Page 39 of Matteo

Cold water from the tap, I splash it on my face, scrubbing away the sheen of sex. Water runs in rivulets down my arms, mingling with ink—a story etched onto my skin for all to see.

"Get it together, Eleanor," I mutter to my reflection, a pep talk as I hike up my skirt and sit on the toilet. The sensation is crude as I push out Matteo's essence, a stark reminder of his claim. He marks territory like a goddamn beast.

Hands wash again, harsh and quick. Can't have traces of him when shaking hands with the devil's right-hand man. I pat dry, fix my hair, apply lipstick like armor. Red, the color of warning signs and blood oaths.

There's no room for weakness in this game. Matteo’s got his kinks; I’ve got mine. Power plays are my aphrodisiac, and I'm about to walk into a viper's nest of them.

"Mobster politics 101," I scoff at the irony, checking myself once more. Looking good as new—or as close to it as one can get after being royally fucked on a mafia boss's desk.

Chapter Nineteen

Matteo Ricci

Why the fuck is Enzo even here? We usually have a system. A civilised fucking process of appointments or at least a goddamn courtesy call—like normal people. But no, this cunt has to just pop up unannounced, like a relentless weed sprouting between the cracks in the pavement, useless and bloody annoying.

I stride into the bathroom on Eleanor's heels, turning on the cold tap. Water splashes over my skin as I wash off remnants of our earlier escapades, feeling a smug sense of satisfaction when I glance down and notice how wet my pants are. "Looks like you've marked me good, Princess," I say, holding out my foot to show her the evidence.

"Are you complaining?" she shoots back with that fiery tone that drives me wild.

"Complaining? Hell no." I give her one of those looks that says I'm thinking about a whole lot more than what meets the eye. "Might have you lick it off my shoes later," I deadpan. I'm only half-joking.

Her eyes narrow in that challenging way I can't resist. "You wouldn’t dare."

"Oh, but I would, Princess. You know it," I retort, soaking a hand towel and attacking the stains on my pants. They'll be a daily reminder of what we did and how she tastes. "And let's get one thing straight—if you think teasing me by going commando isn't gonna end in punishment, then you don’t know me very well."

I watch her reflection in the mirror while she straightens her skirt, fixes her hair, and readies herself for whatever fucked-up day awaits us. With a smile that could light up the darkest alley in Sydney, she turns and saunters toward me. "If multiple orgasms are punishment, Matteo, I can guarantee I’ll never wear undies again."

She leans up, pressing her lips to mine in a kiss that sends a signal straight to my dick. It twitches in response, already eager for the next round with her. This woman, this dangerous, intoxicating vixen, has me wrapped around her little finger—and I'm twisted enough to love every minute of it.

"Be careful what you wish for, Eleanor," I growl, my hand landing a firm slap on her ass as she struts out the bathroom door. She throws me a look over her shoulder, that mix of defiance and desire in her eyes. I can't help but grin at her bravado.

"Come here." I jerk my head towards my seat, pulling it around so we can both park our asses behind my desk. She slides into it, her skirt hitching up just enough to keep my mind racing. I couldn't care less about how absurd we might look, side by side like some twisted power couple. I flickopen my laptop, and Spider Solitaire pops up. "Here, Princess. Pretend you're doing something productive while I deal with Enzo Morelli."

Her brows knot in confusion, cute as hell, but she nods. "Sure, no worries, Matteo."

That's when a knock rattles the door, Spike's voice slipping through. "Boss, Enzo is in the waiting area."

"Cunt," I mutter under my breath before calling out louder, "It's alright, Spike, come in."

"Want me to bring him in, Boss?" Spike's burly frame fills the doorway, his eyes flicking between me and Eleanor.

"Yeah, mate, drag his ass in here." I swivel towards Eleanor, locking eyes with her. "You—just sit tight and sort through this shit, yeah? And only speak when spoken to. Got it?"

Her lips twist into a sly smirk, and fuck me if it doesn't light a spark in my veins. "When spoken to, huh?" she retorts, playful yet piercing.

I lean in close, my voice dropping to a warning growl. "I'm serious, Princess. You hate taking orders, I know, but today's not the day to push me." Her expression hardens, that bitchy streak flaring up.

"Okay, Matteo." Her tone is flat and resigned, but her eyes are still throwing daggers as she returns to the screen.

"Good girl," I whisper, but it's more for me than for her. Because every fiber in me knows that Eleanor Wang is anything but tame, and as I wait for Enzo to slither into my office, I can't shake the feeling that today is gonna be one hell of a ride.

My fingers find Eleanor's chin, tilting her face up to mine;those defiant eyes always spark fires I'm too eager to stoke. "Hey, Firecracker, I love you."

"I love you too, Cocksucker." Her words are honey-laced with venom, which soothes and burns.

The moment shatters with Enzo's braying laughter as he barges into my office like he owns the fucking place. “Nice to see my information paid off, and you got Eleanor back,” he jeers, nodding towards her as if she's some stray mutt I've retrieved from the streets.

"Cheers for that," I snap back, slipping on the mobster mask like a second skin. The world's split into two—the chaos of my heart and the cold command of the throne I sit upon.

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