Page 129 of Matteo

When the door to the suite opens, I stop dead, my eyes sweeping across the large space. I step inside. It’s not a room. It’s almost an entire apartment. A wide, open living space with big, plush sofas, a sleek, polished dining table, and floor to ceiling windows looking out over the Adriatic.

I walk around, heart racing, pop my head inside a door to see a huge bedroom, with more floor to ceiling windows and a bed as big as the one Matteo has. I’m drowning in overwhelm. This is… too much. Too far removed from the Vlad I knew. Too far removed from anything I understand.

Behind me, Matteo is silent. And I don’t know what to say because the tension between us just went up a notch.

This is wealth. Real wealth. The kind we used to go after. The kind we used to expose. Vlad and I… we weren’t like this. We didn’t belong in places like this. We were the ones digging through systems, pulling apart corrupt corporations, exposing the kind of people who owned places like this.

We were against all of it. Against the oligarchy. Against the imbalance. Against the men who thought money made them untouchable.

Now I have knots in my stomach thinking about Vlad.

Where did this come from? What is he up to? He said he’d stop hacking, so what’s he doing now? Something worse?

“You didn’t tell me your friend had Knight Level wealth.” Matteo’s quiet voice behind me startles.

I turn to him, already tired of this. “I didn’t know,” I admit.

He studies me for a second, like he’s trying to decide whether to believe that. I don’t blame him for being annoyed. After everything. After refusing the private jet. After refusing first class. After insisting we do this my way. And now we’re here, being driven around by a chauffeur, staying in a place like this, all because of a man he doesn’t know and already doesn’t trust.

I press my lips together. “I didn’t know.” He softens, pulls me into his arms and hugs me. I let out a heavy exhale. “Please don’t be moody.”

“I’m sorry.” He tightens his arms around me, and I feel so relieved, like he’s absorbing every drop of anxiety oozing out of me.

There’s a knock at the door. I go to open it, to find that it’s the luggage boys. They wheel our suitcases in, placing them neatly by the wall. Matteo slips them some notes before they leave, closing the door softly behind them.

We stare at one another. “I haven’t seen him in three years, Matteo. We text and email. There’s the occasional phone call. That’s it. He’s a very busy guy, but I don’t know how he can afford this.”

“If he means so much to you, why don’t you know?”

“I just don’t.” I’m bone tired and I don’t have the energy to have another argument.

“I’m taking a shower,” he says, before disappearing out of sight.

I go into the bedroom, and lie down, wondering what nightmare the next few days will bring.

After a few minutes of rest, I spring out of bed and get moving. I order room service and unpack. By the time my clothes and toiletries have all been put away, Matteo walks in wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. His skin is still damp from the shower, and droplets of water cling to the dark ink across his body.

I swallow, feeling the familiar pull towards him, and force myself to stay where I am, fully aware of the tension simmering inside him.

“I’ve ordered room service. Just a few light bites. We can go to the restaurant if you like.”

“Room service is fine. Thanks,” he says, but there’s a lightness to his tone. Maybe because he can see the hunger in my eyes as I check him out. I walk up to him.

“You’re welcome. I need a shower.”

I make to move away, but he grabs my wrist. “Not so fast.” He reels me in until my body is flush against his chest. I instinctively sniff. He smells clean and fresh. Delicious.

“Sorry for being grumpy,” he says, nibbling my earlobe. I instantly forgive him.

I pepper his chest with kisses. “I just want us to have a good time.”

He tilts my chin up and gives me another one of his long, sloppy kisses; the kind that make my toes curl, and my panties slick.

“Wanna fuck?” he asks, like he doesn’t already know the answer to that. My insides combust. That loaded question implies hard and fast love making. Rough and feral. It’s exactly what we need to expel that bone-deep frustration.

“Don’t you want to eat first?” I suggest, trying to break away. “I should shower, I’m feeling dirty.”

His hand tightens around my waist. “I like you when you’re feeling dirty.”