Chapter 46 -MATTEO’S GAME
Isabella felt Matteo’s eyes on her long before she turned.
The De Luca estate’s east corridor was quiet at this hour, lit only by muted wall sconces. Most of the household had retired. The guards were stationed outside. The perfect moment for a woman pretending to be part of this world to slip away and breathe.
But safety was an illusion here.
Behind her, a low voice said, “Careful, bella. Someone might think you’re sneaking around.”
She stiffened. Slowly, she turned.
Matteo lounged against the wall as if he’d been waiting for her. Shirt untucked, sleeves pushed back to reveal lean forearms, tie hanging undone around his neck — all charm and danger wrapped into one man. There was always a smirk tugging at his mouth, like he saw a joke no one else was in on.
Tonight was no different.
“Could say the same about you,” Isabella replied coolly.
His smile grew. “Ah. But the difference is, I don’t have anything to hide.”
Her pulse jumped.
That was a lie. Everyone in this house had secrets buried under their skin. Matteo most of all.
“What do you want?” she asked, trying to step past him.
But he moved first.
Not roughly — just enough to block her path, one hand sliding to the wall beside her head. Not touching her. But pinning her just the same.
“I want a conversation,” he said lightly. “Is that a crime now?”
“With you?” Her voice came out sharp. “Always.”
He laughed softly, leaning in without crowding her. “You wound me.”
She tried to hold his gaze, but it was difficult. Matteo had a particular kind of intensity — the sort that made you wonder whether he was teasing or working out the best place to sink a knife.
“Lorenzo’s been… restless,” Matteo said, tone shifting. “Distracted.”
“Has he?” Her voice betrayed nothing, but her fingers curled slightly against her thigh.
Matteo noticed.
His eyes narrowed just a fraction. “He’s never restless unless something is wrong.”
Isabella’s breath caught.
She waited.
Matteo watched her like a hawk. “And lately, he’s very wrong.”
“You think it’s because of me?”
“Oh, I don’t think,” Matteo murmured, stepping closer. “I know.”
Her throat tightened. “You’re imagining things.”
“Am I?” He raised an eyebrow. “Then humor me.”
She exhaled slowly. “Matteo, get to the point.”
He dropped the playful smirk.
What replaced it was much more dangerous.
“I don’t trust you,” he said simply.
The words hit like a blade hidden in velvet. She flinched — small, involuntary.
Matteo saw it. “Interesting reaction.”
“You don’t trust anyone,” she shot back.
“True. But I know what untrustworthy looks like.” He tilted his head. “You wear it well. Elegant, even.”
She felt cold. “If you think I’m a threat, tell Lorenzo.”
“See, that’s where things get… complicated.” Matteo’s eyes softened a fraction — not kindness, but calculation. “I can’t decide if you’re dangerous… or useful.”
A chill swept across her spine.
“What would I be useful for?” she whispered.
“Oh, bella.” Matteo tapped a finger against the wall near her shoulder. “You already are. I just haven’t figured out how.”
Her heartbeat thundered. There were too many meanings in that sentence — power, leverage, doubt, fascination. She wasn’t sure which he intended, but all of them were bad.
“Let me go,” she said.
He did.
Immediately, and without hesitation.
Which made it worse.
She stepped away, creating distance. His eyes followed her like a predator tracking an unfamiliar animal.
“You walk around this house like a ghost,” Matteo said softly. “Like you’re scared someone might look too closely. But you know what I’ve learned?”
She didn’t breathe.
“Ghosts aren’t real.” His gaze sharpened. “But liars are.”
She steadied herself. “I’m not lying about anything.”
“Hmm.” Matteo circled her, slow, thoughtful. “Tell me something, Isabella. Where did you say you were from again?”
Her mouth went dry.
She’d rehearsed her backstory a hundred times. Yet the moment he asked, she felt the details fight against each other in her throat.
He saw the hesitation.
“Oh?” Matteo murmured. “Not so sure tonight?”
“Of course I’m sure,” she said, too quickly.
Matteo’s smile returned, small and lethal. “There it is.”
He stopped in front of her again, so close she could see the faint scar above his lip — a reminder that this man, for all his charm, was a killer.
“You’re hiding something,” Matteo said quietly. “And I want to know what.”
She forced a scoff. “You’re fishing.”
“I don’t fish,” he said. “I hunt. And I’ve learned to smell fear.”
“I’m not afraid of you.”
“No?” His eyes flicked down to the pulse hammering in her neck. “Your body disagrees.”
She took a breath through her nose. “If you have something to accuse me of, say it.”
“I didn’t come here to accuse you.” He leaned in, voice lowering to a whisper. “I came to warn you.”
A beat passed.
“Warn me about what?” she asked.
Matteo stepped back just enough to look at her fully.
“People are watching you.”
She froze.
Not Lorenzo. Not the guards.
Someone else.
Someone who had taken an interest in her ever since that night at the docks. Someone she had yet to identify.
Her voice turned thin. “Who?”
Matteo didn’t answer immediately.
He studied her expression — her fear, her confusion, her sudden panic — and something darkened in his eyes.
He liked knowing she didn’t know.
“Let’s just say,” he murmured, “you’re not as invisible as you think.”
Her stomach dropped.
“Matteo, if you know something—”
“I know many things.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a folded piece of paper, and handed it to her. “Open it.”
Her hands shook.
Inside was a photo — grainy, taken from afar, clearly zoomed in.
Isabella.
Walking alone near the market.
Her face wasn’t fully visible, but the posture, the coat, the hair… unmistakable.
And at the bottom, scrawled in harsh handwriting:
Find out who she really is.
Isabella felt the world tilt violently.
Her skin went numb. Her vision narrowed. Her lungs shrank.
Someone else was onto her.
Someone not on Lorenzo’s side.
Someone dangerous enough to send photos to someone like Matteo.
“Where did you get this?” she whispered.
Matteo didn’t smile now. His voice was serious, even grim.
“You’re in a war you don’t understand, bella. And right now…” His gaze dropped to the photo in her trembling hands. “…you’re the one being hunted.”
She couldn’t speak.
Matteo stepped close again — not touching her, but close enough that she felt the heat of his body, the gravity of his warning.
“Choose your allies carefully,” he murmured. “Lorenzo can protect you from many things.” His eyes hardened. “But not from this.”
She swallowed hard, stomach twisting.
“Why tell me?” she asked, voice raw.
Matteo hesitated.
And for the first time since she’d met him…
He looked uncertain.
“Because whether I use you,” he said finally, “or protect you… depends on what you do next.”
He stepped back, leaving her cold in the dim corridor.
“But make no mistake, Isabella.”
His voice was barely above a whisper.
“One wrong move… and the truth will tear you apart.”
Matteo turned and disappeared into the shadows.
Isabella stared at the photo in her hand—
—and behind her, from somewhere deeper in the hallway…
a floorboard creaked.
Someone else had been listening.