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16
MATTEO
I’m wearinga path between the small island and the sink in the kitchenette. My hands fist against my hips as I pace. Five steps forward, pivot and turn around, five steps back. I know it seems manic, this almost obsessive pacing, but something about the motion soothes all the loud shit inside my head.
The chaos that normally reigns settles, and I can see all the different strings, contingency plans, and possibilities clearly. I’ve figured out solutions to possible problems that haven’t presented themselves yet by pacing the halls of my apartment. I’ve never considered myself a superstitious man, but this is not the time to start changing habits that have served me well.
So I pace, keeping my speed slow and letting my mind wander. The clock in the living room taunts me with the time. I’m acutely aware that in ten minutes, I’m sending my brother and my girl into the heart of our enemy.
To find my other brother.
I run my hand down my face, my fingers brushing the stubble on my cheeks. I wonder if there was a specific moment in time that I could trace back, pinpoint when my life became a convoluted mess with men who would sooner shoot you than broker peace.
I’m under no illusions that we’ll be brokering any sort of peace with anyone in the Santorini family. Not this night—maybe not any night. His feud with my father goes back longer than I’ve been around, but that’s a problem best saved for when I’m the boss.
No, tonight is all about stealth. We go in, we get Leo, and we get the fuck back to New York City before anyone realizes or retaliates. I already have plans for that motherfucker, Mario Amaro.
The clicking of high heels on the wood floor breaks up my future plans. She comes into my line of sight a moment later, and I stop dead in my tracks. Sometimes her beauty catches me by surprise. She’s always been exquisite, but it’s different now that she’s here with me—with us. She’s more than the gorgeous girl I used to date. She’s this magnificent woman who radiates light and everything good in life.
And I’m just the selfish asshole who will sully her virtue with my blood-stained hands.
I thumb my bottom lip and take her in.
Maybe, just maybe, she’ll be my redemption.
She’ll save us all.
Her dark-red hair cascades over her shoulders and down her back in loose waves. She’s wearing a black dress with a high neckline, a thin strap of fabric encircling the base of her throat, leaving most of her collarbone and shoulders bare. My gaze gets stuck on the way the fabric hugs her perfect tits for a moment, before I follow the material to where it ends mid-thigh with a flare.
She stops a few feet in front of me with her hands out to her sides, palms up. “You like? Dante got it for me.” She practically preens at me as she spins around in a slow circle. The skirt flares up toward her hips in a soft wave.
I know she wanted to show off the way the skirt twirls around—she’s always enjoyed that—but my tongue gets stuck on the roof of my mouth when I get a look at the back of the dress. Or what’s left of it.
I clench my jaw, grinding my molars hard enough to crack as two powerful emotions war within the small confines of my ribcage. Lust is a powerful motivator when used right, especially when it's corded with real affection and genuine love. It beats against my ribs, demanding I let entry into my limbs.
The dress is nearly backless, just enough fabric to show off a hint of her tits on each side. The flared skirt covers her perfect, plump ass—I thank god for small miracles.
Jealousy surges, unlike anything I've ever experienced. It races through my veins like lava. And I can’t help but think that I might have to kill someone tonight for looking at what belongs to me.
Take out their eyes, at the very least.
I thought I was jealous before when I saw her in my brother's arms, but that emotion pales in comparison to this. So many fucking eyes will be on her like this tonight, and for the first time, I feel like I understand all those men I just raged about. The ones who shoot first and never fucking ask the question because they don’t care.
She’s going into a viper’s den tonight, and if any of Santorini’s men have a fucking working set of eyes, they’re going to be all over her. She’s a goddamn siren.
She smirks as she sashays toward me, her hips swaying in a distracting rhythm. “Do you like my new dress, Matteo?” Her voice is soft, a smile playing around the corners of her mouth.
“I better tell Dante to pack accordingly. I have a feeling I will be removing several sets of eyeballs tonight.”
She laughs like I’m joking, her eyes lighting up as I snag her wrist. She comes closer willingly, and swats my chest with the back of her hand. I barely feel it, too enraptured by the look in her eyes. It’s playful, confident. With a sudden clarity, I realize that I’ll do anything to keep that lightness in her.
“Don't be so dramatic. No one's losing their eyes tonight.” She rolls her eyes as she looks up at me from beneath her dark lashes. A few freckles sprinkle the bridge of her nose, and I have this sudden urge to inspect her body for any more.
“Cherry, you look good enough to eat,” I murmur, our faces inches apart.
She lifts a shoulder, a smile tilting up the side of the corner of her mouth as she slides her hands along my biceps. “Are you hungry, Matteo?”
The chaos inside me quiets even further with her proximity. “For you, Cherry, I’m fucking famished.”
