Bloodied Hands: A Dark Mafia Romance (Bellandi Crime Syndicate Book 1)

by Adelaide Forrest

  "Fine," he grunted. He turned, striding out the front door without another word.

  "Well, that could have gone better," Sadie said.

  I nodded.

  "Yep."

  ✽✽✽

  How was it I didn't own a single pair of bummy sweatpants?

  Sadie would stage an intervention if she found out.

  The only yoga pants I owned were leggings and hugged my legs and butt way too much for me to face Matteo in. In all fairness though, I hated pants. When I was at home, I lived in skirts, dresses, or pajama shorts. I eventually tracked down a pair of pajama pants my mom had given me in one of her tirades about being dressed appropriately for a home invasion. Because wearing pants instead of booty shorts would protect me if someone decided he wanted to rape me. That said, I did like the fabric, big watercolor flowers on a black background with a wide, grey waistband and they were loose and comfy.

  For pants.

  I'd shoved an old, loose grey tee over my head, kind of hating the way it hung off one shoulder. But it was the baggiest shirt I owned, so it would do. My trusty slippers were stuck on my feet, and I was far too unsettled to relax. Smaug had taken up residence on my shoulder, just hanging out and enjoying the ride while I paced in a mimic of Duke's earlier movements.

  My phone chimed with a text, and I unlocked the screen to see a message from Duke asking if Matteo had shown. A glance at the clock confirmed it wasn't even seven yet. Typing out a quick response, I did my best to keep my snark out of it.

  "I know, I know," I said to Smaug as I walked to the kitchen and grabbed a bottled water out of the fridge. I chugged the contents, feeling thirsty.

  Who was I kidding? My mouth was the Sahara.

  "I'm being ridiculous. There's no way he’ll show.” I shoved my hair into a bun on top of my head just to be safe, careful not to dislodge Smaug. He glared at me although I'd taken care. "Don't look at me like that, Mister," I scolded him.

  I jumped at the sound of the doorbell, glancing at the clock on my stove with wide eyes. Smaug's little claws dug into my skin through the t-shirt, and he looked at me—an echoing panic in his adorable little face.

  Seven on the dot.

  "Coincidence, right?" I asked, swallowing and making my way to the door. A glance through the peephole confirmed it was, in fact, Matteo Bellandi standing on my step and looking as breathtaking in a black suit as he had the day before. If I hadn't known better, I'd have sworn Smaug shrugged his shoulders at me. I backed away from the door, wondering if there was any way to hide the fact that I was home.

  I could just not answer the door, right?

  "Open the door, Angel," his hard voice demanded, an unmistakable edge to his tone.

  "I don't think I will," I shouted through the door, clapping a hand over my mouth as soon as the words left me.

  So much for that.

  "Ivory, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. It's your choice." Something thudded against the door, and I peeked out to see him leaning against the frame on one hand, his face just above the peephole.

  "What's the hard way?" I whispered, and I fully thought he wouldn't answer.

  "I pick the lock," he didn't hesitate to say, and I blanched.

  "You wouldn't dare! That's breaking and entering!" I backed away from the door, realizing it might not matter that much to him if bank robbers feared him.

  Fuck. I totally should have gone to Duke's.

  I hated being wrong.

  I really, really hated it.

  "I'll call the police!" I shouted, nabbing my phone off the island of the kitchen and hurrying back to the door. The sound of metal scraping on metal sounded through the door, and I flung it open on a gasp. Two odd little metal sticks stuck out of the deadbolt, and I barely had time to turn amazed eyes Matteo's way before he backed me into the house. Slamming the door shut behind him, he advanced until my ass hit the console table next to the foot of the stairs where I kept my keys and such. He ripped the phone out of my hand, glancing at the screen where Duke's text was open and tossed it onto the table behind me. I swallowed when he put his hands on the wall next to my head, caging me in.

  "If you think the cops are dumb enough to get between me and my woman, think again. There isn’t anybody in this world who will save you from me." I stared up at him, wincing as Smaug's claws continued to dig into me.

