Page 51 of Matteo

"Who says I don't want that?" The words spill out, thick with desire. My body throbs for him, craving his touch—even slick with the blood of my tormentor.

Matteo, the man who turns murder into an act of devotion. And here I am, twisted enough to find it arousing.

Most Mafia brides are kept in the dark, shielded from the gore and the guilt. Not me. Enzo’s shocked expression lingers in my mind—his eyes wide as I sat at the table, privy to theirblood-soaked plans. It's clear, Matteo wants me all in, chained to the throne beside him in this underworld kingdom.

The warm Australian night does nothing to cool my skin, flames licking inside, fuelled by the power radiating from the man before me. As Matteo slides into the driver's seat, the engine roars to life, mirroring the wild, reckless beating of my heart. This is our world, cruel and beautiful—and I'm too far gone to ever climb out.

"Matteo?" My voice cuts through the heavy silence, a blade poised at the edge of darkness.

"Yes, Princess," he answers, his fingers curling around the ignition. The engine purrs to life beneath us, growling like some feral beast as we pull away. Street lamps flicker above, casting light on Matteo's inked skin, making the art etched into his flesh dance in the shadows—each one a story of violence and survival.

"I’ve been thinking about the proposal that Enzo came to you with." I watch him, muscles tense under my scrutiny.

"What part of it?" His words come out as a low growl, protective instincts flaring to life.

"The trafficking women part." I brace myself for his fury, but there's a strategy playing out in my head—a dangerous gamble.

"It’s never going to happen, Princess," he declares, vehement and final. His blood-stained hand reaches out, claiming my thigh with an iron grip. "I’ll never allow him to do that in my city. You don’t have to worry."

But I'm already tumbling down the rabbit hole, my voicesteady, "I was thinking we should allow it. To an extent." I pitch the idea like a gambit, knowing full well the stakes.

"Hang on..." He holds up a hand, commanding me to pause. Shock paints his features raw. "You want to traffic innocent underage women through Sydney?!"

"No," I clarify, fixing my gaze on his dark eyes. "If we hold auctions for women who agree to be sold with contracts to said buyers, then we can control what happens to them." My heart pounds, not just from the adrenaline of murder but from stepping into the role of his equal in this twisted game.

"Like a mail-order bride, but with contracts and a get-out-of-jail-free card to go with it?" He ponders my words, the cogs turning in his mind as he navigates this new territory I've laid before him.

"Exactly." I shrug nonchalantly, as if we're discussing stocks, not souls. "We could make it a business on the books?"

"I'll think about it," he concedes, and I can tell the idea tempts him. It's a solution that could appease Enzo without staining our hands more than necessary. "Could be win-win."

I lean back, letting the leather embrace me, and my eyes devour Matteo's form. The streetlights play over his tattoos, revealing secrets in the ink I've yet to learn. "I don't think I’ve ever seen a man as beautiful as you, Matteo…"

"Are you checkin' me out from over there, Mrs Ricci?" He teases, a smirk playing on his lips, tainted red with someone else's lifeblood.

"I sure am," I shoot back, laughter lacing my voice, "but it’s not Mrs Ricci yet. You might own this city but even youhave to wait the six-week grace period to sign a marriage certificate."

He chuckles, a sound that vibrates through the car and into my bones, wrapping around my heart like the chains we willingly forge together. This dance of power and possession, it's intoxicating—and I'm drunk on Matteo Ricci.

"Only three more weeks, Princess," Matteo muses, his voice a low rumble as he shifts gears. The streetlights cast an intermittent glow on his face, revealing the blood that still stains his jawline—a crimson mark of vengeance. "Although I’m thinking of just having Angel marry us today and sending in the paperwork now. It won’t be stamped for three weeks, but it will be sitting in the court office waiting."

I laugh, the sound sharp and a little hysterical. "Of course, Angel is a celebrant!" It's so absurdly fitting, the thought of Angel presiding over our nuptials. "He did an online course when he got the flight from London," Matteo adds, as if it's the most natural thing in the world.

The car takes a sharp turn, throwing me against the side. My breath catches, and for a moment, I'm weightless, suspended in this life we've carved out of darkness and desire.

"Well, that guy is full of surprises. But a bit presumptuous don't you think?" I challenge, arching an eyebrow. "What if I had said no?"

Matteo's laugh is a dark chuckle, one that sends shivers down my spine. "You and I both know that would have never happened!" He looks at me then, his gaze fierce and unyielding, as if he can see straight into the marrow of my bones.

It could have, I think, even as my body betrays me,leaning closer to his magnetic pull. Why does this fucker know me better than I know myself?

"Nope," Matteo says, popping the 'p' with a surety that seals my fate as much as any vow could.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Matteo Ricci

I'm staring at Eleanor's peaceful face, her chest rising and falling with a rhythm that's infuriatingly calm given the night we've had. She's fucking asleep, like she hasn't got a care in the world. And why should she? Because she trusts me to keep the demons at bay. I can still feel the warm blood coating my hands, the metallic smell of it mixing with the leather interior of the car as we drive through the dark streets.

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