MATTEO (Dance with the Devil 1)

by Carole Mortimer

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Newsletter and Social Media Links

  LOGAN (Steele Protectors 1)

  ATTICUS (Steele Protectors 2)

  BRYCE (Steele Protectors 3)

  ROURKE (Steele Protectors 4)

  HADYN (Steele Protectors 5)

  LUCAN (Steele Protectors 6)

  About the Author

  Other books by Carole Mortimer

  Copyright © 2020 Carole Mortimer

  Cover Design Copyright © Glass Slipper WebDesign

  Editor: Linda Ingmanson

  Formatting: Glass Slipper WebDesign

  ISBN: 978-1-910597-85-9

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All Rights Reserved.

  My husband, Peter

  Chapter One

  Matteo, head of the Zalotti Mafia in London, looked with cold and pitiless eyes at the broken and bound man kneeling on the blood-spattered concrete floor just inches in front of his own highly polished black leather Italian shoes.

  The man Matteo now knew had, nine years ago, ordered Matteo’s parents gunned down in the street as they left a London restaurant. At the time, Matteo’s father, Marco, had been head of the city’s Mafia. That title had passed on to Matteo, then aged twenty-six, with the man now at his feet as, he had believed, his trusted second.

  Within weeks, this man had blackmailed Matteo with threats to the life of Matteo’s much younger sister, Bella, and reduced Matteo to being only the puppet head of the London Mafia. All so that this man might rule the organization behind the scenes, with brutality, violence, and death for those who did not instantly obey.

  And he had done it all in Matteo’s name.

  That had all ended three days ago, when Bella’s lover, Bryce Steele, having discovered the truth of the situation, had stormed the Zalotti estate, capturing the man all the Zalotti family had once trusted with their lives, along with the men who had stood beside him for nine years. It had been done with the help of the Russian bratva, specifically Nikolai Volkov, second to Gregori Markovic and the head of the Russian’s security, and also a close friend of Bella’s fiancé.

  Retribution for the death of Matteo’s parents, the threats against Bella, and the past nine years of merciless rule, was now for Matteo to decide.

  “If you are waiting for me to beg for my life, then you will be waiting a long time,” the older man now sneered. His face was battered and bleeding, making him no longer recognizable as the suave and handsome man he had once been.

  Matteo continued to look at him dispassionately. “We both know that begging would not change the outcome of what must be done.”

  “I’m to die.”

  “Yes.” Matteo turned to the two men standing back against the walls. There was a third man, younger, standing guard beside the heavy metal door into and out of this cell-like room. “Finish it, and then burn and dispose of the body.”

  “You will never be even half the man your father or grandfather were!” the man on his knees taunted.

  Matteo’s gaze swept over him contemptuously. “As long as I can be twice the man you’ve ever been, I’ll be satisfied.”

  His captor snorted. “Leonardo Brunelli will never allow you back into the close circle of the famiglia.”

  Matteo’s lips curved into a mocking smile. “Another thing you’re wrong about, because Leon is coming over from New York next Friday to discuss a new alliance between us and the Markovic bratva.”

  He had no intention of telling the bleeding man that another reason for Leon’s visit was to discuss announcing Matteo’s engagement to Leon’s only daughter, Natalia. A move that would unite the New York and London families in a way they had never been before.

  He glanced again at the two silent men responsible for carrying out the systematic beating of their prisoner over the past three days. Luca and Antonio had once been the bodyguards of Matteo’s sister, but they had been dismissed from his employ nine years ago by Matteo’s blackmailer. After helping to depose that blackmailer, they had then begged to be the ones to interrogate and break the man who had ordered the killing of Marco and Sofia Zalotti.

  Matteo’s mouth thinned. “Do it quickly, and then destroy all evidence from the face of the earth that this man ever existed.”

  Luca grinned. “It will be our pleasure, boss.”

  Matteo gave the kneeling man one last contemptuous glance before turning away. He nodded to the young man standing beside the door, Antonio’s son, Stefano, now also in Matteo’s employ, for him to open the door so that Matteo could step into the hallway.

  The heavy metal door closed behind him, completely shutting out the last screams of the dying man.

  Chapter Two

  “Going to come out for a drink with all of us after work this evening?”

  Grace glanced up from where she was taking children’s books out of a box and putting them in alphabetical order ready for putting out on the shelves. “Not tonight.” She gave Carla an apologetic smile.

  The other woman pouted. A tall, leggy brunette, her beautiful dark brown eyes evidence of her Italian heritage. “You never join us.”

  She shrugged. “I don’t drink alcohol.”

  “You could have a soda or something instead,” Carla encouraged.

  Grace had had this same conversation, or varying shades of it, with her half dozen work colleagues since she took over as manager of the bookstore eighteen months ago. Her answer was always the same. “I always do my food shopping for the week on Friday evenings.” She also considered it ill-advised to become too socially involved with the people she worked with, even though she had grown to genuinely like Carla, her deputy manager. Plus she really didn’t enjoy going out drinking in the evenings. Or any time.

