Because my attention was split – half on Tony’s fists, half on the man beside me.
Matteo didn’t so much as flinch when my brother landed a punch to the ribs, didn’t blink when blood splattered against the canvas. He just sipped his drink, gaze steady, relaxed in that dangerous way only men certain of their own power could be. The soft glow from the show lights above caught in the edges of his jaw, highlighting the faint scruff along his cheeks, the sharp lines of his mouth.
God, that mouth.
His suit fit like sin – black, expensive, stretched over shoulders built to carry the weight of kingdoms. The open collar of his shirt teased a glimpse of skin, tanned and strong, and his watch gleamed like it belonged in a museum.
He didn’t just sit in the room. Heownedit. And everyone knew it.
I wondered what he was like when he fucked.
Calm, just like when he was surrounded by violence.
Rough, like when he handled business.
Part of me wanted the answer to be passionate, like in the way he was when he spoke to me.
Was he a giver? A taker?
And when he gave, did he just do it for his own pleasure?
I tore my gaze back to the ring just as Tony decided he’d had enough. He slipped inside the other man’s guard, one strike, two – and then a brutal right hook. The mandropped like a marionette with its strings cut. The crowd erupted, screaming Tony’s name, money flying through the air.
I jumped to my feet, clapping, shouting with the rest of them. Tony raised his arms in victory, blood dripping from his knuckles, grin wide and face intact.
And then I felt it again – the heat at my back.
I turned, breath catching when I met Matteo’s chest.
He stood, big and tall, behind me. That calm, steady gaze. Those eyes, like he knew every thought running through my head.
It took me a moment to realize he was covering my back, so none of the men behind us could steal a look at me.
It didn’t come across as controlling. But more... Masculine and protective. Like he was just making sure I was comfortable.
Before I could even register the group of men that ran in front of us, Matteo’s huge arms wrapped around me, pressing me back into his warm, hard body. A soft gasp escaped me at the contact; at the way my body, which I knew to be so hard and violent, felt so soft and small against his.
Within a moment, the VIP section exploded, every man jumping and cheering and pushing each other with violent joy.
But none of it touched me.
Because Matteo Di’Ablo was there to keep me safe in his arms.
No man had ever tried to protect me before.
Men only ever tried to hurt me.
As soon as I opened my mouth and hit my fist on the table – they were basically praying I would get slapped orhumbled. Put back in my place.Just wait until– was a phrase men told me too often.
But not Matteo.
He wasn’t intimidated by me or my power. And he didn’t back down just because he knew I could protect myself. He didn’t get vindictive. He didn’t try to humble me –unless it had something to do with me admitting I was attracted to him…
Glancing over my shoulder, I brought my eyes up to his.
Heat.
Nothing but lit gasoline between us.
