"Alex, take their coats," the hostess called, and a boy came from the coatroom. Matteo's stiff fingers helped me out of mine, and he handed them to the boy with venom written all over his features.
"Do not even attempt to make plans with me later," Matteo said before the hostess could get a word in edge wise. "Ivory here doesn't seem to realize the seriousness of our relationship just yet, but I assure you, I'll be remedying that."
The hostess nodded, grabbing two menus and strutting off toward what I could only assume would be our table. Matteo's hand pressed into my back a little more forcefully, like the frayed edges of his control were slipping in the face of my sass.
Still, he pulled out my chair like a gentleman, and I was about to slide into it with a polite thank you when a man's voice caught both of our attentions. Matteo went ramrod still, the only motion he made was to grasp me around the waist as he pulled me into his side forcefully.
"Matteo!" The man made his way towards us, only sparing a glance for me before he turned his dancing brown eyes back to Matteo. I'd been dismissed after only a glance, but for once I couldn't say I minded. Even in that moment where our eyes had connected, something about the way the dark brown of them glinted gave me the creeps. The way Matteo kept me plastered to his side only confirmed that he was not someone I wanted fixating on me.
"Adrian.” Matteo’s voice was flat, no emotion to him when he answered. They shook hands, postures tense.
"I'm glad I ran into you. I wondered if we could discuss—"
"Not tonight," Matteo said sharply, his arm tightening around me until I had no choice but to turn my body in to face his. Feeling awkward, I raised a hand to rest on his chest. The motion had the unintended benefit of soothing something raw inside Matteo, and even though his body only relaxed a fraction, I felt it in every inch of my body that was plastered to his.
“Understood." Adrian turned dark, dancing eyes to me. Suddenly, he seemed to find me very interesting, and his eyes passed over me from head to toe. "And who might this be?"
"Ivory," I answered, forcing my lips to curl into a tentative but polite smile.
Adrian held out a hand, and I placed mine in it when I realized I had no reason not to, nothing that could be perceived as anything other than an insult, anyway. Raising it to his lips, he pressed a kiss to the back of it. "You are a rare beauty, Ivory." Matteo growled, whether at the words or the sight of Adrian's lips on my skin I would never know, and Adrian turned wide eyes up to him with a smirk.
"Oh, I see. It's like that, is it?" Matteo didn't answer, but Adrian dropped my hand, regardless in the face of Matteo’s eerie silence. Adrian’s smile was no less intimidating as he looked down at me again. "It was lovely to meet you. I'll let you two enjoy your evening." He turned, striding back to what I had to presume was his own table. I sat finally, letting Matteo push my chair in for me.
"What was that?" I whispered as he took his own seat across from me.
"Adrian is a business rival," he answered shortly, opening his own menu. I didn't continue my questioning immediately, as the waiter came and took our drink order. Matteo ordered a bottle of wine, that I had to assume was insanely expensive. I ignored it, letting him act in his high-handed way.
It was one dinner; I reminded myself.
Eat some delicious food and then get out.
"Do you know what you would like?" Matteo asked after the waiter left.
I widened my eyes at him dramatically. "Are we really not going to talk about whatever that was?"
Matteo sighed, setting his menu on the table and turning his attention to me finally. "It was business, and you Cara mia, are not part of my business. I would like it to stay that way."
"Because I'm so naïve I couldn't possibly understand your business?" I hissed.
"No, because it is much safer for you if you're not involved. I may be many things, but I will always do whatever it takes to keep you safe."
The waiter came back, saving me from having to respond to the ridiculous lie of that statement. The polite smile he turned down at me was polite, all clean-cut charm. "What can I get for you, Miss?"
"The spring risotto," I said with a smile.
"An excellent choice." The man gave me a bright smile, before turning to Matteo. "And for you, Sir?"
"The bistecca fiorentina." Matteo's voice was short and curt, and I looked up to see him glaring daggers at the waiter. "She's not on the menu, so don't look at her like she's a piece of meat."
I gasped. "Matteo!"