  Carla grinned. “A rigid routine makes for a dull girl.”

  “I am a dull girl.” Grace chuckled. “I live alone with only my cat, Mr. Darcy, for company. I work in a bookstore. My hobbies are reading—obviously!” She looked pointedly at the surroundings she loved. “Also cross-stitch and crossword puzzles. I grow herbs in seed boxes on the windowsill in the kitchen of my third-floor apartment. You won’t find a girl much duller than that,” she added self-derisively.

  “You have a cat named Mr. Darcy?”

  Grace smiled at that being the thing Carla had latched onto. “I do.”

  Carla shook her head as she spluttered with laughter. “Okay, you win. But if you change your mind, we’re going to The Anchor, and we’ll be there until at least eight thirty…?”

  Grace appreciated being included, but she already knew she wouldn’t be changing her mind. Not only did she not drink, but she didn’t go into pubs either. Or lounge bars. Or anywhere else where alcohol was sold.

  It was a throwback from a childhood spent with a controlling and violent father who, when he was drunk, wasn’t averse to taking out his frustrations on his wife. He was dead now, as was her mother, but Grace’s aversion to alcohol had persevered.

  “Do you— Oh my…”

  Grace glanced up as Carla almost purred
those last two words. Following the other woman’s gaze toward the front of the store, Grace could easily see why.

  The man standing just inside the doorway of the bookstore had to be the most stunningly attractive man she’d ever set eyes on.

  Probably aged in his mid to late thirties, he was several inches over six feet tall, with expertly styled short black hair. His face—dear God, his face was a work of art. Slightly swarthy, with winged dark brows over eyes of a bright royal blue, his nose long and straight between high cheekbones. His mouth was blatantly sensual, with a plump bottom lip that cried out to be bitten and sucked—

  What on earth was she doing?

  Grace had never just looked at a man and had a sexual fantasy about him.

  But Lord, Grace couldn’t help but appreciate this man’s wide shoulders and muscular chest, both shown to advantage in a bespoke black suit jacket and pristine white shirt, with a silver tie knotted meticulously at his throat. He had long legs that, once wrapped about the back of a woman’s thighs, would easily hold her in place while he thrust—

  She had to stop this.

  Now!

  Because if she didn’t, she was going to totally embarrass herself by groaning her arousal out loud merely from looking at this ultra-sexy man.

  “Oh my.” Carla seemed to be having a similar visceral reaction to him, causing her to reach out and grasp a bookshelf to keep from being knocked completely off balance. “Did you ever see such a gorgeous man as that before?”

  No, Grace was pretty sure she never had. But the men she’d met in the past who were even half as handsome as this one were apt to have egos to match. She doubted Mr. Sexy Pouty Mouth was going to be any different—

  Mr. Sexy Pouty Mouth?

  This was utterly ridiculous. Okay, so the man did have full and slightly pouty and very sexy lips, ones she could easily imagine suckling on her—

  Grace gave a shake of her head as she released a self-disgusted snort. “He’s probably an actor who got lost on his way to the theater and wandered in here instead.” They were close to one of London’s premier theaters.

  Carla chuckled. “Or he just came in from the torrential rain falling outside.”

  Grace had been so intent on unpacking books and then become captivated by this man’s looks that she hadn’t even noticed it was raining outside. She could now see rain falling out of the front window of the bookstore. The downpour was so hard, it was bouncing off the pavement and road and making it hard for pedestrians and drivers to see more than a couple of feet in front of them.

  Her gaze returned to the man standing just inside the shop. He was focused on reading a message on the screen of his mobile and then answering it, but now that Grace looked at him again, she could see the shoulders of that perfectly tailored black jacket were glistening with drops of rain. As was his hair, giving it a slightly blue sheen under the harsh lights. The store was in a row of other stores and windowless apart from the huge front display, requiring they have all the lights on inside during opening hours.

  Grace also noticed something else. The man didn’t speak, hadn’t moved, and yet several people, also using the bookstore to shelter from the rain, took one look at him and instantly ensured they walked several feet around him. As if he had an invisible fuck off shield wrapped around him. Or something more sinister.

  “Maybe I should just go over there and ask him if there’s anything I can help him with,” Carla mused, her lascivious dark gaze still fixed on a man who appeared totally oblivious to their, and anyone else’s, interest in him. “I could start by offering to remove that damp jacket and shirt, and then suggest ways of warming him up.”

  Grace gave another chuckle. “Go for it.” She smiled. “But be warned, there’s probably absolutely nothing between his—”

  “Oh, I think I can see a sizeable bulge in the front of his trousers,” Carla drooled.