  Safe to say, he wasn't a fan.

  Matteo let his arms drop from the wall, his eyes giving me a once over, and he pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers and sighed as his eyes caught on Smaug. "Ivory, the fuck is that?" The exasperation in his voice was a little too like Duke's every time I brought Smaug to his house.

  "He's a gecko, and his name is Smaug," I objected, reaching up with one hand and holding it out for the lizard. He gladly abandoned his favorite perch, wiggling his way into my hand. I ran my thumb over the back of his head to soothe him, before turning and walking away from Matteo in favor of setting Smaug in his tank where he'd be safe from whatever storm was brewing. As soon as I had the lid on, Matteo spoke.

  "Good. Now go get dressed. Our reservation is for eight."

  I turned to him, my reflection shining off the stainless steel of my fridge in the kitchen. "Are you insane?"

  He shrugged, seeming to genuinely consider the answer. "It's possible."

  "Get out," I scoffed, shaking my head and moving around him to get to the front door. I swung it open quickly, gesturing him out the door. When he just raised a brow at me and didn't move, I sighed to keep myself from stomping my foot.

  "I made reservations at Vecchio," he said pointedly. I knew in that moment he'd done his research on me. The only time a man would rub reservations at the hottest new restaurant in town in a woman's face was if he knew she was a food-addict.

  I eyed him suspiciously. "They're booked six months out," I argued, crossing my arms over my chest. "Did you blow off some other girl to harass me into going with you?"

  He chuckled. "No, sweetheart. It is safe to say that I do not take women to dinner."

  "Oh well, keep with that tradition then, yeah?"

  "I know you want to go. I can see the gears turning in that pretty head of yours." His voice lightened to genuine amusement as he watched me struggle to ignore that temptation. Everyone talked about that place, but it was impossible to get in.

  "Unless you're willing to let me take someone else there and use your reservation? I'll pass," I hissed, and the amusement fled those harsh features.

  "You go to dinner with another man, and we will have a very, very serious problem, Cara mia." I flinched back at the menace in his tone and felt my brow furrow as I stared at him. There really was no trace of the boy I'd loved in the man in front of me.

  And something about that drained all the fight right out of me. I fought back tears, unwilling to let him see just how much he still affected me. "Please, just leave," I begged.

  He was indifferent to my deflation, or he just didn't care. He stepped forward, crowding into my space and shoved the door closed again. "Go get dressed," he whispered, and I thought I might have caught a moment of regret in his blue eyes as he looked down at me more gently.

  I shook my head, chewing on my lip and suddenly finding my floor fascinating.

  I needed to mop.

  "I don't want to scare you," he whispered, his fingers catching under my chin and lifting until I met his intent gaze. "But you will go to dinner with me. Now, you can either change, or you can go in pajamas. Your choice."

  I glared at him, jerking my face out of his grip. "Go to Hell."

  He sighed, biting out a "fine." The next thing I knew his hands were on my waist, and he lifted me off my feet. My stomach hit his shoulder, and I breathed out a sudden oof.

  "What are you doing?" I hissed, squirming on my perch as he turned for the door. "Matteo, I'm not even wearing shoes!" He shrugged, jostling me as he pried the door open. I couldn't believe he'd hauled me over his shoulder like I was nothing, the fucking N
eanderthal. "Okay!" I relented. "Put me down, and I'll change!" He closed the door, and I could feel the smug grin on his face even before I saw it.

  "Ten minutes." I widened my eyes at him, turning and fleeing up the stairs to my room to hunt down something that would be appropriate for Vecchio without looking like I'd put in effort. I didn't even have time for effort.

  Because I had ten fucking minutes.

  ✽✽✽

  It ended up being a good thing I didn't have time. Matteo couldn't wonder if I'd gotten ready for him or if I'd tried to look my best.

  He already knew I hadn't.

  I'd grabbed the first little black dress I found in my closet, and it was really a gamble which one I’d throw over my head.

  I might have had a slight addiction to them.

