Page 74 of Matteo

"Clean as a whistle after that," Eleanor replies, her gaze sharp enough to draw blood.

"Should've known," I mutter, recalling when Becky tried tailoring me here. It wasn't just curiosity nipping at her heels—it was betrayal.

"Enzo's mole or just batshit crazy?" Eleanor's question hangs heavy between us.

"Does it matter?" I say, prowling closer. She stands, and there's a challenge in her eyes, a fire that matches mine.

"Let's give the bitch a send-off she won't forget," she purrs, and fuck if that doesn't sound like the best idea I've heard all week.

The table between us might as well be an altar, but what are we about to do? Sacrilege. But gods, if it isn't divine. Eleanor hops up, her cast making her usual grace a little clumsy, but it only amps the tension crackling around us.

"Want an audience?" she taunts, nodding toward Angel, who's smirking by the doorway.

"Maybe next time," he chuckles, shaking his head before leaving us to our sordid sacrament, the door clicking shut like a confessional booth sealing shut.

"Come here," Eleanor commands, and I obey, driven by raw need and the dark symphony of our twisted desires.

Sex with Eleanor ain't ever just sex. It's power, possession, a war where we both come out on top. With my shoulder aching like a bitch and her leg all cast up, it's a dance of discomfort, but the pain's just another flavor in this feast.

"Take it," she gasps, and I do, claiming her over the table, each thrust a promise to protect what's mine. The mic listens, a silent witness to Becky's downfall. Our bodies move in a brutal rhythm, echoes of dominance and defiance interlaced with pleasure.

"Say goodbye," I grunt, and Eleanor's laugh is like a razor's edge cutting through the air.

"Bye, Becky," she mocks, the words bouncing off the walls.

I finish with a roar that could shake the concrete of our empire, feeling the last shreds of Becky's treachery crumble away beneath us. We're a mess of sweat and inked skin, a tangle of power and raw emotion, and as I pull away from Eleanor, I know that whatever comes for us, we'll face it head-on, together, unyielding as the steel of our bones and the blood of our hearts.

"Ready to clean house?" I ask, my breath ragged.

Eleanor smiles, feral and free. "Always."

Luca steps outof the lift, commanding attention as he moves with a predatory grace. The sharp click of his Italian leather shoes echoes in the corridor, a subtle warning to those who dare cross his path. His eyes, cold and calculating, scan the surroundings with a predator's focus, missing nothing. Every step he takes exudes power, each movement deliberate and precise, like a lethal dance choreographed for maximum impact.

"Luca," I greet him with a nod, feeling the weight of tonight's reckoning in the air.

"Good to see you again," he replies, thumping my back with a force that speaks more of camaraderie than comfort.

My gaze shifts to Antoni Rossi, his lean figure cutting a less imposing but no less dangerous silhouette. He offers his hand, and I take it, the grip firm but without the need to prove strength.

"Matteo," he says, a sly grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Antoni."

We cross the threshold into the boardroom, a den where decisions are carved from flesh and futures are bought with bullets. The chairs are thrones for kings of chaos, and we sink into them with the ease of men who've weathered storms of lead and lies.

"Is Eleanor here?" Luca's eyes roam the shadows, searching for the woman.

"Yeah," I chuckle, "but she ain't playing hide-and-seek. She's holed up in my office, waiting for me."

"Think we'll meet the woman who flipped this world?" Antoni's smile doesn't quite reach his eyes, but there's respect there—a recognition of Eleanor's brand of ruthlessness.

"Sure," I lean back, letting the leather creak beneath me, "after we're done here."

Luca nods, and I can see the anticipation lacing his smirk. The game's about to change, and he's ready to roll the dice.

"Drink?" I offer, reaching for the cut crystal decanter, its contents amber and aged—like us.

"Pristine, please." Luca asserts, his voice the growl of a lion laying down the law.Neat, please.

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