Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Two

“Accardi! You’ve got a visitor,” the guard with the pig-like face announced loudly, his voice cutting through the stale air of the dimly lit hallway.

Matteo closed his book with a slow deliberate motion and glanced up at the guard blocking his cell door. “My lawyer isn’t scheduled to arrive for several hours,” he replied calmly.

The guard smirked. “Well, what can I say? They showed up early. Get your ass moving, or do I have to drag you out myself?”

Matteo rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Wow, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today.”

“You’re the reason all my buddies got canned, asshole,” the guard growled, stepping closer.

Matteo rose to his feet, standing firm in front of the guard. “Fired? No, they were hired elsewhere with better benefits. It’s not too late for you, Piggy. The offer still stands.”

The guard’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Turn the fuck around.”

With a smirk and hands raised in mock surrender, Matteo pivoted on his heel and started to walk away.

“What’s going on?” Frankie’s voice came from his own cell window, worry etched across his face.

Neither Matteo nor Frankie had been allowed out since the incident the day before. Their meals were slid through a narrow slot in the door, and they were permitted only an hour in one of the solitary exercise yards. Frankie was going stir crazy, pacing in his tiny space, desperate to find a way out.

“Don’t worry, Donati,” Pig-Face sneered from the corridor. “Your buddy here won’t be leaving this pound anytime soon.”

Frankie chuckled dryly. “His insults are actually getting better.”

“Yeah, I noticed. He’s more entertaining now,” Matteo agreed with a smirk.

Suddenly, Pig-Face shoved Matteo roughly out of his cell, growling under his breath. Matteo glanced back and winked at Frankie before the guard pushed him forward again.

“Don’t be gone too long, Honey. You know how I worry!” Frankie called out with a teasing tone.

The guard pressed on, escorting Matteo through the maze of cold, gray hallways toward the visitation rooms. Matteo hoped that Roman’s early meeting meant things were moving faster than expected, that he might be out of this hellhole soon. He had the information he needed—now all he had to do was get it to Gen so she could mobilize their next steps. But he had to be careful not to leave too early and raise suspicion; timing was everything.

At a checkpoint, the guard paused to chat with some coworkers. Matteo felt the handcuffs shift as Pig-Face handed him off to a new guard, who gripped the middle of the cuffs and led him through a door operated by a man behind bulletproof glass. The long corridor echoed with the clinking of chains around his wrists and ankles.

“Here,” the man said, stopping in front of a visitation room.

The guard pushed Matteo inside the bright, sterile room. White walls surrounded a single metal table with a bar designed to secure handcuffs. Matteo’s eyes scanned the room before settling on the table.

“Spread ’em,” the guard ordered, shoving Matteo’s feet wider apart.

The shackles around his ankles were removed first, followed by the cuff on his left hand.

“You’ll have forty-five minutes once the feed cuts off,” the guard informed him.

Matteo’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What?”

“Forty-five minutes,” the guard repeated, yanking Matteo’s hand down to loop the cuff around the bar and locking it back onto his wrist.

“What the hell is this? I’ve never had to be—”

“Just the new boss’s orders,” the man interrupted.

Matteo finally looked the guard in the eyes, noticing the dark brown irises that, despite the harsh environment, still held a flicker of warmth and humor. Without warning, Matteo snatched the handkerchief away from the man’s mouth.

“You fucking son of a—”

“Watch it,” Leo warned quietly.

Matteo lunged upward but was caught by the metal bar. “What the fuck are you doing here?” The rage bubbling inside him was a toxic sludge, threatening to consume every rational thought. “I gave you very specific orders, Leo! What did I say?”

“You said…”

“Fifty feet!” Matteo yelled, the fear twisting in his gut nearly overpowering his anger. He fought to keep the rage alive; he couldn’t let fear win, not until he had answers. “Fifty feet was the maximum distance I allowed you to be from my wife. Where the hell do you get off disobeying me? Where is she? Where’s Gen?”

“Do you really think I’d disobey you?”

“Who knows what you’d do? You’ve been all over the place since she came into the picture.”

“Right back at you. Sit down, Accardi,” Leo warned.

Matteo kicked the chair across from him with a sharp clang as it slammed into the wall. “Tell me where she is!”

“Sit down, Matteo!” Leo scolded, pointing a stern finger.

Matteo’s chest tightened painfully, but with each ragged breath, it cracked open a little more. He dropped heavily into the metal chair. Leo shook his head, spreading his palms wide as he leaned forward across the table.

“I haven’t disobeyed your order,” Leo repeated firmly.

Matteo stared hard at his bodyguard and closest confidant. His breathing was loud, his blood roaring in his ears, but then, suddenly, something clicked. He understood what Leo meant. Leo nodded, reading the change on Matteo’s face.

“Forty-five minutes,” Leo repeated before pushing away from the table and walking to the door.

Leo pulled it open, and Matteo sprang to his feet, forgetting for a moment that his hands were still cuffed to the table. Standing on the other side was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen—made even more radiant by the nearly week-long separation they had endured. Genevieve’s eyes held that familiar knowing impatience, flicking upward when Leo extended a pair of handcuff keys for her.