"I apologize," the waiter whispered backing away from our table. "I didn't intend—"
"Go," Matteo snapped.
"What is wrong with you?" I hissed at him as soon as the waiter left. I could feel eyes on me from all around the dining room, and my cheeks heated with the realization that his moment failed to go unnoticed. Matteo nodded to someone over my shoulder, and I turned to find another Italian man nodding back at him. "Who is that?"
"My security," Matteo grunted.
"That poor waiter didn't deserve—"
Matteo held out a hand, silencing me with his domineering bullshit. "He wanted to fuck you."
"Maybe I should let him," I taunted, standing from the table.
"Sit down," he ordered, but I ignored the command I heard in that too-sexy-for-his-own-good voice.
"I'm going to the powder room." I shook my head as I walked and followed the sign to the back hall of the restaurant. Miraculously, there was no one in the bathroom, and I vented to myself as I went about my business. "Fucking ridiculous man. Like I needed a man to chase off someone because he looked at me. What kind of caveman bullshit is that?" I came out of the stall, surprised to find a woman standing at the sink when she hadn't been before. She smiled at me, kindly not commenting on my tirade that she must have overheard. I'd just finished washing my hands and accepted the hand towel from the attendant, when the door opened, and Adrian appeared in the mirror behind me.
"Get out," he said to her. She slid her eyes to me, before seeming to decide better and fleeing the bathroom.
I swallowed, turning around to face the man who'd strolled right into the ladies' room like he belonged there. "Any chance you haven't realized this is the women's bathroom?" I whispered, and he threw his head back and laughed. It was a shame there was something so off about him, because if it hadn't been for that, he'd have been attractive. Not Matteo-level sexy, but handsome in his own right. Deep golden skin and dark hair, he was the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. Even as he stepped closer to me, getting right in my business until I leaned back on the counter with both hands. He drew up one hand, letting his fingers trail over my cheekbone gently, and he watched the contact intently. "So exquisite. I can see what drew him to you."
I swallowed again, jerking my head away from his hand as much as I dared. "Matteo won't be pleased to know you touched me," I whispered. A few hours ago, I'd have said it was an exaggeration, but after seeing the way he reacted to men even looking at me, I couldn't be so sure.
"I imagine not, no," Adrian grinned. "That's part of the fun, you see? Though I imagine we'll have plenty of fun in our own right. I had to be sure you knew that I am interested and willing to risk the wrath of Bellandi should it mean you are the reward."
"That's flattering," I huffed. "But I'm afraid I'm not interested."
"Ah, sweetheart. It's adorable that you think—"
He broke off when the door flung open, Matteo's enraged energy filling the bathroom as he rushed in. The man he'd referred to as his security followed behind him, looking exasperated but pissed off too. "Take your hands off my woman," Matteo snarled. "Or I'll remove them for you."
Adrian stepped back, raising his hands as if he was innocent. "We were only talking, Bellandi," Adrian placated with a shit-eating grin.
"She does not exist for you. Get that through your fucking skull." Adrian smirked back at him, and Matteo's face turned positively feral. "This is not something you want to test me on, Ricci." Adrian didn't ut
ter another word as he strode to the door, but he paused long enough to wink at me just before he left. Matteo cursed, balling his hands into fists. “Scar’s on her. Round the clock," he ordered the security man. He nodded, turning and striding out of the bathroom, seeming content to go about his duty as Matteo ordered. "Are you okay?" Matteo turned to me, his hands cupping my cheeks. Momentarily distracted by how good they felt—especially compared to the icky way my skin crawled when Adrian touched me—it took me too many precious seconds to draw away. I needed him to not touch me. Needed to never remember what it felt like when his hands were on me.
"I'm fine," I nodded, taking a deep breath to compose myself. It hadn't been bad. He'd barely touched me. It was nothing like the last time.
I'd be fine.
