Page 35 of Matteo

"Right, well, okay then." I shift my gaze to the floor, suddenly yearning for normalcy in this madhouse. "Did someone make me a coffee while I was gone? I think today is a coffee day!"

"Nope, we’ll grab one on the way," Matteo announces, already plotting the route. "And some food, you’re too skinny." His concern is genuine, but it grates like gravel in my gut.

"Mum doesn't eat breakfast, Pa. If you feed her before you give her coffee, you might as well sign your death certificate," Niko mutters, his words an echo of my thoughts.

"Pa? What's this 'Pa' business?" Matteo frowns, the word souring in his mouth.

"You're making me feel like an old man."

Niko shrugs, attention still half on his screens. "You are old, but I’m playing around with names till one feels right."

"Well, 'Pa' doesn’t feel right; try another!" Matteo laughs, but there's a flicker of something else there—pride or maybe fear—at the thought of time slipping by, even for a man who deals in death.

Every exchange, a power play, every word loaded. And me? I'm caught in the crossfire, wearing a ring that's as much a shackle as a symbol of love. Welcome to the family, Eleanor. Welcome to the fucking mafia.

"Come on, Princess, let's go," Matteo beckons with a flourish of his arm, the heavy gold watch on his wrist glinting ominously in the dim light.

"Okay, okay, let's go," I grumbled, pushing past the weight of luxury that clings to the air. I go to Niko, who's lost in a sea of screens. I plant a kiss on top of his head, leaving a lipstick mark like a brand. "Love you, Niko, give Angel hell for me."

"Wash your hair today, too; it smells," I wrinkle my nose at him, playful but serious.

"I washed it yesterday," he shoots back, voice flat.

"Then rewash it. You did it wrong," I retort without missing a beat, sauntering towards Matteo, who holds the front door open like the gatekeeper to our twisted kingdom.

"Drive-through or cafe coffee?" Matteo's question cuts through the morning haze. He looks every bit the mafia kingpin—dark suit, darker eyes, and an aura of danger that wraps around him like a second skin.

"Starbucks. They've got Pumpkin Spice Lattes now, and they're bloody addictive," I reply, feeling the pull of that sweet caffeine already.

"Ask, and you shall receive," he quips, and I can't help but smirk at the eagerness in his tone. He opens the car door for me, and the gesture ignites a familiar heat within me.

"Keep this shit up, and I'll end up sucking your dick to say thank you," I whisper, half-threat, half-promise. His laugh is a low rumble as I slide into the leather seat, legs crossed, ready to conquer the world—or at least endure another day.

Matteo rounds the car with a predator's grace, slippingbehind the wheel. Then Spike appears out of nowhere, sliding into the backseat with the silence of a ghost. Where the fuck does that ninja come from?

"Spike?" I call out, twisting to face him. "Wanna teach me how to be stealthy like you?"

"Nope," he replies, voice dripping sarcasm, the 'p' popping sharply.

"Why not?" I frown, feigning offence.

"Matteo was the one who taught me. So, he can teach you," Spike says, nodding at the man in question.

"Wait, what? Really?" I twist in my seat, giving Matteo a skeptical glance. The idea that he's the maestro of stealth is laughable. "I feel like Spike is much stealthier than you, but..." I trail off, catching the glint of amusement in Matteo's dark eyes.

He chuckles, a deep sound that vibrates through the car. "Well, thanks, Princess. Is this your way of saying I need to update my skills?" His laughter softens the edges of the threat he always seems to carry with him.

"You asked me to stop being so quiet, but now I'm not stealthy enough 'cause you can hear me?" He raises an eyebrow, and I almost regret poking fun at his pride. "When I'm purposely making noise, so you know I'm coming?"

My lips curl into a pout. "Well, when you put it that way..."

"Will you teach me?" I ask, my words laced with a mix of genuine curiosity and the desire to appease his ego.

"Princess, as I said before," Matteo grins, a wicked spark lighting up his gaze, "ask, and you shall receive." He extends the promise like a king granting favors, and damn if itdoesn't make me feel like taking advantage of every royal decree.

"Thank you," I say, smiling back, though the thought of learning anything from Matteo carries a thrill laced with danger. The man is a walking contradiction—charming yet lethal, civilized yet savage.

Fifty minutes later, we're pulling into the underground parking of a skyscraper that scrapes the dreary Sydney skyline. My hand wraps around the super-sized pumpkin spiced latte, the sweet spice in stark contrast to the grit and steel of our surroundings. We exit the car and step into the lift, its mirrored walls reflecting the power couple of the underworld: him in his tailored suit and me, dressed to kill in more ways than one.

---