“Is this where you live?” I ask dumbly as he presses his thumb on a small screen next to the elevator doors.
“Yeah, until Henry … I mean Enrique?—”
“Enrique?” I repeat. “That’s his real name?”
“Yeah, Enrique Rothschild.”
“Like the Rothschilds?” Wait. “Oh my God. Did my dad”—I lean in even though we’re the only two standing here—“kill his parents?”
Matteo eyes me for a moment, and I can tell he’s debating how to respond, so I add, “Don’t lie to me, please. I was kept in the dark my entire life and look where that got me—married to the enemy.”
“Joseph killed Andrey,” Matteo says, “and in return, your dad killed Joseph.”
The elevator doors open, and Matteo and I get in. He presses his thumb on another screen. The doors close, and the elevatorascends—at least, I’m assuming it does since there are no numbers anywhere on the wall.
“Jesus, did he kill a lot of people?”
I didn’t know my dad well, but I never took him for a killer.
“No. Andrey handled the shady shit. Your dad was all about business. Honestly, I think he did it as revenge for Joseph sleeping with Maria all those years ago.”
“That’s right …” I remember my parents fighting about that. “My dad was in love with Maria, but she cheated on him with Joseph and got pregnant with Anthony, forcing them to marry,” I recall. “My mom loved my dad, but there was a part of her that knew she was never his first choice.” I shake my head. “I never wanted a relationship like that, yet here I am, married to a man who only wanted me for revenge.”
“He’s fucked up,” Matteo says. “He’s proven that. So, don’t blame yourself. He would’ve found a way to get what he wanted regardless.”
“Maybe so … but I definitely made it easier for him.”
“Speaking of,” he adds, “with him on the loose and your brother in jail, you’ll be staying with me until further notice.”
I groan, and his brows furrow.
“I’m not trying to hold you hostage,” he says, misunderstanding, “but?—”
“No, I get it. I appreciate you rescuing me and bringing me back here. I just feel bad that you’re being put out.”
“Having a beautiful woman staying here is hardly an imposition.” He smirks playfully, and I imagine the guy could get any woman he wanted with that look alone. “Can you cook? Bake? I take either one as payment.”
I bark out a laugh, and it feels good to be able to do that again, even if my ribs are burning in pain from where Henry—um, Enrique—kicked me.
“I can bake,” I admit. “Although …” I reach out, without thinking, and run the tips of my fingers down his abs over his plain black shirt. “I doubt someone as fit as you eats many sweets.”
The moment I realize what I’m doing, I pull my hand back like it’s on fire. But it’s too late. I’ve already felt him up, every hard ridge, and he’s staring at me like he wants me to touch him some more. But that can’t be right.
I’m me … Lorenzo’s fat little sister, and he’s … well, he’s him. He’s gorgeous and muscular and I’m not trying to sound allwoe is me, but c’mon, I’ve seen him in pictures with models on his arm at events over the years. And there’s no way I’m his type.
The elevator dings, and the doors open, but Matteo makes no move to get out.
“I do eat healthy,” he admits, taking a small step toward me. “But I can assure you, I love my sweets.”
His tongue slowly slides along the seam of his lips, and the apex of my legs clenches in response. If I didn’t know better, I would swear he was flirting with me.
“Oh good, you’re back,” a masculine voice says, ending … whatever this was.
I glance around Matteo and notice that his elevator doesn’t lead to a hallway, like one would expect, but instead to an area off the kitchen.
“Private elevator. Perks of owning the building. There’s another elevator just outside the front door that takes you to the main lobby, but I prefer this one, so I don’t have to see anyone,” he says, guiding me inside before pointing to a man standing in the foyer. “You remember my brother, Dominick?”
“Hello,” I say.
