Page 76 of Matteo

"Angel dug deeper," I continue, relentless. "Found a sweet little tidbit about Caitlin. Your cleaner, right?"

His eyes snap to mine, a flicker of something—guilt? Affection? It's gone before I can place it. "Caitlin was more than just a cleaner," he murmurs, almost to himself.

"Course she was," I scoff, not caring about his sordid past. "And now, here we are."

"Here we are," he echoes, the finality of it sinking into his bones.

I lean in, my eyes slicing through the bullshit. "She didn't feel the same, Enzo." My voice carries a mocking lilt as Iwatch him squirm. "She worked for you, then bolted back to Ireland. They married some bloke named Conner and popped out Patrick seven months on. Ring any bells?"

Enzo's gaze flickers, guilt gnawing at the edges. "Good to see you did your homework well," he grumbles, but there's a twist in his words—a secret lurking.

"Spill it," I demand, not one for patience.

"She came crawling back to Sydney," he says, bitterness seeping through every syllable. "Begging for money, spewing stories about Patrick and her shit marriage."

"That's why you bankrolled Conner’s business?" I ask, piecing together the sordid puzzle.

"Was supposed to be her ticket out," Enzo snaps, his face contorting as if recalling a foul taste. "But the slut stayed. I said it was for Patrick. Promised to ditch the bastard when the kid turned eighteen." A twisted smile plays on his lips, like he's savouring a private joke.

"Let me guess," I say, my disgust rising, "Patrick overheard one too many of those intimate chats?"

Enzo's grin is all teeth, no soul. "Like father, like son. The apple didn't fall far from the tree." Pride oozes from him, sickening and thick.

"Is that why you helped him with Eleanor? Ten years ago?" I'm putting the pieces together, and I don't fucking like the picture they're painting.

"Yep," he confirms with a disgusting sense of satisfaction. "My boy wanted his girl. I knew what that ache was like, so I gave him a hand." He shrugs like we're discussing the weather, not the destruction of lives.

"Then you come crawling to me, give up Eleanor’slocation. Why the fuck would you do that?" I can't hide the confusion laced with rage.

"Patrick refused to toe the line and wouldn't return to Australia. Needed to remind him who's boss," Enzo yells, his face reddening. "Followed Eleanor around like a lost fucking puppy. It was pathetic."

"Needed her here to lure him back, huh?" I chuckle without humor. "Well, that backfired for you, mate."

Enzo's face hardens, and I know I've got him right where I want him—cornered and desperate. Power twists and coils inside me. This is my game, and in it, I'm the fucking king.

"Fuck's sake," Enzo mutters, his eyes hollow. "So what now?"

"Now?" I lean in, feeling that familiar itch in my trigger finger. "Now you die." Without so much as a blink, I yank the gun from under the table and let two rounds punch holes through his chest. He slumps, but I'm not done. Standing, I aim for his head and squeeze off another shot. The sound echoes, a sweet symphony to my ears.

"Hope you've got clean-up on standby," Luca says, the corner of his lip twitching.

"Always," I grin, reaching for the decanter and topping off my whiskey. The liquid gold swirls in the glass, catching the light. "More?" I offer it around, refilling their glasses with a heavy hand.

"Thanks," Antoni nods, taking his drink like any other night.

"Let's get the fuck out of here," I say, pushing back from the table. We stride down the hall, me leading the pack. The cleaning crew's already there, shadows waitingfor my signal. I nod once, and they slip into the room like ghosts.

Two sharp raps on my office door, and it swings open. The barrel of a gun greets me. "Princess," I say, the tension bleeding away when she lowers the weapon.

"Matteo..." Eleanor's voice washes over me, soothing the raw edges inside.

"He's dead," I tell her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Go sit behind the desk. Time to meet the rest of the family."

She moves with a limp but still manages to look like she owns the fucking world, perching on the edge of my desk. Sexy doesn't begin to cover it.

"Luca, Antoni, this is Eleanor," I announce, sweeping my arm out. The pride I feel is a living thing, fierce and possessive.

"Hello, Eleanor," Antoni's voice is smooth and respectful. He takes a seat opposite her.

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