Page 23 of Ruined By Protection
Lucrezia's lips twitch with amusement. "Is that right, Daniel? You enjoy being my personal packmule?"
Daniel stands at attention, his face carefully neutral. "Whatever you need, Miss Feretti."
She laughs, the sound surprisingly light coming from someone who usually projects such a hard exterior. "Relax, both of you. I'm not in the mood for much shopping today."
I raise an eyebrow. Lucrezia Feretti not in the mood for shopping? That's like saying the Pope isn't in the mood for Mass.
"I might just go meet Sienna for coffee instead," she continues, pulling out her phone to check something. "She's at that new place in SoHo."
Daniel visibly relaxes and I bite back another smile.
"Coffee's still a security concern," Daniel says, professional as always. "I'll drive you."
Lucrezia rolls her eyes but doesn't argue. In our world solo outings aren't an option for someone of her status. Too many enemies would love to get their hands on Damiano Feretti's sister.
"Your brother's waiting for me," I tell her, tucking my helmet under my arm. "Try not to torture Daniel too much."
"No promises," she says with a wicked smile. "He's so much fun to mess with."
"I'm standing right here," Daniel mutters.
"I know." Lucrezia pats his arm condescendingly. "That's what makes it fun."
I leave them to their bickering and head inside. The mansion is a fortress disguised as a palace—classic architecture on the outside, state-of-the-art security on the inside. Two guards nod at me as I enter, not bothering to check my credentials. Everyone knows who belongs and who doesn't in this house.
The interior is all Renaissance art and modern Italian design. Old money mixed with new power. I walk through the main hall toward Damiano's office, my footsteps echoing in the cavernous space.
Damiano's office is at the back of the house, a massive room with windows overlooking a private garden. I knock twice beforeentering—not waiting for permission. Few people can get away with that but Damiano and I have history that predates his rise to power.
"Matteo," he acknowledges without looking up from his computer. "Close the door."
I do as instructed and take a seat in one of the leather chairs facing his desk. I wait in silence, knowing better than to rush him.
Finally he looks up. "The security plans for the casino are finalized?"
"Yes. Though I've noted some concerns about the staff rotation. Sartori's pushing for more of his people on the floor during peak hours."
Damiano's expression hardens slightly. "I'll speak with Riccardo about it. Now," he continues, "about this charity gala..."
CHAPTER 7
Matteo
Ikick my shoes off the moment I walk into my apartment, dropping my keys in the crystal dish by the door. The tension in my shoulders starts to melt away as the door clicks shut behind me, sealing out the chaos of the day.
My place is nothing like the Feretti mansion—no marble floors or priceless artwork—but it's mine. Clean lines, modern furniture and floor-to-ceiling windows with a view across the city. Worth every penny for the privacy and the escape it provides.
I shrug off my jacket, drape it over the back of a chair, and head straight for the bar cart in the corner of the living room. The cut crystal decanter catches the late afternoon light as I pour two fingers of scotch into a heavy glass. The first sip burns just right, warming my throat and chest.
With drink in hand I sink into the leather couch and close my eyes. The silence wraps around me like a blanket. No guards, noDamiano, no family business. Just me and the distant hum of the city below.
These moments are rare. Moments when I'm not Matteo Caruso, Feretti family enforcer and problem solver. When I'm just... me.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, shattering the peace.
"Fuck," I mutter and consider ignoring it. But in my line of work ignored calls have consequences.
I pull it out and check the screen. Noah Rivera. Even better.
