Page 30 of Married to the Mafia Devil

“A spy for Petrovitch.”

My heart skips a beat. “A spy?”

He nods. “Relax. I didn't hurt him. He's just a pawn. I merely persuaded him to leave. He’s been following us. It’s why I brought us here. The casino manager helped corral him to a spot where I could get hold of him.”

The revelation sends a shiver down my spine, not just from the danger we were in but from the care behind his actions. “You threatened him?”

“In a manner of speaking,” he says, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “It's important to show strength, but unnecessary violence is more often a sign of weakness. I control with precision, not brute force.”

His words paint a picture of a man who walks a fine line, one who wields power with both hands yet knows when to hold back. It's both terrifying and mesmerizing, this side of him that's governed by a code I'm only beginning to understand. But then I think of the two men who kidnapped me. He was going to torture them. Was that necessary violence? Was that precision or is he fooling himself as much as he could be lying to me?

As we eat, Matteo watches me with an intensity that makes the moment feel even more intimate. “This hotel,” he starts, his voice tinged with a mix of pride and nostalgia, “was the first significant purchase I made after my parents passed away. They spent their honeymoon here.”

I pause, placing my fork down gently. “It's beautiful,” I say, glancing around at the opulent setting.

“They certainly thought so.”

“Do you miss them?” I ask tentatively.

He looks out over the sea, his eyes shadowed by the failing light. “Every day,” he replies after a moment, his voice low. “They taught me what it means to be in charge. As if my father knew he’d be picked off sooner or later.”

“When did they die?”

“Ten years ago. I took over the day my parents died but I didn’t leave the mansion for the first two years. I was weak, drank too much, let Petrovitch get his claws into the city while I grieved. It won’t happen again.”

“You weren’t weak, you were dealing with a huge shock.”

“I was brought up to deal with shocks and keep working. I let them down.”

The way he speaks of his parents reveals a vulnerability he rarely shows, and it draws me in deeper. “Was it hard?” I ask, “taking over everything after they died?”

“It was,” he admits, turning his gaze back to me. “Necessary, but hard. It's not always pleasant running an empire.”

His words remind me of the darker aspects of his life he had mentioned earlier. “Like with those men who kidnapped me?” I venture, curious yet cautious. “You said you were going to?—“

“Torture them, yes.” He doesn't flinch from the word. “It sounds brutal, excessive even, but in this life, my life, it’s sometimes the only language understood. I assure you, Emma, it's not a decision taken lightly. They would have hurt you, given the chance. It’s dog eat dog out there.”

I nod, absorbing his explanation. It’s a stark reminder of the complexity of his existence—one that's both terrifying and mesmerizing. “And is it always about control with you?” I ask, the alcohol loosening my tongue.

He smiles slightly, a rueful twist of his lips. “Mostly, yes. Control is safety, Emma. In my world, losing control, even for a moment, can mean losing everything.”

The sea reflects the last light of the day, turning the water into a canvas of shimmering gold and deep blue. Matteo’s profile is etched against this backdrop, strong yet somber.

“And do you ever wish for a different life?” I ask, the question floating between us like the gentle sea breeze.

“For a long time, I didn't allow myself to think that way,” he confesses, turning to meet my gaze squarely. “But now, with you here, I start to wonder if maybe there is more to life than just surviving it. For the first time I can imagine having a family, children, heirs to all this.”

“With me?”

“Of course, who else?”

“I don’t know. It’s not always easy to know what you’re thinking.”

“I know, I can be a closed book at times but you encourage me to open up. It’s a precious gift you have.”

“The best books just need the right person to open them,” I say with a smile. I’m about to admit that I’m falling for him when he gets to his feet.

“I’m going to take a walk,” he says, disappearing down a flight of iron stairs to the tree lined terrace below.

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