Page 70 of Ruined By Protection
I shake my head. "We barely saw anyone by then. My family was grateful to him. My friends had all drifted away. I had nowhere to go, no money of my own." I swallow hard. "And then he started... when I didn't follow his rules exactly..."
The words stick in my throat. Matteo doesn't push, just waits.
"The first time he hit me, he cried afterward. Bought me jewelry. Swore it would never happen again." My laugh sounds hollow. "You know what's crazy? Part of me was relieved when the physical stuff started. At least then I could point to something real. The bruises proved I wasn't imagining things."
"Hazel…" Matteo's voice is rough.
"It got worse," I interrupt, needing to get it all out now that I've started. "If I wore something he hadn't picked out, if I spoke to someone he didn't approve of, if dinner wasn't perfect... there was always a reason. Always my fault."
I tug at the sleeve of my sweater. "He was careful, though. Never my face. Nothing that would be noticeable when I was dressed. And afterwards, always the same pattern. Tears. Apologies. Gifts. Promises. Then the cycle would start again."
I heave at the air, determined to continue. "I couldn't leave." I say simply. "He made sure my family depended on him completely. One word from him and they'd lose everything."
I meet Matteo's eyes directly. "But that's not the whole truth. I was scared. Terrified of what he'd do if I tried to leave. Andsomewhere along the way I started believing him when he said I was worthless. That no one else would want me. That I was lucky he put up with me."
Matteo's hands clench into fists, then deliberately relax. "What changed? Why did you leave now?"
I look down at my hands. "Last week I bought a dress. Nothing fancy, just something I liked. When Elliott found it..." I shake my head. "The physical pain doesn't matter, although it hurt. It was what he said to me: Everything you have is because I give it." I look at him again. "It felt like a switch flipped inside me. I’ve been through a lot: working instead of studying, partying or flirting, or just living without anxiety gripping my whole existence. I couldn't stand any more after all that: a man 'allowing' me to wear a dress or drink a second martini." It's not just that. I know that if I stayed, I might have ended dead. Every time he punched me was rougher than the previous time.
Matteo
I watch Hazel worm her way into the floor, her words hanging in the air between us. The rage inside me is a living thing, clawing to get out, but I keep it leashed. She doesn't need my anger right now.
"Monsters like Elliott don't come with a health warning," I tell her, my voice just barely controlled. "They don't snarl or threaten in the open. They smile. They wear tailored suits. They move through the world collecting trust, not suspicion."
She looks up at me.
"That's what makes them so dangerous," I continue. "The worst predators are the ones who look like protectors."
"I should have known," she whispers.
"How?" I challenge her gently. "Did he introduce himself as 'Elliott Montgomery, future abuser'? Did he show you his true face before he had you trapped?"
She shakes her head, a tear sliding down her cheek.
"You survived," I tell her. "That's what matters now."
"I'd rather work three jobs again than go back to him," she says. "I'd rather sleep on the street than spend another night under his roof."
Respect surges through me, unexpected and fierce. This woman has a spine of steel beneath her bruises.
"You won't have to," I tell her.
Hazel wipes away a tear with the back of her hand, composing herself. Her eyes meet mine, a question forming in them.
"Did you really not recognize me at the airport?" she asks, her voice soft but steady. "When Evelyn introduced us?"
I study her face. Her eyes with flecks of amber that haunted my mind for three years. The small constellation of freckles across her nose that I'd memorized.
"I would have recognized you among a million other women with the same hair color," I admit, my voice rougher than intended.
Her eyebrows shoot up. "You're a liar, Matteo Caruso," she slams, though she tries to hide the smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
I shuffle closer, closing some of the distance between us on the floor. "I'm many things, bella," I tell her, my eyes never leaving hers. "A criminal. An enforcer. A man with blood on his hands." My voice husks lower. "But I'm not a liar."
The air between us changes, charged with electric sparks. Her eyes drop to my lips, her own parting slightly. The memory of how she tasted floods my senses.
I lean in, pause, giving her time to pull away. When she doesn't I close the final inches between us to capture her mouth with mine.