She gave a small nod of thanks and stepped into the room. Dressed in a long wool trench coat that seemed too heavy for the current weather, Genevieve looked every bit the professional woman she was. Then again, Matteo hadn’t been outside in four days—perhaps a cold snap had arrived.

She flipped her hair back as she approached the table, slapping down a folder and dropping a tote bag onto the floor with a heavy thud. She picked up the chair Matteo had knocked over and set it neatly back in place. Her ice-blue eyes swept over his battered hands, then flicked up to meet his gaze, an eyebrow arching in silent question.

“I’m glad you finally made time for me, Mr. Accardi,” Genevieve said, her tone clipped. “I had to pretend to be Roman’s paralegal just to get in here. I wasn’t about to be turned away a third time.”

Matteo’s smile widened. She’d tried to see him twice already? No wonder she looked so frustrated. His dimple must have been showing because her eyes flicked to his cheek.

“I apologize. I had some business to attend to,” he said lightly.

“Clearly,” she replied, glancing again at his knuckles.

She bent over to rummage through her tote and pulled out a first-aid kit, which made him bite his lip. She sat down and looked pointedly at the chair beside her. God, was her pull always this magnetic, or was it the four days of nothing but male sweat and testosterone that had this effect on him? All he wanted was to touch her, to pull her close, to lose himself in her.

“Why am I still in handcuffs?” he asked quietly.

“We need to talk. I asked Leo to keep you from getting to me,” she said firmly.

Matteo groaned and tugged at the shackles around his wrist. “Unlock me from this table, Weakness.”

Genevieve glanced disinterestedly at his wrists, wrinkled her nose, and shook her head. Her phone rang, and Matteo sank into his chair as she answered.

“Yeah?” she said, listening intently as her fingers drummed on the table. “You’re sure?” she asked, eyes flicking back to Matteo, who watched her closely. “And you have eyes on Raphael? He’s not going to peek?” Another pause. “Good. Thanks, Leo.”

She dug into her tote again and produced a kitchen timer, the kind his grandmother had passed down to his mother. She turned the dial and set it on the table with a soft clink. The timer began ticking down from forty-five minutes. Matteo smirked, recognizing the familiar heirloom.

His eyes met hers, cold and distant. He raised his wrists and nodded toward the cuffs. “Weakness…”

“Not just yet,” she replied.

“Excuse me?”

“We have forty-five minutes. Raphael cut the feeds so no one can watch us.”

Matteo growled low in approval, imagining all the things they could do in forty-five minutes of privacy. “You called in Raphael?”

She shrugged, arms crossed. “I’m smart enough to know when I’m in over my head and need backup.”

“Does that mean Alessio is in the States with you?”

“And Conor.”

“Dream team. Now, about these cuffs…”

“We’ll talk first…”

“How about instead…”

“We’ll talk first,” Genevieve interrupted firmly. “We both know if you weren’t tied down, I wouldn’t have managed to say hello, let alone discuss what’s needed. This is a business meeting before anything else. There are more important matters than our libidos to consider. Why don’t you start by telling me what you’ve learned?”

Matteo’s eyes wandered over the heavy trench coat she wore. “Why don’t you take that stuffy thing off so my imagination can stop drumming up distracting images?” he teased.

Genevieve’s lips twitched into the first hint of a smile he’d seen from her in days. “Fine. I’ll go first.”

She sighed dramatically as she flipped open the folder she’d brought. “The FBI ransacked our apartment, the club, all the tracks and casinos under our name, along with the company. Nothing we weren’t expecting. They left the accounting firm alone, as well as the properties under other names. They also didn’t get to the three safehouses, which is good.”

“Do you have a piece of paper?” Matteo interrupted.

She looked up, rolling her eyes before sliding a blank sheet toward him.

“I gave the workers at Accardi Industries time off until this blows over. Oh, and the guards you sent over came around, so I…”

“Pen?”

“Huh?” she asked, glancing up from the folder.

“Do you have a pen?” he repeated.

She sighed again and tossed one to him. He caught it with a chuckle and clicked it open as she continued.

“Where was I? Right, I hired back the guards you got fired and…”

“Frankie,” Matteo said, head bent over the paper.

“Excuse me?” Genevieve huffed.

Matteo looked up and smirked at her annoyed expression. “Frankie got them fired.”

Genevieve rolled her eyes. “Right, sure. Anyway, I’ve got the prison guards set up as security around Accardi Industries for now. Once I figure out their strengths, I might move them around.”

Matteo nodded in approval. “What else?”

“I have a meeting set up with the Russos in three days, and I met with O’Brien and…”

“What?” Matteo looked up sharply.

She narrowed her eyes, forehead creasing. “I spoke with O’Brien as part of the plan. Remember?”

Matteo’s gut twisted painfully. “Alone? Did he hurt you?”

“What? No, of course not. Leo was there. What’s the problem?”

Matteo shook his head. “Something I learned. Here…” He slid the paper he’d been writing on across the table, a proud smirk on his face.

“What is this?” she asked, holding it up.

“It’s what I’ve uncovered. You can take it home and look it over, leaving more time for us to…” Matteo trailed off, raising his wrists again, signaling for her to unlock the cuffs.