Matteo studied me, sighing at whatever he saw on my face. Taking my hand, he guided me back to the table. We settled in, and our food followed within minutes. I did my best to steady my shaking hands, drawing a fortifying breath into my lungs. The glass of wine on the table proved too tempting to ignore, and it took everything in me to not spill it all over my dress. "Did he touch you, Angel?" Matteo's low rumble should have been frightening, but for whatever reason in that moment he wasn't the monster who haunted my nightmares. He showed me a glimpse of the boy I loved, the fake boy who had never existed, letting the terrifying enigma of a man drift away.
"Nothing too serious." I gave him my best effort at a reassuring smile. He hadn't touched me in any way that should have been traumatizing but given my history—given the way I reacted to the touch of men I didn't know—it was too much.
Being with Matteo already had my body strung tight, lingering on the edge of some cliff that I just knew I could never let myself fall over. To do so would be to fall to my heartbreak again. "You're shaken."
"It's not every day that pushy ass men seem to fixate on me." I twisted my lips into a saccharine smile, almost hoping that he would take the bait and stop with the sympathetic, almost caring act.
We both knew it was a lie when all was said and done.
"You can tell me, you know. Whatever it is that—"
"Can we not? Please? Whatever it is, is none of your business." He stared at me like he might argue, before finally tilting his head down in a nod.
"Very well, Cara mia. Tell me about your blog."
I sighed, not even pretending to hide my distaste that he would have done such thorough research on me. "What's there to say? It's a blog. I post recipes and photos of my food; people try them and love them. I make money through advertising mostly, but also some affiliate programs and stuff like that. You know, I use so and so brand of spatula and get a kickback from it."
"Seems like a smart way to make more money. Is a food blog common?"
I tilted my head in thought. "They aren't uncommon, by any means. You can find them all over the internet, but not everyone makes a full-time income from them. It all depends on how determined you are and if having it be your job is something, you're even interested in to be honest." The waiter brought out caprese salad, not even once glancing in my direction.
I felt a growl threaten in my own chest, because it wasn't enough that Matteo acted like a wild animal, but apparently, I needed to as well. I picked up my fork and ignored Matteo's self-satisfied grin that he turned on the waiter. There was something so feral in it, I couldn't blame the poor guy when he scurried off in a hurry.
"Are you always so territorial over all your dates?" I asked, stabbing a piece of tomato and shoving it into my mouth without preamble. The light drizzle of balsamic over it burst on my tongue pleasantly.
"I don't date," he answered with an eyebrow raised. "I don't even bring women out in public, so it would be hard to be territorial. Aside from you, I can't think of a single woman that I would object to seeing her take another man to bed as soon as I finished with her." My mouth was only inches from my wine glass, but thankfully I hadn't taken that sip just yet.
I had a feeling I'd have spit it all over the table.
And my food. That would have been unforgivable.
"Well that's, um, interesting," I faltered. How did one respond to that kind of confession?
He chuckled at my discomfort, taking a sip of his own wine. Watching his throat work while he swallowed the liquid shouldn't have been an aphrodisiac. It appeared, that literally everything about Matteo screamed sex. It was most unfortunate. "I don't have any use for women in my life. I don't particularly enjoy conversing with them, and I most definitely don't enjoy the way they view me as a meal ticket."
"You just enjoy fucking them and then tossing them aside? I guess some things never change." I hissed the words, watching as Matteo's jaw clenched in fury.
"What I did to you is nothing like what I did to all the women who have filled the void in your absence. I know it will be difficult for you to believe, but I did what I had to do at the time. One day, perhaps you'll understand. But do not compare yourself to others. You're nothing like them."
I swallowed, running my tongue over my teeth after I set my fork down, having finished my caprese salad. "And how am I any different? Just because I was a virgin?"
"You're different because you mean something to me, because you meant everything to me." The waiter collected our plates, and I fixed my gaze on the glass of wine in front of me.
"If that were true—"
Matteo cut me off, grasping my hand in his. "Not tonight, Angel. Soon, but not tonight."
I nodded, drawing my hand back to my side of the table. Matteo allowed it, seeming no more interested in having a physical altercation than I was. It was unfortunate enough that the tenseness to our conversation wasn't missed by the people dining closest to us. "Donatello told me your father passed," I said to break the silence that started to spread. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be," he chuckled. "The world is better for my father being gone."
