I continue my careful inspection, cataloguing all the details like Donal taught me.
Height: Six-one, maybe six-two, broad shoulders, lean muscle under that tailored charcoal suit.
Gait: Easy confidence, but purposeful. His head moves just enough to clock his surroundings without being obvious.
Tell: His right hand twitches once at his side before he shoves it into his pocket. Impatience. Restlessness.
Matteo Rossi. Twenty-three years old. Son of Nico Rossi and nephew of Marco Rossi, Co-CEO’s of Gemini Corp. Officially, Matteo serves as Chief Technology Officer of the corporation. Unofficially, he’s the heir apparent. Because Alessandro, the oldest, won’t take the throne. Doesn’t want it. Which leaves it all to Matteo.
He’s the cyber genius of the family. He built their security systems and keeps their money moving through shadows no cop could ever follow. When he’s not behind a screen, he’s helping Alessandro run that den of sin, the Velvet Vault.
A hacker. A club rat. A mafia prince.
And my target.
Tugging on my hat so it sits low on my brow, I shadow him easily, blending with the crowd as he heads west. His pace isunhurried, like he knows no one would dare come for him in broad daylight. Arrogant bastard.
He slips into a café on the corner, one of those trendy glass-walled places with succulents in the windows and overpriced pastries. I cross the street diagonally, keeping a delivery truck between us, and slide into a seat on the patio across from the entrance.
Through the wide window, I watch him. He orders, then chooses a booth near the back. Alone at first. He checks his phone, leans back, and runs a hand through his hair. Casual. Too casual.
Then she arrives.
A woman. Blonde, ponytail and a visor. Long legs, in trendy yoga pants and an off-the-shoulder top, moving like she belongs here. My stomach knots instantly. I shift forward in my chair, pulse spiking.
She slides into the booth across from him, and his face lights up. Not business. Personal. He leans in, talking and smiling that smile I used to know in a different country, in a different lifetime. Moving closer, his thumb brushes the corner of her mouth, wiping away some crumbs. I’m instantly transported to thatgelateria, my favorite ice cream shop in Taormina. The first time Matteo kissed me began with a similar move, him thumbing away a smudge of chocolategelato.
A hot wave of something… a tangle of jealousy and shame, slides into my throat and tastes like bile. My fingers curl into fists until my nails cut into my palms. Is he going to fuck her and leave her too? Damn him. He’s mine to kill. Mine. And yet here he is, laughing with some blonde doll like life’s a fucking fairytale.
I shift my angle, eyes narrowing, until the light catches her face beneath the visor.
Not a stranger, you idiot. It’s Serena Valentino, hiscousin.
Relief slams into me so hard it almost knocks the air from my lungs. My jealousy curdles into shame, twisting bitter at the back of my throat. I should have known. Matteo’s not stupid enough to meet a lover here, not in broad daylight, not when he knows he’s being targeted.
Still, what I see next throws me.
They’re talking… wedding plans? The big Valentino-Ferrara wedding in the fall is no secret. All the most infamous families of Manhattan and beyond have been invited. I can’t hear much through the glass, but I don’t need to. Serena’s waving swatches around, pointing to her phone, gesturing like a general directing a battle. And Matteo is listening. Not just listening. Engaged. Unlike my own fiancé who wanted nothing to do with our wedding planning.
I shove down the traitorous thought, burying it deep. None of it matters anymore.
Matteo is still nodding, grinning, and occasionally teasing her in a way that makes her swat at him. He’s… sweet. Patient.
He’s not the ruthless Rossi enforcer I’ve been taught to hate. Not the cocky cybercriminal who kills without hesitation.
It disorients me.
Because I know ruthless Matteo. I know cocky Matteo. I’ve replayed that version of him in my head like a mantra, the villain I need him to be to put a bullet between his green eyes.
But this? This is the boy from that summer. My first love. My first everything. He was the one who whispered promises under the moonlight. The one who pressed a kiss to my belly and told me I’d never be alone.
My pulse stutters. I grip the edge of the table until my knuckles ache.
This isn’t who he is, I remind myself. This is an act. A façade. He’s charming, yes. That’s what makes him dangerous.My father, Donal, Tiernan, they were all right. Men like Matteo are poison wrapped in silk.
He pauses mid-sentence and looks up. Not at me, but down the sidewalk. For a heartbeat our gazes don’t meet, but his head turns in a way that has me wondering if he’s actually seen me.
Still, I don’t move. And as I watch him laugh with his cousin, my resolve wavers.
