Chapter 9 Nine
"You're a strange creature, Lila Moreno," he whispered. "Most women would be crying. Most would be begging for their lives. But you? You look at me like you’re trying to figure out where to twist the knife."
"Maybe I am."
He laughed, a short, sharp sound. "I hope so. A dull blade is no fun to play with."
He let go of my hair and his hand dropped to my waist, pulling me flush against him. The contact was electric, a jolt of heat that made my skin prickle. I hated how my body reacted to him. I hated that despite the kidnapping, the forced marriage, and the threats, there was a part of me that was drawn to the raw, unfiltered power he radiated.
"You saved my life tonight," he said, his eyes searching mine. "Why?"
"I told you. I didn't want the mess."
"Liar." He leaned down, his breath warm against my neck. "You could have let that bullet hit me. You could have been a widow before the ink was dry on the papers. But you screamed. You moved. You chose me."
"I chose survival," I hissed, trying to push him back, but he was a mountain of muscle and bone.
"In my world, those are the same thing."
His mouth found the sensitive spot just below my ear, his teeth grazing the skin. I gasped, my hands curling into fists against his chest. I wanted to hit him. I wanted to scream. But my legs felt weak, and the heat in my belly was turning into something far more dangerous than hate.
"You're mine, Lila," he growled against my skin. "Every breath. Every spark. Mine."
He picked me up suddenly, his arms hooking under my thighs. I wrapped my legs around his waist instinctively, my fingers digging into his shoulders. He carried me to the bed, the one with the bullet holes in the headboard, and dropped me onto the silk sheets.
He loomed over me, his hands pinning my wrists above my head. It was exactly like the beginning, but the tension had shifted. It wasn't just terror anymore. It was an obsession, a dark, tangled web that was drawing us both in.
"Don't," I whispered, though the word felt hollow.
"Don't what?" He lowered himself, his chest pressing against my breasts. "Don't touch you? Don't make you feel what I feel? You’re vibrating, Lila. You’re terrified, and you’re burning."
He released my wrists and his hands moved to the zipper of my black dress. The sound of it sliding down was the loudest thing in the room.
"If I do this," I said, my voice shaking, "it doesn't mean I’m yours. It doesn't mean the debt is paid."
Matteo paused, his eyes locking onto mine. "The debt will never be paid. That’s the point of interest, moglie. It just keeps growing until it consumes everything."
He kissed me then, and it wasn't the deadly, blood-tasting kiss from the chapel. It was something deeper, a slow, consuming fire that tasted of wine and desperation. I fought him for a second, my hands pushing at his shoulders, but then I gave in. I pulled him closer, my teeth meeting his, my tongue dancing with his in a war of its own.
If I was going to be a captive, I would be a captive that burned him from the inside out.
The night was a blur of shadows and heat. Every touch felt like a brand. Every groan felt like a surrender. Matteo was a brutal lover, demanding and possessive, but there were moments, brief, flickering moments, where I felt a vulnerability in him. When he pressed his forehead against mine, his heart thudding against my ribs, he didn't look like a Don. He looked like a man who was starving for something that money and blood couldn't buy.
But I didn't let myself feel pity. I didn't let myself feel love.
I waited until he fell into a heavy, restless sleep, his arm draped across my waist like an iron bar. The moon was high now, casting long, silver bars across the room.
I carefully slid out from under his arm. He groaned but didn't wake. I moved to the edge of the bed, my body aching in ways I wasn't used to. I found the black dress on the floor and pulled it on, then I went back to the drawer.
I needed to see if there was more in that safe.
I opened it quietly, the satellite phone still there. I pulled out the letters again. I needed to read them properly this time.
I moved to the bathroom and turned on the dim light. I smoothed out the yellowed paper.
“Enzo, he’s coming for us. The Russo name isn't a shield, it’s a target. If I don't make it, take Lila and run. Don't let the fire take her too. Tell her about the flower in Tokyo. Tell her that the flame must never go out.”
The flower in Tokyo.
My mother knew about the message on the phone. This had been going on since before I was born.
The Russo cartel wasn't just a local mafia. They were part of something global. Something that involved my mother, my father, and now me.
I heard a movement in the bedroom. I quickly folded the letters and shoved them into the safe, locking it and sliding the drawer back into place. I made it back to the bed and slid under the covers just as Matteo turned over.
He reached out in his sleep, his hand finding my hip and pulling me back against him. He didn't wake up, but his grip was firm.
I lay there in the dark, staring at the shattered window and the stars beyond.
I had saved his life. I had married him. I had slept with him.
And now, I had a lead.
The Valentis wanted the throne. Matteo wanted the debt. My father wanted the money.
But I? I wanted the truth.
I thought about Sofia, safe in her convent for now. I thought about the "Tokyo" message.
The game was changing. It wasn't just about Palermo anymore. The flame was spreading, just like the message said.
I closed my eyes, the scent of Matteo Russo filling my senses. He thought he had captured a dancer. He thought he had settled a debt.
He had no idea he had just let the enemy into his bed.
I would play the part of the obsessive wife. I would sabotage his rivals. I would steal his ledgers. I would make him trust me until he was so blinded by his own desire that he wouldn't see the match I was holding.
“You were supposed to ruin me,” he would say one day.
“I did,” I whispered into the silence of the room. “Then I made you immortal.”
But for now, I was just a woman in a black dress, held captive by a man with scars on his chest and blood on his hands.
The sun began to peek over the horizon, turning the sea into a sheet of hammered gold.
A new day was starting. The first day of my life as a Russo.
Matteo’s eyes snapped open. He didn't look groggy. He looked instantly alert, his hand reaching for the gun under the pillow before he even realized where he was.
He saw me watching him and relaxed, but only slightly.
"You're awake," he said, his voice husky.
"I couldn't sleep."
He reached out and traced the line of my collarbone. "Good. We leave for Palermo in an hour. Dress in the black again. I want them to see you."
"I'm not a trophy, Matteo."
He sat up, the sheets falling away to reveal the raw power of his body. He looked at me with an intensity that made my breath catch.
"In my world, Lila, everything is a trophy until it’s a weapon. Which one are you going to be today?"
I looked at him, my chin lifted. "I guess you’ll have to wait and see."
He smiled, that dark, dangerous curve of his lips.
"I like surprises."
He stood up and walked to the shower, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
I looked at the ring on my finger. The bullet casing.
It was time to go to the city. It was time to meet the council.
And it was time to find out what happened in Tokyo.
The flame was burning, and I was the one holding the torch.