Page 10 of Brutal Revenge

He ought to considerhimself lucky.

In the Turkish mafia, disloyalty like that could get you killed.

I lead Matteo toward a blacked-out SUV near the back stairs, keeping the neutral and serene expression I learned to wear since childhood, even though everything inside me is chaotic.

If it weren’t for Matteo’s large hand steadying me, I’d be a mess.

I shouldn’t notice that.

I shouldn’t care.

You’re not in Sicily for him,I remind myself again.

As we pass through the tall walls of the compound, cold air hits me like a slap. Its briskness clears my head enough to remember the plan I’m supposed to be following.

I yank Matteo forward with more force than I realized I had, and he stumbles—actually stumbles—into the back seat of the SUV.

The surprise on his face is comical. If I weren’t so worked up, I might have laughed. Instead, I climb in after him and slam the door shut.

The moment the latch clicks, the outside world vanishes, and the tension from all the gawkers fades away. It’s just the two of us in the dim interior, the air thick with adrenaline and something else I would rather not name.

Matteo opens his mouth, probably to say something infuriatingly calm or annoyingly perceptive like he did during our debate in my room, but I don’t let him.

Continuing the ruse, I straddle his lap, grab the front of his shirt, tug him forward, and kiss him hard on the mouth.

It’s not a gentle or questioning embrace. It isn’t even hesitant. It’s a collision of anger, confusion, strategy, and if I were honest, a desire I refuse to admit out loud.

I don’t have time to question the rampant tingles or my soaked panties. The “act” needs to continue. I’ll deal with the consequences later.

Matteo’s hand creeps across my spine, fingers splaying over the two dimples low on my back. He doesn’t pull me closer. He grounds me as if he knows I’m one breath away from unraveling.

His unspoken chivalry makes the situation even more intense.

Throughout the next few minutes, he kisses me back with so much certainty that my heart beats out the ballad of a hardcore rock band. He kisses like a man who doesn’t second-guess himself or fear the consequences of his actions.

His kiss reveals that he’s lived his entire life in the spotlight and has no plans to hide in the shadows anytime soon.

I hate how I memorize every stroke of his tongue and the sultry movements of his lips, and I hate how my body reacts eagerly to each touch. But more than anything, I hate how much I don’t want this to end.

His erection digs into my pussy, yet he does not shift away when I grind against it like an orgasm will solve all my problems.

Would it really hurt anyone if I granted myself this one small moment of pleasure?

With only one answer echoing in my mind, I stop kissing him—eventually.

It requires an enormous effort.

As the SUV turns a corner, the compound slips out of sight, and I pull back. I’m so breathless from his heart-stuttering kiss that my forehead rests on Matteo’s longer than it should.

His reputation isn’t one I should mess with, but can I really be blamed? He started this ploy. I merely ran with it once it proved successful.

“You’re playing a dangerous game.” Matteo’s breath is warm against my cheek.

“Yeah.” My voice is calmer than the shudders making a mess of my stomach. “I am. But that’s the point, isn’t it?”

He studies me, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that twists my stomach. “To make him jealous?”

“To make him furious,” I correct after settling into my side of the seat. “There’s a difference.”