Page 11 of His Tesoro

I picked up Sofiya’s suitcases, wondering where the rest of her things were. I had expected her possessions to take up several cars, but maybe her parents were planning to send everything later.

I jerked my chin to the left side of the apartment, where a hallway branched off from the living room. “Your bedroom is that way.” The furthest one from my bedroom.

Sofiya maneuvered her wheelchair through the living room and followed me down the hall. I opened the guest room door and placed her suitcases by the bed. No one had ever stayed in this room before—it wasn’t like I had guests—but I’d asked Gianna to make sure it was ready for my new wife.

Sofiya took in the room, looking like she was about to say something.

“I’ll get the rest,” I grunted, leaving before she could.

Something rattled in the cardboard box as I carried it through the apartment, and I was tempted to look inside. But I was determined to show as little interest as possible in my new wife, so I kept my mouth shut and placed it by the foot of the bed.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Gianna Pesci is my housekeeper and cook. She and her daughter come a couple times a week to take care of things, but they’re gone for the next month for a wedding.” Gianna’s son was getting married, so she was taking rare time off. I always told her she should take more, but she insisted I couldn’t survive without her, which was probably true. I had to admit I was relieved she wasn’t here now, though. She was an opinionated woman and completely unafraid of insulting me. I didn’t need her commentary to complicate this situation.

“Do you have any other staff?” Sofiya asked.

“Not who come into the apartment.”

She nodded, looking so fucking small in her wheelchair.

“I have a meeting to get to,” I said gruffly.

“Oh.” She bit her lush lip again. “You’re leaving?”

I clenched my jaw at the sadness in her expression. Why couldn’t she hide what she was feeling? “I told you this wasn’t going to be a real marriage,” I snapped.

She blinked slowly before giving a small nod. “Of course. Sorry.”

A thousand irritated retorts were on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed them, turned on my heel, and headed out of the apartment. There was a strange, unsettled feeling in my chest as I walked past Angelo and got back on the elevator. I rubbed it absentmindedly as the elevator doors opened to the lower floor that housed my office.

8

MATTEO

It took me three attempts to tie my tie this morning. And it was definitely not because my thoughts were consumed by my new bride.

She was way too young.

And way too fucking beautiful.

After my meeting with the arms dealer, I’d stayed in my office, drinking alone until three in the morning. When I’d returned to my apartment, the door to the guest room was shut and the lights were out. Even in the stillness, I swore I could feel her presence.

I might be a bastard for leaving her alone right after we arrived, but she wasn’t anything to me, really. Just a stranger. A roommate.

But that didn’t explain the urgency I felt to get out of my room and find her.

Looking in the mirror at my still-crooked tie, I rolled my eyes as I ran my hand through my hair. I was Matteo fucking Rossi. Head of the Mafia. A twenty-one-year-old girl wasn’t going to disrupt my life.

I strode out of my bedroom while adjusting my cufflinks but came to an abrupt stop when I saw Sofiya standing at the kitchen island.

Fucking standing.

Was this some kind of a joke? My brain whirled as I tried to understand why she had lied about being in a wheelchair. Was it to get some kind of advantage over me? Was it her idea or her family’s?

The morning light streamed through the window, making her hair shine as she tucked a strand behind her ear. She was writing something down on a piece of paper, completely oblivious to me. That didn’t sit well with me, either. Why wasn’t she more aware of her surroundings?

I walked into the kitchen, my anger driving every step.

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