LXXI. “Just like what?”

LXXI. “Just like what?”
Matteo’s words strike a nerve in me—a throbbing wound I’ve been trying to hide ever since I agreed to follow Cesare’s orders and boarded the plane to Milan.
I swallow hard, hesitating for just a second, one brief instant that’s enough and doesn’t go unnoticed.
“Cesare gave you his word, that’s true. He said you could leave, that you would be free when all this is over,” he continues, the mockery heavy, lifting the corner of his lips in a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “But when is this going to be over, huh? When do you think Cesare will have had enough of using you?”
Once again, his words shake my conviction enough to make my breath catch in my throat. My fingers tense at my sides instinctively, as if my brain is trying to maintain some control. That gesture also grabs Matteo’s attention, and he steps toward me.
“You believe that if you follow what Cesare says, he will have no choice but to keep his promise.” He looks at me again, taking another careful, slow step, as if he's moving closer to a cornered animal. “But here’s the thing, Marina… men like us do not like to lose.”
I take a step back, crossing my arms tighter, causing my breasts to bounce slightly, as if that could protect me from a possibility, from a scenario I dislike imagining. But every gesture, every small movement, no matter how simple and instinctive, is noticed by Matteo.
I can’t hide... he knows the telltale signs of my body better than I do.
“So what? Men like you have no honor?” I don’t like the way my voice sounds, how it’s so close to the edge—unsteady and shaky, with words slipping out, but I can’t help it. There’s something very different running through my veins now. Something colder, more primitive.
Something like suspicious.
Matteo also doesn’t seem to like my accusation. His face tightens into a grimace of outrage, partly because I insult his family and partly because I might be right.
“Funny! Isn’t that why you Romanos wear the ink on your backs with so much pride?” I press on, not caring if the words come quickly, without pauses or hesitation, like bullets aimed at a target. “Because of honor?”
“Careful.”
“Ad finem fidelis, right? Faithful to the end?” I ignore the warning, not noticing that this time, I am the one who closed the distance between us. I am the one who takes a step toward him, not breathing properly between brief pauses.
Matteo’s eyes narrow, and I think he’s about to say something. Explode, curse, or make me regret it with even sharper words. But he doesn’t. In fact, he presses his lips into a thin line for a beat that lasts longer than usual.
“What do you think will happen when you prove your worth to Cesare?” he asks, quieter, but colder, like in the brief moments of clarity that cut through his bursts of anger. Like he does when he’s trying to reason with someone stupid.
And that—that annoys me.
“What do you think will happen when you prove yourself useful, Marina?” He insists. “That he’ll simply let you go?”
My stomach twists so fiercely that, for a moment, I almost believe I might vomit the few certainties I've been repeating to myself ever since I arrived in this city. But I straighten my shoulders and dig my nails painfully into my skin.
“Cesare and I have a deal,” I insist with calm precision, forcing each word out. “A promise. When this is over, I’m leaving. I’m going to disappear and leave all of this behind. He said he would let me go.”
Matteo laughs silently, only air escaping through his lips in a breath of disbelief. The muscle in his jaw twitches again.
“He said,” he repeats, the word sounding more like a question and a mockery than a fact. “But my brother only throws away his tools when they stop being useful. And right now, you are the most valuable one.”
The anger rises so quickly it nearly drowns out the doubts he’s trying to plant in my mind. Almost.
I lift my chin, holding onto it like someone clutching a buoy to stay afloat.
I know that, to Cesare, I and everyone around him are simply tools. And even though I did accept that role, the thought of being nothing more than a means to an end makes me sick.
Especially to a Romano.
“You landed yourself a silver platter to Cesare, and God help you if you become Enzo’s weak spot, just like you’re m—” Matteo stops abruptly, gritting his teeth hard, trying to keep some bitter truth from slipping out against his will.
He lowers his eyes to the floor, once again deep in thought. I can see the conflict on his face before he turns slightly, allowing the shadows to make his expression even more serious.
Then he leans down slightly and begins putting on his briefs, with quick, frustrated movements that speak for themselves.
That should ease things for me, making everything simpler, less intimate. Safer. But it doesn’t. On the contrary, there’s something in the way Matteo gets dressed with restrained anger, without even looking at me, that makes everything worse. As if the simple act of covering his own body is also a way of building the wall between us even higher.
“Just like what?” I ask before my common sense can stop me.
Matteo pauses, his hand hooked in the waistband of his jeans, his head slightly bowed, his breathing uneven—nothing to do with what almost happens between us, and everything to do with the thing he nearly says.
I see the tension in him, revealing the straight line of his back, his pulse pounding at his neck, and the way his fingers tighten once against the denim before he finally pulls it up the rest of the way.
“It doesn’t matter.” He zips them like he’s ending the conversation and finally looking back at me. “What matters is that once you finally have Enzo’s trust, you’ll become a weakness.”
I frown before I can stop myself. “Enzo’s?”
“For anyone who makes the mistake of giving a damn.” Matteo’s fingers tighten around the waistband of his jeans. “And men like Cesare don’t leave weaknesses walking around free. Not when they can be used. Not when they can be owned. Especially not when they can be a liability.”
A sharp, disbelieving laugh leaves me, but it sounds wrong even to my own ears—too thin, too brittle.
“So that’s what this is? You storm in here, insult me, nearly—” I cut myself off, heat rising under my skin all over again. “Now you’re trying to paint this as concern, instead of some male alpha, possessive bullshit?”
“I’m just trying to warn you.” Matteo’s expression hardens immediately. “Cesare may have promised you that you’d be free if you follow his plans, Marina, but that’s just the beginning.”
My throat tightens so suddenly it hurts.
“You should know by now that once your path crosses with a Società’s, tesoro, there’s no turning back.”