Page 127 of Vicious Intentions
I scramble back when he reaches for me, that same forlorn expression from earlier crossing his face. His eyes search mine for something, and when he doesn’t find what he’s looking for, his gaze drops from my face. It’s only when his head turns slightly to the side that he sees the necklace on the floor.
“Good. I hated that thing on you anyway,” he mutters under his breath.
However, when his eyes return to me and slide to the burn mark on my bare neck, his whole posture stiffens. My brows furrow as I catch the way his hands clench at his sides, as if forcing himself not to touch me.
Without another word, he straightens up and walks toward the ensuite bathroom. I just sit there in confusion. Ever since I arrived here, everything Matteo does confuses me. For acaptor, he sure doesn’t act like one. Which surprises me, since I would’ve thought he was born for such a role.
I still remember the hate in Matteo’s eyes that night at my house when Marcello killed his eldest brother. I’ll never forget it. The way he spoke to me that night—harsh, resolute, consumed by hatred. I expectedthatMatteo to show up at any moment, and yet, that’s not who I’ve been dealing with. Not even close.
It makes me wonder if this is just another one of his ploys. A way to manipulate me into being docile enough to follow his plan without question. I’ve given him and Raffaele more than enough reason to think I’m passive by nature. Still, if he thinks kindness makes me weak, then he’s never met a Romano woman before.
My mother, the Red Queen herself, is one of the kindest, most genuine people I know. Yet, even she killed her enemies when provoked. And if it comes to it, I won’t hesitate to follow in her footsteps. I just wish I knew what Matteo’s plan was.
I hear him return before I see him, the quiet tread of his shoes against the floor, steady, unhurried. I don’t look up. Instead, I remain perfectly still, on my knees, hands braced against the floor. For a moment, neither of us speaks. Then his hand appears in my line of sight.
“Get up, Anna,” he says quietly, but I refuse to take his hand as I push myself to my feet on my own.
The room tilts slightly, but I steady myself before it shows, the damn sedative still lingering in my system. The second I’m upright, I take a step back, needing to put as much distance as possible from the monster, clad in a Tom Ford suit.
Unfortunately for me, Matteo has something else in mind. Before I can step farther away, his hands wrap around my waist, firm and unyielding, stopping me mid-step. My breath falters at his touch, and before I can react, he pulls me back toward him. He turns just enough to sit on the edge of the bed and brings me with him, leaving me no choice but to land on his lap. Everymuscle in my body locks as I try to pull away, but his hold doesn’t loosen.
“Stay still,” he murmurs, already reaching for the ointment on top of the duvet.
The command in his voice makes my jaw tighten, but I stop fighting against his grip. So I stay still, just like he ordered, but I refuse to relax. His fingers gently tilt my chin upward, exposing my throat to him. As he leans in, the first light of dawn spills into the room, catching on his face.
And for a moment…for one shameful moment…I forget to breathe.
He’s… beautiful.
There’s no denying it. The years have been more than kind to him. Matteo is even more handsome than I remember.
The soft early light traces the sculpted line of his jaw, the sharp cut of his cheekbones, blunting nothing and yet making everything more striking. His lashes are longer than they have any right to be, casting faint shadows against his olive-toned skin, his dark eyes unreadable and far too clear all at once.
Every feature is precise. Deliberate. Almost unreal. It’s disarming how beautiful he is. Dangerously so.
How can someone look like this…and be so utterly monstrous underneath?
The thought grounds me, snapping me back into myself. This is the same man who had me drugged and stolen from my home. The same man who wants to use me for his own nefarious purposes. The same man who looked at me and my family with nothing but hatred in his eyes.
I force my gaze to harden, even as his touch remains maddeningly careful.
The cool ointment brushes against my skin, soothing the burn I put there myself, his fingers moving with a precision thatfeels too practiced, and yet too gentle for words. As if he knew exactly how not to hurt me. As if he’d done this before.
Why would he have done this before?
My stomach turns at how easy I am to manipulate. Matteo hasn’t said more than a handful of words to me, and already I’m wondering why aCosa Nostrasoldier would feel the need to be gentle with anyone else’s wounds but his own.
“There. All better,” he says, and every inch of my body goes rigid when I feel his lips press just above my burn.
Even Matteo’s eyes widen as they lift to mine, looking just as surprised by the kiss as I am. In all fairness, it was just a quick peck, but still.
“I… um…” he starts, grabbing me by the hips and gently lifting me off his lap before setting me back on the bed. “I should go.”
Before he has time to slip away, I grab his hand, stopping him in his tracks.
“Matteo,” I call out, but his focus is solely on my hand.
I ignore how his fingers lightly graze my wrist as he lifts his eyes to mine.