  “—ears,” Grace finished with another laugh. “In my experience, men as good-looking as him don’t seem to think they have to bother trying in the intelligence department too.”

  “Who gives a damn about his brain when he has a body like that one!” the other woman scoffed.

  Well…Grace did, for one. Being handsome was all well and good, but at some stage, once the initial lust wore off, surely it was necessary to be able to have a conversation with one’s lover.

  “Those shoulders alone are to die for,” Carla continued to drool. “I wonder if he has defined pecs too— Oh God, he’s coming this way!” Her voice rose several octaves in her excitement.

  He was indeed walking toward them, those long, muscular legs eating up the distance between the door and where Grace and Carla were standing in the children’s department of the store. His gaze was fixed on the two of them, looked neither to the left nor right, and yet once again, Grace noticed he didn’t even seem aware that people were quickly moving to get out of his way.

  Curious.

  “Excuse me, ladies.” His voice was so deep and husky, it instantly made Grace’s knees tremble. “Perhaps you can help me. I’m looking for a book on wedding etiquette.”

  Grace watched the excitement leave Carla’s face as soon as the man mentioned a wedding. The other woman’s unsubtle gaze then moved to the man’s left hand in search of a ring. He wasn’t wearing one, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t engaged and the one about to be married. In fact, with his looks, the likelihood of that being the case was extremely high.

  Carla sighed her disappointment. “I have to go back to manning the till, but I’m sure our manager will be only too happy to help you find the appropriate book.”

  Grace watched incredulously as Carla walked away and left her alone with the man who Grace already knew had ignited the deepest spark of sexual interest inside her she’d ever felt toward any man. A man who not only looked like a Greek god but also exuded an insidious and arousing scent of male musk mixed seductively with lemons and sandalwood.

  “Was it something I said?” he mused. “Grace?” the man prompted softly when she didn’t respond to his first comment.

  Her eyes flew wide in surprise at his use of her first name.

  “It’s written on your staff name badge, alongside the fact you’re the manager,” he explained.

  Of course it was. It was the reason all the staff wore them. “Carla really did have to get back to the till,” she said, excusing her colleague’s abrupt departure, not exactly truthfully when there was no one waiting to purchase a book. “Wedding etiquette, I think you said?” she prompted briskly.

  “That’s right.”

  “From what angle?”

  “Sorry?”

  “We have several good books on wedding etiquette, some more specific than others,” Grace explained as she led the way to the appropriate section of the bookstore. “Ones that concentrate on the duties of the father of the bride, mother of the bride, the best man, bridesmaids. And the groom,” she added belatedly.

  He grimaced. “None of those things applies to me. My sister is getting married next week, and I’m giving her away.”

  Not the bridegroom, then. Carla was going to regret not hanging around a bit longer.

  Grace shrugged. “Father of the bride is probably the closest we have to that.”

  Matteo wasn’t absolutely sure he liked this young woman thinking of him in such an antiquated role. Admittedly, he was probably ten or twelve years older than the midtwenties she appeared to be, but he certainly wasn’t feeling in the least fatherly toward her.

  In fact, this woman was the reason he had ventured farther into the bookstore at all, after initially only ducking into the doorway out of the remorseless rain.

  He didn’t even need a book on wedding etiquette. He’d looked up online what he needed to know. But saying he needed a book on the subject was the first thing Matteo had thought of as being a valid reason for speaking to this woman.

  Normally, he wouldn’t have been anywhere near this bookstore, but having just left a business meet
ing in a building nearby with Gregori Markovic and Nikolai Volkov, he had stepped outside to discover his car, along with his two bodyguards, was nowhere to be seen.

  Antonio and Luca hadn’t been at all happy with Matteo meeting alone with the Russians in the first place. But Matteo had decided it would be a show of his trust in his new allies. The meeting had gone well and would pave the way for another meeting next week after Leonardo Brunelli had arrived in London.

  Matteo had expected his car to be waiting outside for him, but Antonio had texted him to let him know the police had moved them along for parking illegally and the car was currently circling the block on its way back to him. Matteo had told the other man his location, but considering the heavy traffic and the weather conditions, he thought they might be a while.

  Which was when he had looked up from his mobile phone and become totally mesmerized by the red-haired woman he could see working at the back of the store.

  Maybe five or six inches over five feet tall, her slenderness in a fitted black stretch top and flowing calf-length floral skirt added to her ethereal beauty. Her skin was the color and smoothness of ivory, her eyes a deep emerald green fringed with long dark lashes. Her features were so delicately lovely, she almost didn’t appear real. Those bottomless green eyes, a small nose, defined cheekbones, her top lip fuller than the bottom one—denoted a passionate nature, Matteo seemed to recall having read somewhere? Her chin was small and pointed, her neck so slender, Matteo thought he might be able to encircle it with one hand and pretend to hold her down while he—

  Hell, no!