"Get some rest," he said, his voice rough. "We'll talk tomorrow about what happens next."
He left again, and this time I was alone.
I stood in the middle of the room in clothes that weren't mine and didn't fit, my heart racing, my mind spinning.
Matteo DeLuca had kept me.
Not to kill me. Not to send a message to my father.
Because he'd seen something in my face a few weeks ago that made him want to protect me.
I didn't know if that made this better or worse.
I sank onto the bed and stared at the door, waiting for I didn't know what.
Whatever came next, I had a feeling my life would never be the same.
CHAPTER 2: MATTEO
I DIDN'T SLEEP.
I'd gone back to my apartment after locking Stefan in the holding room, but sleep felt impossible. Every time I closed my eyes I saw him—standing in that office with a camera in his watch and defiance in his eyes. The way he'd looked at me when I'd yanked off his disguise. Fear mixed with something else. Something that made my chest tight and my hands itch to touch him.
I'd wanted to stay in that room with him. Wanted to push him against the wall and find out if his mouth tasted as good as it looked. Wanted to hear what sounds he'd make if I wrapped my hand around his throat and squeezed just enough to remind him who was in control.
Instead, I'd left.
Because wanting Stefan Romano was dangerous and stupid and exactly the kind of complication I didn't need.
At five AM I gave up on sleep entirely and went back to Inferno. The club was quiet in the morning light, the glamour stripped away to reveal stained floors and empty bottles. The cleaning crew moved through the space like ghosts, restoring order before tonight's chaos.
I took the stairs to the second floor.
The holding rooms were monitored by cameras and one-way glass, allowing us to observe without being seen. I'd installed the system myself three years ago after we'd needed to question arival family's lieutenant and wanted to watch his reactions when he thought he was alone.
Stefan's room was third on the left.
I stopped at the observation window and looked through.
He was pacing. Back and forth across the small space like a caged animal testing the boundaries of his prison. The t-shirt and sweatpants I'd given him were too big, hanging loose on his frame in ways that made him look younger than twenty-three. More vulnerable.
But even locked up and clearly terrified, he held himself with pride. Chin up. Shoulders back. Refusing to show weakness.
Something dark and possessive flared in my chest as I watched him.
Mine.
The thought was immediate and absolute. Stefan Romano had walked into my territory, and now he belonged to me. Not as leverage against Giuseppe. Not as a prisoner to be interrogated and disposed of.
As mine.
I'd known it the moment I'd caught him in that office. The moment I'd seen his real face emerge from beneath the disguise. The moment his green eyes had met mine with that perfect mix of fear and defiance that made me want to break him and protect him in equal measure.
At eight, I phoned Sandro. "We've got a situation," I told him "Stefan Romano infiltrated Inferno last night wearing a disguise and a wig. Security caught him on camera trying to access restricted areas. He was gathering intelligence before my men grabbed him."
"Where is he now?"
I stared at Stefan through the one-way glass, unable to tear my eyes away from him. "Locked in one of the upstairs rooms.Refusing to answer questions about who sent him or what he was looking for. What do you want me to do with him?"