  I'd only had time to swipe on quick eyeliner and mascara, thanking the eye makeup gods that for once they both cooperated. A red lip tint followed, and I tore my hair from its bun to fall loose around my shoulders. A change of underwear and bra, and I shoved the dress on over my head and slipped my feet into my favorite strappy yellow heels for a pop of color. I couldn't ever go all black with my clothes.

  I didn't stop to think about my dress until I started walking down the stairs, using the railing to secure myself when my legs felt like they'd collapse beneath me. But the moment Matteo looked up from the phone where he'd been typing vigorously, I could feel the way his eyes trailed up every inch of my bare legs.

  I glanced down at my chest, feeling my breathing constrict when I realized I wore that dress. The one every woman had in her closet - the one that existed purely for the purpose of seducing a man. A sweetheart neckline, with everything above it disguised with a delicate and feminine lace. The dress was sleeveless with an asymmetrical hem lined in a wide band of lace. One side? Appropriate length, but the ruched and shorter side was the shortest thing I owned. The lace on that side was wider, offering some level of modesty that wouldn't have been there otherwise, but the color of my skin was unmistakable as it peeked through. It wasn't scandalous, and was entirely appropriate for Vecchio, but I shouldn't have worn it for Matteo.

  I never would have chosen it if I'd had time to think. I swallowed as his blue eyes met mine, seeming impossibly dark suddenly, like two sapphires glittering at me dangerously. "You're breathtaking," he murmured, holding out a hand for me as I approached the last step. I took it with an exhale, trying to forget the way my skin had heated when he stared at it. Like a man dying of thirst, who'd seen water for the first time in days. Like he couldn't believe I was real, nothing but a mirage.

  I shrugged it off, knowing it meant nothing.

  Nothing ever meant anything to Matteo Bellandi.

  "Should we go?" I asked, and Matteo nodded. I hurried over to my coat closet, nabbing my black bolero jacket and shrugging it on. I glanced at my purse, knowing it was too big to bring to dinner with me. I tore a clutch off the top shelf of my closet and tossed in my phone and debit card quickly. When I went to the door, Matteo snatched the keys out of my hand and guided me out the front door as he turned off all my indoor lights. I hit the switch for the outside light, watching in fascination as he locked my door for me and checked the door twice to be sure it was shut tight.

  "You need a security system," he nodded gruffly, pocketing my house keys. He took my hand, tugging me toward the dark grey car in my driveway. I didn't stop walking but gasped at the sight of it. Because even though I knew nothing about cars, I knew it was sexy as hell.

  "What is that?" I whispered, and he glanced back at me with an arrogant smirk. He knew damn well how sexy that car was.

  "It's an Aston Martin," he said, and I rolled my eyes.

  Of course, it was.

  I did not understand what that meant, aside from it being another indicator of how far apart we were in terms of the worlds we lived in. "Do you want to drive?" he asked, and I gave him a wide-eyed look.

  "No, thank you," I whispered. He opened the passenger door, helping me navigate my way inside gracefully.

  The door shut with a thud, and I buckled myself in. Everything I remembered about Matteo showed the ride itself might be a terrifying experience. The driver's side door opened, and he dropped into the seat with a smooth glide that looked entirely at home in the luxury car. He grinned at me when he closed the door. "I have to say I'm surprised. I'd have thought you'd have jumped at the chance to take her for a spin."

  I nearly flinched, assaulted with memories of driving his Mustang in high school and pushing every limit he set for me. Instead, I steeled my features into a cool mask and shrugged. "You know nothing about me anymore."

  He winced visibly, shifting the car into reverse and backing out of my tiny little driveway. It was comically short compared to the curving road you took to get to his estate. When he put the car in drive, I let the purr of the engine relax me into a semi-comfortable state. I could do this. I could get through dinner and then send Matteo on his way after making it clear I wasn't interested in being one of his good-time girls.

  No problem.