I swallowed, because that didn't bear good things for the kind of man Matteo had become, given that I knew even as a child he was groomed to take over his father's businesses. The Bellandi Corporation had been passed down through generations from what anyone could tell. "I'm kind of surprised you never ended up married to Shauna." I laughed, and a twisted sort of humor filled Matteo's face.
"What in the fuck would make you think I'd marry Shauna? She wasn't particularly the most pleasant to spend time with." He was right, even people who Shauna didn't torment knew she was catty and cruel—just as likely to stab you in the back as she was to smile to your face.
"She used to tell everyone you were engaged. That your families had arranged for the two of you to be married like we live in the dark ages. Uniting two proper Italian families," I cringed with a scoff.
Matteo swallowed, "Ah. Well that was true enough before you, but I refused and given Shauna's propensity for sleeping around it wasn't difficult to navigate my way out of it. Old Italian families like mine, things like that matter. There are unfortunately certain expectations for our women, and if those aren't met than negotiations become difficult." I stared at him, not completely comprehending. "Last I spoke to her father; she'd moved to New York to try and start fresh. I've no idea how that worked for her."
The waiter delivered our dinners, and I dug into my risotto with a slow, savoring bite. The creamy flavor practically melted on my tongue; the hint of cheese delectable. My eyes drifted closed on a moan. When they opened, it was to Matteo's darkened blue gaze on my face. I cleared my throat awkwardly, taking a sip of my wine to dispel some of the tension I felt. "The whole Italian thing is that important to your family? It just seems so...dated? People intermarry all the time."
"Not in families like mine. My father was unorthodox, taking my mother for a wife. I guess they felt like they needed to make up for that by ensuring I settled down with a good Italian woman." I cut through my stalk of asparagus, popping the bite into my mouth. It hurt to have it confirmed that he would always be destined for an Italian woman, because no matter what happened or didn't happen b
etween us, Italian I was not.
"Your mother wasn't Italian?" I asked to dispel the awkwardness of what his confession did to me. I knew we wouldn't ever really be together, obviously I knew better than to have expectations or even hopes where Matteo was concerned, but to hear it so blatantly spelled out struck something in me down. I shoved it away. I could feel the hurt later, but in front of Matteo, I was determined to make him believe me unaffected.
I didn't want him.
Couldn't want him.
He shook his head, slicing a bite off his steak. He held out his fork, offering me a bite of the meat in the same way he always had back then. Ever the foodie, I always needed to try everything at the table. At least if I'd never had it. I shook my head, the smile on my face horrified. He leaned across the small, intimate table for two, and the forkful hovered just in front of my mouth. Knowing it would be a bigger scene than I felt like causing to continue to deny him, I had no choice but to open my mouth and accept the beef in. Matteo slid the fork inside, eyes fixated on the motion as my lips sealed around it and plucked it off the fork. I hummed my approval as the intense flavor coated my tongue, and I chewed.
After a moment's delay, he sat back in his chair and resumed eating. "My mother is Norwegian," he admitted. "She and my father had a fling when she was in the city for college. Brief, sex motivated. She got pregnant with me, so they had no choice but to get married really. Given my family's conservative values, there was no way to avoid it even with her heritage." That explained how Matteo had lighter hair than Lino, and I imagined the rest of his Italian family. "They hated each other. Spent most of my childhood fighting, until my mother decided she just didn't care. As soon as my father died, my mother left town and never looked back."
"She left you?" I whispered.
"We were never close, and she felt trapped in her marriage with my father. So once she was free, there was nothing keeping her here."
"Except for her son," I hissed as I finished my last bite of risotto.
"Not all women are meant to be mothers, my Angel. Neither of my parents were suited to the role. Thankfully, their hatred of one another kept them from repeating the mistake. Would you like dessert?"
Bloodied Hands: A Dark Mafia Romance (Bellandi Crime Syndicate Book 1) Page 7
