I will, I’ll do anything to get back to her.
She nods against me, her hands fist in my shirt and we stand there holding each other in the early morning light.
For one perfect moment everything is exactly where it should be.
The door slams open.
We don't have time to separate.
Matteo comes through the doorway like a storm given human form, his face dark with fury, his eyes locked on the two of us standing there wrapped around each other, and I watch him process what he's seeing, watch the confirmation of what he suspected land and solidify into certainty and rage.
"Get away from her." His voice is low and deadly calm, which is somehow worse than if he were shouting.
I don't move.
"I said get the fuck away from my sister!”
Isabella starts to turn toward him but I shift, putting myself more squarely between them, and Matteo's eyes track the movement with sharp attention.
"Matteo—" Isabella starts.
He crosses the room in three strides, reaches past me, and pulls Isabella away with enough force that she stumbles back, and then his hand is on my chest shoving me backward.
I let him.
I let him push me back until I hit the wall and then his fist connects with my jaw, controlled and precise, hitting hard enough to make my head snap sideways but not hard enough to do real damage, nowhere near my wound.
"You fucking bastard," he says, and his voice is shaking with barely controlled fury. "You goddamn bastard, touching my little sister."
I don't defend myself. I don't block. I just take it, tasting blood where my teeth cut the inside of my cheek, and I look at him and wait for the next one.
"Matteo, please stop!" Isabella's voice, sharp and desperate.
She moves toward us and I hold up one hand without looking at her.
"Stay back, Isabella."
"He hit you?—"
"I know. Stay back."
"Enzo—"
“Please." I keep my eyes on Matteo. "I deserve this. Let him have it."
Matteo's fist is still clenched, ready for another strike, and he's looking at me with an expression I've never seen directed at me before.
Betrayal.
"You've been touching my sister," he says, his voice low and dangerous. "Behind my back. While I fucking trusted you. While I put her safety in your hands and you—" He stops, his jaw working. "You've been putting your hands on my baby sister and lying to my fucking face about it."
"I’m sorry.”
That’s all I can say. After days of thinking of how I’d tell him, planning pathetic excuses.
All I can say is ‘sorry’.
"You’resorry??” He laughs. “I will not have this conversation here, both of you meet me in my study right now."