  Staring out the window, I didn't see when he reached for me. But I felt it when his hand skimmed my thigh, grabbing my hand in his and holding it while he drove. His skin rested on my bare flesh, and I felt goosebumps rise from the contact. I tried to free my hand from his grip, but he held steady, not even releasing me when he shifted gears— instead taking my hand captive with his to do it. "Let go," I ordered.

  "Nope, I don't think I will," he said, keeping his eyes on the road and not even bothering to glance my way.

  "This isn't a date," I hissed.

  "Of course, it is," he laughed. "I'm taking you to the nicest restaurant in the city. You look beautiful. I've been inside you. It's a date, Ivory."

  "Twelve years ago doesn't count, Matteo. Plenty of men have been inside me now," I lied. Obviously there had been more than just him, but my numbers were still embarrassingly low for my age. At least when I wanted to toss them in his smug face.

  "Never talk to me about the other men you've been with," he ordered in his deadly voice. "I will not be held responsible for what I'll do to them if I'm forced to think about it."

  "You really are insane. Did you think I'd become a born-again virgin after you dumped me?" I chuckled, shaking my head. His grip on my hand tightened, not crushing but vibrating with fury. Somehow, he kept himself from hurting me.

  "Angel—"

  "Not an angel, Matteo. Not anymore. You ruined me, remember?" I hissed, shifting my legs away from our hands when he tried to rest them there again.

  "I didn't ruin you," he growled. "I made you mine. In a way that no one else will ever be able to do." He dropped my hand, having no place to rest them comfortably. I tucked it under my thighs, not willing to risk him grabbing it again.

  "And then promptly threw me away. Congratulations," I laughed. "You must really value your belongings." He was silent for a moment, and I could feel the tension radiating off him. When he pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant and drove straight up to the valet, I was shocked when he hopped out of the car so quickly.

  "Do not open that door," he ordered the valet who'd moved to assist me out with a pointed finger in warning. The glare he gave the valet was enough to make the poor boy look like he might pee himself. Tossing his keys at the other one, he slammed the door and strode around the car on quick, efficient steps and pulled open my door himself. I took the hand he offered, pivoting my legs out until I could let him lift me up and out of the car. My hands smoothed my dress down just to be safe as I turned a polite smile to the boys watching us from the hood of the car. Their gazes were too intense, too shocked.

  "You've been here before.” I winced at the accusation in my voice. I didn’t own Matteo. I had no right to be jealous, even as the thought of him bringing another woman to the nicest restaurant in town to wine and dine her slid through my veins like something insidious. He put a hand at the small of my back and guided me up the front steps. Even though the
restaurant was technically outside the city, the crowd still lingered out the door. The natural stone building was stunning, like something out of a movie as he led me in the front door. That traitorous hand of his never left my back, somehow feeling far too intimate despite the dress that separated us.

  "Mr. Bellandi," the hostess said with a blinding smile. "It's so good to see you again." She ignored me completely in favor of turning hazel eyes up at him with a flutter of her lashes. "Will you be needing a seat at the bar tonight?" I didn't bother to control my eye roll. Women could be such bitches. "Or I could probably squeeze you into Kendra's section, if you'd prefer—"

  "I have a reservation for two," Matteo cut her off, glancing down at the podium meaningfully.

  "Oh. How nice of you to take your—" she paused dramatically “—sister to dinner?" I snorted. Full on fucking snorted in the entryway of the nicest restaurant I'd ever been in.

  You couldn't take me anywhere, I swear.

  The hostess finally hardened her gaze into a glare she narrowed on me. Matteo's voice dropped low as he whispered to her. "My woman. Now, apologize." I swallowed uncomfortably, glancing at the pissed off man next to me.

  "I—I'm very sorry, miss," the hostess stuttered, turning frightened eyes my way to avoid Matteo's wrath.

  I shrugged, suddenly feeling sympathetic enough to let her off the hook. "It's fine, really. I'll be done with him tonight, so feel free to make plans with him after he takes me home." I smiled at her, and she blanched back at me. Matteo's growl was unmistakable, as was the way the hostess flinched back.