Page 41 of Matteo

"The furniture got moved to office four for Peter touse," Stacy cuts in, pulling up something on her screen. She squints at the monitor. "And the man who went down there was... Mr. Venchetti, Toni Venchetti." She's reading off the name like it means shit to me.

"He's a contractor we hired for the lunch room fit-out." Her voice trails off as she scribbles on a pink Post-it.

"Contact details for Mr. Venchetti?" I snap, not in the mood for this circling-around bullshit.

"Right here, Boss." She hands over the paper, her hand shaking slightly.

"Thank you, girls." I snatch the note, already plotting my next move. "I'd appreciate it if you'd hold off any more renovations for the room until I say so," I say, my tone leaving no room for arguments as I back away.

"Got it, Boss," Becky's husky reply hits my ears and grates on every nerve. I spin on my heel. I can't let her disrespect slide, but not now.

"Oh, and girls," I lock eyes with each one, saving Becky for last, "Ms. Wang will be joining us as my assistant. She'll also join me as my wife, so I expect you to show her the respect she deserves." The words are like bullets, warning shots fired across their neatly arranged desk space.

"Congratulations, Boss!" Lisa's enthusiasm bounces off the walls.

"Congrats, Boss," Stacy echoes, a genuine smile touching her lips.

Becky, though, has a different story. She glares daggers at me before turning back to her computer, acting like I dropped a fucking bomb instead of good news. That glare seals her fate in my mind, but the execution order? That'sEleanor's call. And something tells me Becky won't last long under Eleanor's reign.

Walking down the hall to my office, I rap my knuckles against the heavy oak, a rhythmic thud that cuts through the silence like a warning shot. I growl, my voice low and steady, “It's me opening up.”

The door swings open, and there she is—Eleanor, my Eleanor—her arm outstretched, a sleek pistol aimed straight between my eyes. Every muscle in my body tenses, ready for anything. But it's not fear that grips me—it's something primal, something fierce.

"Shit, sorry, I’m a bit jumpy," she says, her voice laced with steel and silk, as deadly as the gun she wields. Her finger slides off the trigger, safety clicking into place. She steps back, retreating to my world of shadows and secrets. My gaze follows her every move, like a predator locked on its prey.

"Princess," I begin, voice rough as gravel, my hand casually adjusting the growing bulge at my front, "as much as that image made my dick so hard it’s going to bust out of my pants like the Hulk does to his clothes, I wanna know where you got the gun from?"

"Bottom draw," she tosses back without missing a beat, pointing to the desk that's seen more than its share of blood and bargaining.

I arch an eyebrow, part amusement, part challenge. “How did you know I had one there?” The question hangs in the air, testing her knowledge of my darkest corners.

“You always kept a second in the bottom drawer of everything, and it’s safe to say the habit has kept up,” shereplies, her eyes rolling like thunderclouds, stormy and unpredictable.

"Nice to see you pay attention," I snort, a laugh erupting from deep within my chest. It's a sound as dark as the ink that marks my skin, a testament to a life carved out in the criminal underbelly of this godforsaken city.

"Yes, I haven’t touched one since I left Sydney, but it’s like riding a bike.” Eleanor's voice is edged with a hardness that mirrors the steel of the gun she's just set aside—a reminder of the life she left behind and the one she's stepped back into.

She stands in my office, a queen in a den of thieves, a beacon of light in the darkness of our world. And as I watch her now, with the taste of danger still lingering in the air, I know she belongs nowhere else but right here—with me.

“To which I’m glad,” I growl, my arm snaking around her delicate neck, pulling her taut body flush against mine. The gun, still warm from her grip, slides easily from her hand to the desk with a clatter that echoes in the charged silence. My free hand finds the nape of her neck, fingers entwining in her dark hair as I tilt her head up, demanding her gaze met mine.

Eleanor's eyes, golden and fathom deep, lock onto mine, and in that instant, we're the only two people in this fucked-up world. I press my lips to hers, soft, deliberate kisses contrasting our lives' hard lines. Every brush of my mouth against hers is a promise laced with danger and desire in equal measure.

"Are you okay, Princess?" My words are barely a whisper, spoken in her mouth's warmth. Her breath mingles withmine, a silent testament to the chaos that follows us like a shadow.

Her lips part, a silent gasp inviting me deeper, even as she answers, "Yes, I am now." Her voice is a velvet caress wrapping around my soul. She melts against me, her resolve dissolving like smoke in the night.

Chapter Twenty

Eleanor Wang

Islide the deadbolt into place, a metallic click whispering false promises of safety. It's laughable, really—how I've come to triple-check the locks on doors that are already wrapped in a suffocating embrace of security. My fingers trace the cold steel, a shiver snaking up my spine. The city of Sydney, once a playground of sun-soaked memories, now feels like a concrete trap set by ghosts from a life I wish I could forget.

"Everything alright, Princess?" Matteo's voice cuts through the silence, a low rumble carrying the weight of his world—a world I'm now tethered to.

I turn, forcing a smile. "Perfect," I lie, my voice steady but my heart a goddamn traitor, thundering against my ribcage. He doesn't need to know that the sight of his guards patrolling like silent sentinels does nothing but scream danger at me in deafening volumes. I can almost taste the tension in the air, thick and bitter as burnt coffee.

"Good." His eyes linger, an unspoken question, but he lets it go for now.

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