Page 34 of Queen of Vice

“I didn’t expect you to be awake so soon. I apologize for the mess.”

The mess. Not the fact that he’d just shattered a man’s hand and nose before discarding him like yesterday’s garbage. Then again, for someone like Mateo, that probably was nothing more than a love-tap. His bright smile, aimed directly at me, did little to diminish the unease twisting in my stomach, but it was disarming enough to make me pause. He wasn’t dressed in the sharp suit I’d grown accustomed to seeing him in.

Instead, he wore a simple black button-down, the sleeves partially rolled back, revealing the edges of that intricate tattoo winding up his forearm. The slacks he paired with it were tailored to perfection, emphasizing his lean, powerful build. Somehow, he looked even more dangerous—more alluring—than he had the night before.

I bit back the urge to ask what I had just witnessed, knowing better than to let those words slip out. It wasn’t my business, and the rules of this world were clear: keep your mouth shut and your eyes averted. Before my sister and I were sent away, we’d been raised around men like Mateo—men who dealt in shadows and made their own rules. My mother and father may have lavished me with love and affection, but they were far from angelic. I remembered a scene like this one unfolding outside my father’s office when he thought Eva and I were fast asleep.

It was when he realized we’d seen what happened a lesson was ingrained in me—see nothing, say nothing. Of course, he was also extremely apologetic, unlike Mateo.

His eyes roamed over me from head to toe, taking his time as he absorbed every detail. His gaze was heated, reminiscent of the night before, and it brought everything we had done rushing back into sharp focus. The way his hands had moved over my body, the way his voice had sometimes softened just for me—it all came flooding back in a dizzying rush.

The contrast between the tenderness he’d shown me and the brutality I had just witnessed was impossible to ignore. Mateo was a man of many faces, and I was only beginning to understand the depth of that complexity. I held my ground, meeting his gaze with as much composure as I could muster. His eyes darkened as they continued to roam over me, a small smile curling at the corners of his mouth.

"You're even more beautiful in the morning light," he murmured, stepping forward with a quiet confidence that sent a shiver down my spine. His hands settled on my hips, firm but not forceful, drawing me closer until there was barely any space between us.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice low, almost intimate.

“Fine,” I replied, though the word felt inadequate, given the whirlwind of emotions still coursing through me.

Mateo’s smile deepened, a flash of something darker flickering in his eyes. “Then I didn’t do a good enough job last night,” he teased, his tone smooth, but with a sharp edge that made my breath catch.

A flush crept up my neck, heat flooding my cheeks as I tried to stammer out a response. “No, it was… it was good,” I managed to say, my voice faltering as I struggled to keep my thoughts in order.

He watched me, clearly amused by my flustered state. "Good?" he echoed, his voice dripping with playful condescension. "Anjinho, I don’t settle for good. I demand more—much more. And I’m quite certain you can give it."

The weight of his words, coupled with the intensity of his gaze, was almost too much. I needed to break the tension, to get my bearings before I completely lost myself in whatever this was.

“I... I need to go home,” I blurted out, my thoughts snapping back to the reality I had left behind. I could feel my phone buzzing relentlessly in my pocket—texts from Melody and Peyton, missed calls from my grandmother and uncle. I needed to check in with them, to get back to some semblance of normalcy, no matter how fleeting.

The playful light in Mateo’s eyes vanished instantly, replaced by something far more dangerous.

His grip on my hips tightened, his fingers digging into my skin just enough to make his displeasure known. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice suddenly void. "You are home."

I stared up at him, my heart pounding. "Mateo, I can't just stay here. I have a life outside of this…outside of you."

His eyes narrowed slightly, and before I could continue, he hushed me with a gentle finger against my lips. "There's no need to ruin a perfectly good morning with unnecessary arguments. Let’s not start the day with tension." His tone was calm, but the underlying firmness made it clear that he wasn’t asking for my opinion. He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes, and I knew better than to push the issue.

“At least let’s have breakfast first,” he suggested, though it was more of a command than a suggestion. His hand remained on my hip as he guided me down the hall, his grip firm yet somehow reassuring.

We walked in silence, the tension from our earlier conversation still hanging in the air, but Mateo’s demeanor had shifted back to something more relaxed, almost casual. He led me out a rear door, and we stepped into the fresh morning air.

As we rounded the corner, the backyard came into view. The terracotta stone patio led the way to a sleek glass dining table, already laid out with an impressive spread. The table was set with fresh food—assorted fruits glistening with dew, warm pastries that filled the air with a buttery aroma, and a selection of cheeses and cured meats arranged artfully on a platter. It was the kind of breakfast that could have been pulled straight from the pages of a luxury magazine, every detail meticulously crafted.

Mateo pulled out a chair for me, a small gesture that felt almost out of place given the gravity of our situation, but I accepted it and sat down.

The serene setting was a stark contrast to the underlying tension I still felt, a reminder that despite the beauty surrounding me, I was not in control. He took his seat across from me, his eyes never leaving mine as if he could sense the turmoil simmering beneath my composed exterior.

“You need to eat,anjinho,” he said softly, but there was an unmistakable firmness beneath the gentle words. He wasn’t just suggesting; he was telling me.

Not wanting to push any boundaries, I reached for the bowl of fresh fruit, selected a few strawberries, and then moved on to a buttery croissant. The simple act of choosing food felt like a small victory in maintaining some semblance of control. As I took a tentative bite, Mateo reached for a decanter that sat on the table, filled with a rich amber liquid. He poured himself a glass of what I quickly identified as whiskey, the scent of it strong and smoky as he added a few ice cubes.

“Drink?” he offered, his eyes not leaving mine as he raised his glass slightly.

I shook my head, the thought of mixing alcohol with my medication once again, was enough to keep me from accepting. “No, thank you,” I replied, trying to keep my tone neutral.

Mateo nodded, seemingly unbothered by my refusal. He took a slow sip of his drink, savoring the taste before setting the glass down. “Now, why don’t you ask me what you wanted to last night?” he said, his voice low and deliberate. “About our agreement.”

The reminder of our earlier conversation hit me like a wave, and I realized there was no escaping this. I needed answers, and he knew it. I took another bite of my croissant, trying to buy myself a moment to collect my thoughts, but his unwavering gaze told me that time was running out. I swallowed and finally met his eyes. It was time to confront the reality of what I was getting into.

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