Page 73 of The Lies We Tell

She stumbled going up the stairs, but he righted her, tightening his grip on her arm until she squeaked in protest. The maids hurried out of his way as he dragged her down the hall and around the corner.

Shoving her into her room, he quickly scanned it for her phone.

“Give me your phone.”

She flinched at his unforgiving tone but turned to face him anyway. “Matteo. I can explain. Please. You have to let me explain.”

Her voice hitched, and it cut a place deep inside him. The place that wanted her, that trusted her, that loved her. He buried it under the betrayal so he could focus on what needed to be done.

“You think I’m going to give you a chance to lie to me again?” He took a step forward, and she stumbled back against the post at the foot of her bed. “Give me your fucking phone.”

It struck him that this was exactly the same position they’d found themselves in when she first arrived. Only this time, it wouldn’t end with his lips on hers.

She pulled the phone out of her back pocket with trembling fingers and held it out to him. He unlocked it with his fingerprint. His own safety mechanism so he could go through her phone if the situation ever presented itself. He never had. He hadn’t seen the need. Another mistake.

The only number on the phone he didn’t recognize was someone named Luna. But there was no call history, no text history. She was erasing everything after every interaction. Not even the call they’d spotted on her father’s phone was in her history here. She’d been carefully covering her tracks for almost two months.

“Luna was my—”

“Shut up,” he growled, and she flinched again.

He couldn’t bear to look at her. If he did, it might break him. Instead he turned on his heel for the door. Wrenching the key from the inside lock, he held it up and saw her eyes widen.

“You will not leave this room until I clean up this mess and figure out what the fuck to do with you. Lucky for you, you reminded me I’m not like my father. If I was, you’d be dead already.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Matteo stood in the hallway for a few minutes listening to Tessa pound on the door, begging and pleading for him to come back, to just listen. But he didn’t think he could stomach more of her lies. He had enough to deal with.

Unable to take any more, he stalked away from the door and moved back down the hallway to the stairs. Rather than turning toward his office, he headed for the kitchen. Activity ground to a halt when he pushed in, and Taglia quickly came over to stand in front of him.

“How can I help, Il Signore?”

Matteo held up the key. “Tessa is in her room. Tessa will stay in her room until I say otherwise. Three meals a day. Just leave a tray on the desk. Do not speak to her, do not give her anything, do not take anything from her. Clear?”

“Of course, Il Signore.”

Accepting the key Matteo pressed into his palm, Taglia nodded his agreement. Satisfied, Matteo squared his shoulders, preparing to face down his brother, and backtracked to the study. Luca and Sienna were seated on one of the couches, and Luca sprang to his feet when he noticed Matteo.

“So you believe me now, then?”

“Not now, Luca. You can tell me I told you so later. Right now I have to figure out this bullshit in Belgium on top of all the other bullshit I have to deal with.”

“What’s in Belgium?”

Matteo rolled down the sleeves of his dress shirt and secured the cuffs. “I own a private airport there. It’s how I met Laurent Theroux.”

“A private airport for what?”

Slipping his arms into his jacket, Matteo adjusted the collar. “To more easily transport illegal goods across the continent.”

Luca’s eyebrows shot up, and he followed Matteo back into the hallway. “No wonder you wanted Gallo Industries so bad. It wasn’t an acquisition as much as an expansion for you.”

“I told you I haven’t exactly been sitting on my ass these last seven years.”

“Not that I would know.” Luca sent Sienna a sheepish glance when she elbowed him in the side. “How did Tessa find out about it?”

Matteo faltered in his reach for the front door before gripping the knob and yanking it open. “I mentioned it in passing. In Paris.”

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