Chapter 64 The Line Between Lies and Truth
Valentina
The moment Matteo’s arms wrapped around me, everything else dimmed. The faint scent of his cologne, the firm press of his chest, the way his lips captured mine like they were meant to—my body fell into the moment without hesitation.
Like it always did. Like it wasn’t an act anymore.
When this all began, I had to remind myself to play the part, to soften my expression, to match his rhythm. But now…
Now I kissed him back because it felt natural. Too natural. My arms looped around his neck, my lips parting under his with a sigh that wasn’t rehearsed.
Was it still pretend if I stopped noticing the performance?
A sharp voice sliced through the illusion.
“For fuck’s sake. Alessio’s not even here for your little charade.”
Luca.
Of course.
Matteo didn’t flinch, didn’t let go of me. He just said, calm as ever, “When it’s real, you don’t wait for an audience.”
And damn. That was good.
I didn’t even have to fake the warmth that curled in my chest.
Luca’s smirk, though, said he wasn’t impressed. He threw out a few more jabs, the kind meant to poke at Matteo’s temper, but then his eyes landed on me, and I knew what was coming before the words even left his mouth.
“Maria gave the best head,” he said. Then, looking straight at me, “Isn’t that right, Val?”
The way he said it—calm, almost amused—carried a sharp edge. That wasn’t just a vulgar little dig. That was a warning. A reminder.
Back on the jet, he’d grabbed my arm hard enough to bruise and told me he’d kill me if I said anything. He knew Alessio had seen the footage now. He knew Matteo saw the red marks on my skin. He knew it all.
But he also knew I hadn’t said anything. Which meant he blamed me anyway.
And that little question—“Isn’t that right, Val?”—wasn’t really a question. It was him letting me know he was still watching. Still dangerous.
Matteo stepped in front of me like he was ready to commit homicide right there on the carpet.
His body went tense, jaw clenched, muscles flexed. He was on the edge of combustion, I could feel it.
So I slipped my hand into his—slow, sweet—and leaned into him with a soft smile.
“Come on, babe,” I said lightly, like I hadn’t just felt the tension spike like a live wire. “Take me to lunch.”
His hand tightened around mine. Not out of anger. Out of restraint.
I turned to Luca, plastering on the kind of smile that said fuck you with sugar on top.
“Sorry, Luca. We’d invite you and your wife to join us, but Alessio was pretty clear that you’re both cut off for the next month. Said if we tried to cover for you, we’d be cut off too. And I don’t know about you, but I’m not trying to lose the private chef, the villa access, and the yacht.”
I paused just long enough to let it sink in.
“I think the point of punishment is to make sure it stings enough that you don’t make the same mistake twice. Right?”
Luca’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t speak. Good. Because I wasn’t afraid of him.
And if he wanted to play games—
He’d find out just how well I could play them too.
Matteo’s hand slid from my waist, but only just. His voice was low and sharp when he said, “Get out, Luca.”
Luca’s smirk faltered.
“What?”
“You heard me,” Matteo said, already turning toward the door. “This is my office. And I’ve got better things to do than waste time trading insults with someone who can’t even keep his dick out of a flight attendant’s mouth.”
I bit back a grin.
Luca let out a scoff like he wanted to say something clever, but he must’ve thought better of it because, after a few seconds of huffing and muttering under his breath, he stalked out.
Matteo waited until the door shut behind him before locking it.
Then he turned to me with a sigh, his hand finding mine again without missing a beat. “Come on,” he murmured. “Let’s get out of here before I do something that gets blood on the carpet.”
We stepped out just as Rosco pulled back up in the SUV.
Perfect timing.
Matteo grinned. “Well, look at that. Lunch is served.”
Rosco raised a brow as he climbed out of the driver’s seat. “I just got back.”
“Then turn your ass around,” Matteo said, tugging open my door like a gentleman with a criminal record. “We’re going to lunch.”
“Copy that,” Rosco muttered, but I saw the twitch of a smile as he slid back into the front seat.
Matteo helped me into the car, then rounded to the other side and slid in next to me. The door barely clicked shut before he leaned in, voice husky against my ear.
“That was fucking hot,” he said, his breath warming my neck.
“Hmm?” I asked innocently. “Me kissing you, or me putting Luca in his place?”
“Yes.”
From the front seat, Rosco cleared his throat. Loudly. “Hey, hey. Let’s set some ground rules. Rule number one: no fucking in the backseat while I’m driving. If you’re gonna put on a show, at least give a guy the courtesy of a proper view. Popcorn. Reclined seat. Maybe a little mood lighting.”
Matteo barked a laugh. “Fuck off. Nobody’s getting to see this show except me.”
Rosco chuckled, glancing in the mirror. “What’s got you all twisted up anyway?”
Matteo glanced at me, and for a second I saw it again—that unfiltered pride he didn’t bother to hide.
“My wife is low-key badass,” he said, like it was fact. “Luca tried to take a dig at her, and without batting a damn eye, she put him in his place. Sweet as sugar. Cut like a blade. Hit him right where it hurt.”
I tried not to smile, but failed.
Rosco whistled. “Damn. That sounds like a woman worth keeping.”
Matteo didn’t look away from me when he said, “Yeah. She is.”
We pulled up outside a quiet upscale Italian place—one of those little garden-wrapped, red-stuccoed restaurants tucked behind hedges so thick it felt like entering a secret. Rosco cut the engine and climbed out before we even finished unbuckling.
Matteo came around to my door again, ever the gentleman when it suited him, and offered his hand.
“Try not to make a scene,” he murmured under his breath, that wicked smile curling the edge of his lips. “Unless it’s in the bathroom. I’ll allow that.”
I rolled my eyes and stepped out, adjusting the hem of my cropped sweater. “So generous.”
We walked toward the door, his hand warm and possessive at the small of my back. But the moment we stepped into the foyer, a scent hit me.
Sickly sweet. Heavy. Artificial…Perfume.
Something cloying and floral, like a sticky memory I couldn’t place. It clung to the air, wrapped around the hostess stand like invisible smoke.
It was too familiar but I couldn’t quite place it.