seriously until that day."

"Fuck, Matteo, this is hard to say," the words catch, and a single tear betrays me, streaking down my cheek. His hand is there instantly, wiping it away with unexpected gentleness. His touch lifts my chin, forcing me to meet the storm in his eyes.

"Princess, it’s okay," he murmurs, a slight grin fighting its way onto his lips despite the darkness swirling around us. His eyes burn with unwavering determination as he slides back onto the bed beside me. "I'm not going anywhere.Nothing on this planet you could do or say to make me leave you."

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