Page 29 of Ruined By Protection
But his eyes—those warm brown eyes that once looked at me with such hunger—show absolutely no recognition.
"Hazel, this is Matteo Caruso," Evelyn says, gesturing toward him. "He works with Noah."
Matteo steps forward, extending his hand. "Nice to meet you, Hazel."
Nice to meet you.
The words hit me like a slap. He doesn't remember me. Not even a flicker of recognition crosses his face as he takes my trembling fingers in his. The same fingers that once traced every inch of my body.
"Likewise," I manage to choke out, my voice sounding strange even to my own ears.
His grip is firm, professional, completely devoid of any hint that we ever touched before today. That we were once as intimate as two people can be.
I was just another one-night stand. A bartender he fucked in a hotel kitchen and then forgot about completely.
The irony doesn't escape me. All these years I've carried the memory of that night like a secret treasure, pulling it out for comfort during my darkest moments with Elliott. The way Matteo looked at me, touched me, made me feel—it was my private escape whenever reality became too much to bear.
And he doesn't even remember my face.
"You look pale," Matteo says, his brow furrowing slightly. "Rough flight?"
I nod, not trusting my voice. His accent is exactly as I remember it—that hint of Italian making every word sound like a caress.
"Let's get you to the car," Evelyn says, wrapping her arm around my shoulders. "You must be exhausted."
I let her guide me, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. The man Evelyn called Noah takes my small carry-on and Matteo walks ahead, clearing a path through the crowded terminal.
My mind races, trying to make sense of this impossible coincidence. How is Matteo connected to Evelyn? What kind of work does he do with this Noah person? Can it really be simple import-export?
And why doesn't he remember me?
Was I really so forgettable?
I study his back as he walks ahead of us. The confident stride, the way people instinctively move out of his path.
What world has my cousin gotten herself into? Evelyn was always the sensible one, the violinist with a promising career. How did she end up connected to men like Matteo and Noah, who practically radiate danger?
"You're going to love the Feretti mansion," Evelyn whispers as we follow the men through the terminal. "It's beautiful, and you'll be completely safe there."
Mansion? Safe? The words don't compute. I came to New York expecting to crash on Evelyn's couch in some tiny apartment, not stay in a mansion with men who look like extras in a movie about organized crime.
"Evelyn," I whisper back, "who are these people?"
She squeezes my shoulder. "Friends. Powerful friends who can help. I'll explain everything later."
My stomach knots with fresh anxiety. What have I done? I've escaped one dangerous situation only to land in another I don't understand.
As we approach the exit Matteo turns back to look at us.
"Car's waiting," he says to Noah, who nods and takes the lead.
Outside, a sleek black SUV with tinted windows idles at the curb. Noah opens the rear door and Evelyn guides me inside. She slides in next to me while the men take the front seats, Noah driving.
As we pull away from the curb I catch Matteo watching me in the side mirror. His eyes are unreadable, dark and deep. He can't see I'm returning his observation because of my dark glasses. I avert my gaze to stare out the window at the unfamiliar New York landscape.
I want to laugh at my own naivety. I want to cry at the unfairness of life.
CHAPTER 9
