Page 81 of Curse

When I open my eyes, it feels like I’ve been hit by a ton of bricks. Every part of me is throbbing. Stretching feels good, but the ache radiates everywhere, sharp pains stabbing different spots on my body.

The sheets, though. The sheets are incredible. Cool, slippery silk glides against my skin. I used to wonder why anyone would waste money on such impractical bedding—silk sheets aren’t even cozy. Now, I get it. These are luxurious in a way that makes it hard to care about practicality.

Everything about this bed is indulgent. Peeking through my eyelashes, the bed itself is massive, larger than any I’ve ever seen, with four towering wooden posts that nearly reach the high ceiling.

Flashes of memory trickle back. Matti carrying me out of Aurelio’s house, slung over his shoulder like a sack of flour. Fighting with him, about what I can’t recall. Then I remember his arms around me. After that, nothing.

Panic seizes my lungs as I sneak a look around the room. It looks like I could still be in Aurelio’s house. The richwood paneling on the lower half of the walls, the muted paint above, and the thick mahogany windowsills all bear the same traditional style.

But no, this place is different. The air here feels cleaner, lighter, with none of that heavy staleness tinged with cigar smoke and old leather.

The furniture—a heavy mahogany bed frame, matching nightstands, and scattered chairs and dressers—is newer, more polished, less oppressive than Aurelio’s antiques.

When I spot Matti seated in a chair next to the bed, I yelp in surprise. He’s leaned back casually, knees spread wide, his fingers steepled as he watches me. He looks exhausted, but otherwise, his face is unreadable. He’s just staring at me.

I yank the blankets higher, suddenly aware that I’m naked. Bandages cover my wrists and shoulder, a stark reminder of my wounds, then the content of our fight hits me, triggering a bubble of fury beneath my exhaustion.

Emily. Matti killed Emily. He admitted it. The weight of my anger is muted only by the heavy fog of sadness.

“Watching people while they sleep. That’s not creepy at all,” I mumble sarcastically.

He doesn’t respond. His silence unnerves me more than anything he could say. I glare at him, but when he still doesn’t react, I roll my eyes.

“Are you going to tell me what we’re doing here,Matteo?” I snap, spitting his name the way I heard Aurelio say it.

The corner of his lip curls into a sneer. “You call me Matti, or you call me ‘sir,’Siena.”

“Oh, I don’t think I’ll be calling you ‘sir’ again anytime soon,Matteo. Now what the fuck are we doing here?”

“You have been sleeping for the past week.” He nods towarda pile of clothes at the foot of the bed. “Get dressed.”

A week?!

I open my mouth to argue, but stop. My bandages are clean and small, none of them bloody. Some of the bruises are yellowing at the edges and starting to fade. The cuts on my wrists from the rope are closed. Maybe it has been a week.

He’s right: I do need clothes. Aurelio’s men dragged me here naked, so whatever Matti has for me will have to do. Irritated that he’s right about anything, I huff and throw the blankets off, cringing as I stand gingerly, wobbling like a baby colt.

Holding his gaze, I work hard to show no pain on my face, and give him a look that dares him to be distracted by my body.

I don’t want him to respond until he doesn’t. Not that I would give him the satisfaction of responding if he got up and moved toward me. But when he maintains eye contact and shows no reaction at all, I’m almost confused. Then sad.

Then scared.

As much as I hate Matti, I always felt safe with him, wanted. Until now.

I turn my back on him and pull a t-shirt from the pile. Matti was my ally, wasn’t he? Back in Aurelio’s office, when Aurelio tried to assault me, Matti intervened. But the memory of the anger on his face, both then and now, unsettles me. Maybe I was wrong about him. Wrong about us. Maybe I was wrong about everything.

The t-shirt fits snugly, straining across my chest so tightly that you can see the outline of my necklace through it. The cotton leggings and hoodie fit better. There’s no bra, no underwear, but the rubber flip-flops and pack of ponytail holders are new. And none of it is mine.

Whirling to face him, I jab a finger in his direction. “Whose clothes are these? What the fuck, Matti? Did you strip some other woman to dress me? What’s the plan? Keep me locked up at the Edge while you fuck her here?”

A slight smirk lifts the corners of Matti’s mouth, and something briefly flickers in his eyes that I can’t read before it’s gone.

My stomach drops as a sickening realization hits me. He probably does have someone else. He probably always did.

FUCK him.

Fuming, I shove my feet into the flip-flops and twist my hair into a messy bun, turning so he can’t see the emotions warring on my face.

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