Chapter Five

Matteo’s mind was a storm of confusion and pain as he glanced down at the woman resting against him. Who the hell was she? It had been nearly an hour since she’d fallen asleep, her head nestled against his chest, after he’d finally managed to corral the wild chaos of his grief. The day had been one of the darkest he’d ever endured—second only to the day he learned that his mother and Antonio had been brutally murdered. Watching their caskets lowered side by side, right next to his father’s gravestone, had sent his thoughts spiraling into a furious, vengeful haze filled with rage and bloodlust. He longed to hunt down those responsible and make them pay in the most brutal way imaginable, tearing them apart piece by piece until nothing remained but empty husks.

Bonnie stirred slightly, mumbling softly in her sleep as she tried to pull away from his tightening embrace. Matteo forced himself to loosen his grip, and after a brief pause, she relaxed again, sighing contentedly as she pressed her cheek against his neck before slipping back into a deep, peaceful sleep. He couldn’t resist running his fingers through her rich, mahogany hair once more. She was breathtaking—stunning beyond words. The only drawback to her being asleep on top of him was that he couldn’t see those mesmerizing ice-blue eyes of hers, the ones that cut through his carefully constructed mask and ignited a fire deep within his chest.

If this had happened just a week ago, and she had come to him like this, he wouldn’t have hesitated for a second. He would have dragged her to the bar’s bathroom and taken her with fierce abandon until she swore to be his forever. Even if she turned out to be a venomous viper, he could have handled it—for the claim of her curvy, feminine body that called to his primal instincts. But now, knowing she possessed a heart of gold and a wit as sharp as his favorite knife, he was completely undone. Still, he understood what this was—a one-night thing. She had said it herself. She’d only come home with him to avoid facing another payment. His eyes drifted to the ring on her right hand; he’d noticed her fiddling with it all night as he watched her from the corner of his eye. When she’d approached him to offer a light, he’d thought perhaps fate was showing him a shred of mercy.

Of course, he had recognized her the moment he saw her with Mallory and Louis’ fiancée. It was standard procedure when one of his men planned to marry—to conduct a thorough background check on the future in-laws. He’d skimmed through the report his second-in-command handed him, until he came across the picture of the step-sister. He couldn’t quite recall her name, but those eyes? He would recognize them anywhere. The photo showed her tightly embraced by a man, and Matteo had stared so intently at the man with burning jealousy that he was surprised the paper hadn’t caught fire.

“You’re still awake,” she whispered suddenly, making him flinch. She tightened her arms around his chest, her hands slipping between his back and the soft mattress beneath them.

“Mhmm,” he answered softly, exhaling slowly to conceal the chaotic thoughts racing through his mind.

“I thought you said this always works,” she murmured, her voice heavy with sleep.

“I’ve never tried it,” he confessed quietly.

Her body stiffened atop his. He instinctively held her closer, trying to prevent her from sitting up to look at him, but she pushed herself up on her elbows anyway. Her eyes narrowed at him, and he suppressed a chuckle at her attempt to intimidate him.

“You said…” she began.

“I lied,” he interrupted with a shrug, a hint of mischief in his voice.

“Why?” she asked.

“I’m a boy scout. Saw a woman in need and acted accordingly. Part of my oath,” he said, gently brushing his thumb across her cheek.

A warm flush crept up her chest, coloring her cheeks a soft red, and he stifled a groan. He shifted slightly to mask the undeniable evidence of his desire for her. The last thing he wanted was for her to bolt.

“There were a hundred ways to trick those women into thinking I went home with you,” he murmured.

“None of which compare to you actually coming home with me,” she replied, a teasing edge in her voice.

She huffed softly but rested her cheek back against his chest. He hoped she didn’t hear the thudding of his heart against his ribs at that simple gesture. “So what was the plan? Wait until I was dead asleep to make your move?” she asked.

“I wasn’t planning to make a move,” he assured her, his fingers tracing slow patterns down her back.

“Then what do you want, Matteo?” she pressed.

His mouth suddenly felt dry, and his hand froze on her back. He closed his eyes, savoring the sound of his true name spoken aloud. How he wished he could hear it again and again, preferably followed by a deep moan of satisfaction. He knew what this was—he might not remember her name, but he knew she didn’t live in New York. Nothing would come of this. He’d be lucky just to taste her lips before she vanished at her sister’s wedding tomorrow.

“Matteo?” she whispered again.

Hearing his name once more shattered the last fragments of his carefully worn mask. He swallowed hard and gripped her tighter, as if revealing the truth would make her flee.

“I didn’t want to be alone,” he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

A few moments of silence stretched between them. Just as he began to think she’d drifted off again, she spoke softly, “What were their names?”

He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Valentina and Antonio.”

She shifted her head, resting her chin against his chest, her eyes shimmering as they studied his face. “What’s your favorite memory of them?”

Matteo stared up at the ceiling, lost in thought. She didn’t rush him. After a few quiet moments, he answered, “Cooking. My father was always busy with work, but my mom made time for us. We cooked together almost every night. Even when I was a moody teenager, she’d grab me by the ear and boss me around the kitchen, wielding a rolling pin like a weapon.”

“What was your role in the kitchen?” she asked.

“I was always in charge of the meat,” he whispered.

“And Antonio?”

Matteo cleared his throat, recalling his younger brother standing on a step stool to reach the counter. “Tony did the cutting. He loved knives.”

“Sounds like a dangerous kid.”

“No, not Tony. He wasn’t meant for the darker side of life. He was in Paris, training to be a pastry chef when…” He couldn’t finish the sentence.

“What did your mom always scold you for?”

Matteo frowned, looking down at her. “What?”

“Everyone has their thing. Mine was sneaking out at night. ‘You’ll get snatched!’ my mom would always say. What about yours?”

“Are you a shrink or something?” he teased.

She smiled, and his heart clenched painfully. “Accountant.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I have the certificate to prove it,” she argued. “And you’re stalling.”

Matteo cupped her cheek gently, wishing he could kiss her. That would certainly change the subject. He exhaled slowly. “Don’t end up like all the other men in my family. You’ll end up alone.”

He broke eye contact, which threatened to rip him apart from the inside. Her throat moved as she searched for words to comfort him. But there was no need. It was impossible. He stared out the window at the city lights that never dimmed.

“The last two people who truly knew me are gone, and I couldn’t give them what they wanted from me.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” she whispered. He looked down, but she was gazing out the window now. A moment later, her icy blue eyes met his again. “I know you now… at least a little. Enough. Go to sleep, Matteo. You’re not alone anymore. Not tonight.”