Chapter 3

(Matteo pov)

She spat at my feet again like it meant something, I watched the little trail of saliva hit the floor between us and almost smiled. Most women in her position would’ve been crying by now, begging and offering whatever they thought might buy them mercy.

Alessia Vitale just stood there in a ruined wedding dress, wrists red from my grip, chest heaving, eyes full of pure fucking hate and her body still humming from the way I’d pinned her, I could still feel the fine tremor that had run through her when my thigh forced her legs apart, the way her pulse had jumped under my thumb, the faint, unmistakable scent of her arousal when I’d crowded her against the wall, she hated me but her cunt didn’t, which was interesting.

I turned away first, giving her my back on purpose, letting her decide if she was stupid enough to run or swing at me again while I walked deeper into the house, my men stayed outside, they knew better than to follow unless I called.

I loosened my tie with one hand and tossed it onto a side table without looking, behind me, her bare feet slapped against the marble, she was following.

Good.

I didn’t stop until I reached the living room, floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the dark grounds, I poured two fingers of whiskey, took a slow sip, and finally glanced over my shoulder.

Alessia stood in the doorway like she wasn’t sure whether to attack or bolt. The white dress was torn at the shoulder, streaked with dirt and a fine spray of Luca’s blood. Her dark hair had come half-undone, falling around a face that was too sharp, too defiant to be pretty in the soft way most men preferred, she looked like she’d rather claw my eyes out than breathe the same air as me, my cock twitched at the thought.

I set the glass down. “Come here.”

She didn’t move, I raised an eyebrow. “I won’t ask twice.”

“Fuck you.”

There it was again, that mouth, that fire, I crossed the room in three long strides. She tried to step back, but the wall was already behind her. My hand closed around her throat—not hard enough to cut off air, just enough to remind her who decided whether she got to breathe, her pulse hammered against my palm, fast, furious and underneath the fear… something hotter.

I leaned in until my mouth was almost against her ear.

“Your body keeps giving you away, princess, every time I get close, your heart races, your nipples go tight and if I slid my hand between your legs right now, I’d find you soaked.”

She tried to twist free. “You’re sick.”

“Maybe.” I let my thumb stroke once along the side of her neck, feeling the way she shivered. “But you’re the one standing in my house in a wedding dress, wet for the man who killed your fiancé.”

Her eyes flashed. “I am not—”

I tightened my grip just enough to make her hush, then released her throat and stepped back, the sudden loss of contact made her sway for half a second before she caught herself.

“Upstairs,” I said. “Second door on the left, there’s clothes, a bathroom, food if you want it. You try the windows, the doors, or any of my men, and you’ll regret it, clear?”

She stared at me like she was memorizing my face so she could kill me later, I almost hoped she tried.

When she still didn’t move, I stepped in close again, crowding her personal space until her back hit the wall a second time. This time I didn’t touch her, I just let her feel the heat of my body, the difference in size, the quiet promise of what I could do if I stopped playing nice.

“You’re mine now, Alessia,” I said quietly. “Your father owed me, he paid with you and whether you hate me or not, your body already knows the truth.”

I let my gaze drop deliberately—over the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the hard points of her nipples against the ruined lace, the way her thighs pressed together like she could hide what I already knew.

My mouth curved. “Go upstairs before I decide to find out exactly how wet you are for the man who stole you.”

For a second I thought she might spit again, Instead she shoved past me, shoulder slamming into my chest hard enough to prove she still had fight left, I didn’t stop her. I just watched her climb the stairs, white dress trailing behind her like a surrender flag she refused to wave.

The second she disappeared from sight, I poured another drink and stared up the stairs. She could hate me all she wanted, by the time I was done with her, hate would be the least of what she felt.