Page 49 of Ruined By Protection
Something makes me pause. That prickling feeling when you know you're being watched.
I lift my eyes to the second floor windows, scanning until I spot her. Hazel, standing at the nursery window with baby Sofia cradled against her chest. She's looking down at me with an expression I can't quite read—wariness or questioning. The baby's hand is wrapped around her finger.
For a moment we just stare at each other. It's fucking ridiculous how beautiful she looks holding that baby.
Hazel holds my gaze for a beat longer then deliberately turns her back to me, shifting the baby to her shoulder as she walks away from the window.
The dismissal stings more than it should. I clench my jaw, shoving my helmet on with more force than necessary. The engine roars to life beneath me and I gun it down the long driveway, taking the turns faster than I should, throwing up gravel fountains.
I push the Ducati harder, leaning deeply-angled curves into the road as I leave the Feretti estate behind. The engine's vibration beneath me is a living thing, pulsing between my legs like a beast I'm barely controlling. This is what I need—speed, power, the rush of wind tearing at my jacket.
The bike responds to the slightest shift of my weight. We're one machine, cutting through traffic like a blade. The growl of the engine drowns out everything else—all the questions, all the confusion, all the fucking complications.
I weave between two cars, ignoring their angry honks. The danger sharpens my focus. My heartbeat syncs with the rhythm of the engine. This is clarity. This is control.
By the time I pull into the casino's private lot, my mind is clearer. I park in my reserved spot near the service entrance, running my hand over the Ducati's sleek body before I leave it.The security guard nods as I approach, punching in the code to let me through the back door.
The Venetian Rose Casino pulsates with the sound of money changing hands. Slot machines chime their electronic songs while dealers call out bets at the tables. Even on a weekday afternoon, the place is busy—exactly how we like it.
I move through the back corridors, nodding at staff who know better than to stop me for small talk. My first stop is the security room, where I check in with the team monitoring the floor. Nothing unusual—a couple of card counters they're keeping an eye on, a drunk businessman who might need to be escorted out soon.
"Any messages?" I ask before leaving.
"There's a woman waiting for you." The female head of the team informs me.
My guard instantly goes up. "What woman?"
"Redhead. Pretty. Said she was a friend of yours."
Fuck. I know exactly who she's talking about. Vanessa. The woman Noah's been teasing me about for weeks.
I head toward the VIP lounge where she's waiting, my irritation building with each step. Security wouldn't have let her through unless she'd dropped my name. The nerve of this woman.
Vanessa sits at the bar, her red hair lying down her back in carefully styled waves. She's wearing a black dress that hugs every curve, the neckline plunging just enough to draw attention without being tacky. Expensive. Calculated. Her crimson lips stretch into a smile when she spots me.
"Matteo," she purrs, sliding off the barstool with contrived grace.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" I keep my irritation muffled , not wanting to create a scene.
She doesn't answer immediately, just steps closer until her body nearly touches mine. Her manicured fingers trace the lapel of my jacket as she leans in, her lips brushing against my ear.
"I'm horny," she whispers, her breath warm against my skin. "Horny enough to want to be fucked. Right now. Just like old times."
Three days ago those words would have been enough. I would have taken her to my office, bent her over my desk, and given us both what we wanted. No questions, no complications.
But now? The thought leaves me cold. Worse than cold—it pisses me off.
I step back, breaking contact. "I'm working."
Confusion flashes across her face, quickly replaced by determination. "You've never been too busy for me before."
"We had sex, Vanessa." I keep my voice flat, emotionless. "That's all it was. Nothing else."
Her smile falters. "You can't be serious. We had something special."
"We fucked a few times. That's it." I glance around, making sure none of my staff are within earshot. "I told you when it ended–Don't show up at my workplace again."
Anger flashes in her eyes, transforming her pretty face into something harder. "I thought we had an understanding." Her voice sharpens. "I thought?—"
