Chapter 14 Morning After
Matteo
They say it’s harder to stay up all night drinking in your thirties.
They’re not wrong.
I’m thirty-five, and I feel every fucking year of it this morning.
My head’s pounding. My mouth tastes like smoke and regret. My body’s fine—because my body doesn’t get soft—but the hangover hits like a fucking freight train.
Rosco and I took care of business downtown last night. Straightforward enough—collection, warning, a few broken fingers. He was itching for a little fun afterward, and I didn’t feel like arguing.
So we hit our favorite spot.
Strip club, but not the sleazy kind. Classy enough to stay under the radar. Transactional. Clean. No emotions. No strings. No bullshit.
We don’t mess with the dancers—too much ego, too many delusions.
It’s the cocktail waitresses we like.
They’re quieter. Less performance, more survival. If you’ve got the right look and the right bank account, you can talk them into a few hours of no-strings fun. And unlike the groupies who hang around outside, they’re usually clean.
I’m not about to end up with my dick rotting off because I stuck it in some disease-ridden hole.
Last night’s girl? Blonde. Tight little dress. Didn’t even bother asking her name.
I didn’t make it ten steps past the garage before I bent her over the hood of the Maserati.
She moaned like a porn star and clawed at the paint like it meant something. Didn’t even take her inside afterward—just called one of the guys to drive her home. She was pissed, too.
Guess she thought she was getting breakfast.
Fucking hilarious.
I drag myself out of bed. I need a shower, coffee, and a fistful of Advil. In that order.
By the time I finish my shower and down a couple Advil, I’m starting to feel human again. Barely.
The coffee helps. Hot. Black. Strong enough to scrape the rust off my soul.
I’m in my office, still half-drying off from the heat of the water, wearing a black tee and lounge pants. The house is too quiet.
I know Rosco’s still asleep—or passed out, depending on how much he drank after we got back.
I’m just finishing the last of the coffee when the door to my office swings open without warning.
No knock. No hesitation.
Just her.
Valentina.
She walks in like she owns the place.
I raise an eyebrow, slowly setting my cup down. “Knocking not a thing anymore?”
She doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even blink.
Just walks further in, her silk robe cinched tight, her chin high.
“I saw you last night,” she says evenly. “With your whore.”
I open my mouth to respond, but she lifts a hand—palm out—and silences me.
Did this bitch really just halt me?
My jaw ticks as I tilt my head, waiting.
She continues. Still not angry. Just sharp. Calm like a blade.
“I don’t care. Why would I? We both know this is transactional. You brought me here for a reason, and I’m still figuring out what that is. But I’m not stupid.”
She takes a breath, eyes locked on mine.
“I know how these things work. You’ll expect me to play wife eventually. Maybe even warm your bed. And when that time comes…” she shrugs, “I’ll be damned if I catch something from some cheap bitch you couldn’t even bother to bring inside.”
I let the silence sit between us for a second, then lean back in my chair.
“Are you finished?”
She doesn’t answer—just turns to leave.
But I’m not done yet.
“She’s clean,” I say lazily. “I know for a fact. And I use protection, of course.”
I let a beat pass.
“Nobody’s spreading anything around here. Well… except for maybe legs.”
She rolls her eyes so hard I can practically hear it. Then she walks out without another word, the door clicking softly behind her.
I smirk into my coffee.
Unbothered.
But underneath?
A little impressed.
I take another sip of coffee, already dismissing the conversation—until my phone dings with a sharp chime.
Calendar notification.
Wedding fittings – 11:00 AM. Don’t be late.
“Fuck,” I mutter, rubbing my temple. I completely forgot.
I swipe to dismiss it, then type out a message with one hand.
Matteo:
Be ready by 10:30.
We have an appointment at eleven.
No pleasantries. No emojis. No option.
She’s going to play wife whether she wants to or not.
Time to try the dress on.