Chapter 59: LIX. “Surprise, b*tch.”

⋄ Marina Arellano ⋄

My shoulders hurt like hell. The effort to maintain perfect posture for hours is finally catching up to me, and this is only day one. Now, as I drag myself up the stairs back to Luigi’s apartment, I understand better than ever why most people give up. It’s not just the bullying.

Working for Enzo Bianchi is like buying a one-way ticket to a madhouse.

The job is exhausting. That’s a fact. I have to be there by 6:40 AM at the latest, and I can’t leave until 9 PM. Three hours of rest aren’t enough to make up for the brutal workload, no matter how good the pay is.

I’m pretty sure this breaks every labor law in Italy, but when you’re working for the family that makes the laws, any thought of rebellion dies before it even begins.

If I had known Cesare’s plan would involve becoming Enzo’s slave, not in the good, tempting way, I would’ve thought twice before using this as my bargaining chip for freedom.

Now, climbing the stairs with legs that can barely hold me up, I curse that man for the thousandth time today. Half of those curses were back when I forced myself to get up and walk out of that damn bathroom, so turned on that I couldn’t form a single rational thought.

I reach Luigi’s apartment door with my heart pounding way too hard. Not just from exhaustion—though my body’s at its limit—but from anger. Frustration. That unresolved, messy desire that’s been dragging behind me like a dangerous shadow since the moment I dropped to my knees on that marble floor, and that thick, massive cock was just a few inches away, ready to be tasted.

I open the apartment door harder than necessary, making the wood creak, and I’m met only with shadows and silence. Luigi said he had to take the Big Boss to some urgent appointment. Apparently, that kind of thing happens all the time.

He told me I didn’t have to wait for him to have dinner.

He didn’t have to say it twice.

I’m starving.

I flick on the living room light and toss my keys on the table, already kicking off my shoes and heading straight for the kitchen sink. I need water. Something to quench this thirst. But I know it’s deeper than that, dirtier.

Even after chugging it, it’s useless.

I lean against the kitchen counter, fingers gripping the marble edge, as I could somehow pull his memory out of me. I hate myself for this. For being weak. For wanting. For forgetting, even for a second, where I came from, what I’m doing here, and most of all, who he is.

“…You look tired tonight.”

That voice—so wrongly, maddeningly familiar—makes me jolt, spinning around, my whole body snapping into high alert. My eyes go wide when I see him standing there, right in the open space between the kitchen and the living room.

And for a moment, I think I might pass out.

My vision darkens at the edges, blurs, but even then, he doesn’t disappear.

The tattooed man, arms crossed, muscles so tense they stretch his shirt, isn’t an illusion.

My legs give out, and I lose my balance. Luckily, the counter behind me keeps me from collapsing to the floor like a pathetic mess. My hips hit the marble edge hard, hands flat behind me to anchor myself.

But fuck, I’m already in freefall.

“M-Matteo?” My voice breaks, high-pitched and strangled. No room for masks here. No way to hide the shock, the panic clawing up my chest.

Because holy shit, what the hell is he doing here?!

“Surprise, bitch.” The voice is low, almost soft, yet thick with that signature Matteo sarcasm. “Didn’t expect to see me, huh?”

A half-smile curls at the corner of his mouth, cynical, arrogant. The living room light catches the shadows under his eyes, which always look like they’re one blink away from exploding.

“Are you insane?!” My voice comes out louder than I meant, sharper, but I don’t care. “What are you doing in Milan, Matteo? You’re not supposed to be here. You can’t be here!”

“Oh, I can.” He steps closer, and I instinctively push back, the counter’s edge digging into my lower back, trapping me in a space far too small for everything I’m feeling. “I always can do the fuck I want when it’s about you.”

The way he says it sends a shiver across my arms and breasts, deep into my lower belly. A dirty shiver. A living, throbbing memory.

“You really think I’d stay away?” Matteo’s head tilts slightly, like a predator sizing up prey it already knows is trapped. “After everything you did?”

I laugh, dry, nervous, barely recognizing my own voice.

“What I did? You’ve got some fucking nerve—”

“Shut the fuck up, Marina.”

He takes another step, slow, like he’s testing my limits, or maybe just enjoying the fear written all over my face, the way I obey his command in instinct. And with every inch he closes between us, my chest tightens.

“Do you have any idea what’ll happen if someone sees you here?” I manage to find my voice, though it’s cracking with raw panic. “Luigi’s been undercover for years! If they see a Romano in this apartment—”

“I don’t give a flying fuck,” he growls. “You think I’d let you play Bianchi’s little bitch just because Cesare’s got some bullshit plan?”

He steps even closer now, and I feel the heat of his body, the almost physical presence of his barely contained rage that hits me like a punch in the gut. Matteo was never a calm man. He’s knives in the flesh, fists through glass, a fire that spreads and devours everything.

And now he’s here, looking at me like he wants to destroy me just for breathing on the wrong side of the war.

“Is that it? You’re gonna play spy for Cesare?” he spits. “Flash that little smile at Bianchi while he stares at you like he already knows he’s gonna fuck you sooner or later?”

My stomach clenches so tightly I can taste a mix of fury and arousal in my bile. I try to answer, to reclaim some control, but the words vanish the instant he closes the gap between us.

Matteo’s body, too big, too close. His scent, spicy, smoky, with a hint of metal, fills my lungs, and my body betrays every thought of resistance. My shoulders tense, and my core tightens, hot and pulsing.

“Say it, Marina!” he snaps, slamming his open palm against the counter beside my hip so hard I flinch. “Is that the plan? You gonna spread your legs for Bianchi now? Gonna ride him with a smile, buy your freedom while you come on the enemy’s cock?”

I hate this man.

But my body reacts before my mind does—nipples hard under the thin fabric of my clothes, breath caught in my chest, thighs clenching together in a useless attempt to calm the throbbing heat between them.

“You really think I’d let that happen, Marina?”

He’s so close now I can see the veins bulging in his neck, his eyes burning with a rage that’s right on the edge of madness. But beneath it, there’s something else.

Jealousy. Possession…

The kind of fury that explodes when someone touches what’s his.