Page 45 of The Kingpin’s Bride

“I’ll be in the hall,” I said. “You want me gone farther than that, say it louder. Until then… consider writing.”

Chapter Eleven

Morena

Two weeks later

The cream, the journal, and Matteo’s uncrackable demeanor had become the only rhythm I knew.

Morning light cut across the penthouse in thin gray bars. I sat on the low stool in the kitchen wearing new white clothes. He made coffee, black and strong for him, sugary and sweet for me. By now, he knew how I liked it. I could not make myself pick up the fork.Matteo watched me for a long moment. Then he pulled the stool closer, sat, and took the fork himself. “Open up for me.”

I stared at him. The tattoos on his forearms flexed as he cut a piece of egg. Dark hair damp from his shower. That same beautiful, terrifying face that had watched me break the night before, every night since our wedding. I was scared of him. I was also staring at the way his mouth looked when he was being careful, and I hated that my pulse jumped.

He held the fork to my lips. “I said open, wifey.”

I opened.

He fed me slowly. One bite at a time. Egg. Then toast. Then a piece of fruit. His free hand rested on my lap. But the touches were gentle. Almost careful. He wiped a crumb from the corner of my mouth with his thumb and did not comment on the way I flinched.

“Good,” he murmured when half the plate was gone. “You do not get to starve the body I own, baby. Not when it has work to do.”

I finished what he gave me. My cheeks burned. The gentleness was somehow worse than the cold. When the plate was empty he stood. He set his phone on the table between us, screen open to a number I knew by heart.

“One call. Speaker. Every word is mine to hear. You try anything clever and Dario dies before the line goes dead. Clear?”

“Yes,” I nodded eagerly.

He hit call. Dario answered on the third ring, voice thick with sleep and something uglier. “Well, well. The traitor finally learned how to dial. Miss me already?”

My throat closed. I forced the words out. “I just needed to confirm… things.”

He laughed. The sound was low and mean. “Still begging for attention. Did the new owner get bored of that tight little hole? Or did he send you crawling back because you can’t stop thinking about the man who actually broke you in right?”

I flinched. Dario kept going, voice dripping with mockery.

“Listen to you. Soft. Broken. Exactly how I left you. Tell me, does he make you thank him after he ruins you, or is that just for me?” he hissed.

Matteo moved. He took the phone from the table, brought it to his mouth, and spoke in a voice so quiet and final that the air in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. “Dario Rizzo. This is Matteo Ventura.. One more filthy word about her body, one more threat, and I come for you personally. Do you understand me?”

Silence on the other end. Then a shaky breath.

“Yeah,” Dario said, all the swagger gone. “I understand.”

Matteo’s eyes never left mine. “Good. She will call again when I decide she can. Until then, you do not exist to her. Hang up.”

The line went dead. I stared at him, stunned.

He had defended me.

The shock of it sat heavy in my chest, warmer and more dangerous than any threat.

Matteo set the phone down and looked at me for a long moment. Something unreadable moved behind those dark eyes.

“I have work that will keep me gone until tomorrow night,” he said. “You will stay here. Alone. Food is in the fridge, you can also order takeout through a tablet I’ll leave you. I have chefs. The diary stays open. You write while I am gone. If I come home and find you have hurt yourself or tried anything stupid, the next time I try to fill you with my heir will make last night look PG13.”

I nodded, throat tight.

He picked up his keys, turning toward the door. The tattoos on his arms flexed as he shrugged into his jacket. That sharp, beautiful face stayed cold, but the memory of him feeding me and defending me on the phone would not leave.