Page 2 of Falling for the Enemy

I suppose I fell for him, or maybe I fell for the fantasy. I thought about Matteo a lot. My father could bug my house and put tiny little cameras in every room, but he couldn't watch my thoughts. I'd sit in the living room with my curtains open and watch Matteo mow the front lawn shirtless. Or pull the weeds out of his flower bed. Or wash and wax his card by hand. I started imagining a life with a man I knew nothing about. I started hoping that he was looking in my windows as often as I was looking in his.

There was no rhyme or reason for what I did, other than hope, I suppose. I started wearing less, opening more windows, and prancing around my living room as often as possible. The intent was to catch Matteo's attention, but he never seemed to look my way. Maybe he bought into the family feud between the Gallaghers and the Vitales, or maybe he just didn't think I was pretty.

"Come on, Autumn," Isabella coos on the other end of the line, "you know you're restless. Just come on down to the strip. Please!"

If it were anyone else, I'd already be down there. I'm bored out of my mind and it's a Friday night. The longer I walk around my carefully curated, empty home, the more bored I become. But Isabella has a habit of getting overly wasted. She doesn't know her limits and we don't find out what they are until after she's reached them. One minute she's upright on the dance floor and the next she's slumped over and I'm seriously considering taking her to the hospital for alcohol poisoning. "Iz," I groan, "I don't know."

She whines a few seconds longer. "I promise to be good tonight," she swears. "I'm getting better at self-managing."

How many times have I heard that before? I don't even have enough fingers to count the times. "I'm only wearing a slip, Isabella. It's already nine." Why do I sound so old? It's alreadynine?Who am I?

Isabella giggles on the other end of the line. "Wear the slip, Autumn. You'll fit right in and you still won't even be half as racy as the showgirls, or me, frankly."

I can only imagine was she's got on. I chew on my bottom lip and shoot a look at Matteo's bedroom window. For a split second, it looks like a shadow moves. I want to believe that he was watching me, that he cares about me like my family and all their goons. But after a few seconds when I see no other movement, I sigh. I guess he does. "Alright, Iz. I'll be there shortly."

The squeal on the other end of the line is nearly deafening. "Don't forget your fake," she whispers.

It's already in my wallet. "See you soon. Drink water!" I hang up the phone and gather my things. Any other woman might take some time to get ready, but I test my father's limits daily. If someone catches a picture of me and it gets plastered in the tabloids, it's his job to spin it. Underage Autumn Gallagher's night out on the town. Your move, dad.

I do switch out the robe for a thigh-length black blazer and pull on a pair of high heels that will surely sprain my ankle if I take a spill. Paired with the satin red slip beneath and the wild head full of red curls, I'm a modern-day Merida in Vegas. I guess it's time for an adventure.

MATTEO

One hour and thirty-seven minutes. That's how long it takes for their night to implode.

I don't do background checks on Autumn's friends. One, it would take too long. Two, that's a waste of money and resources. Three, I just don't want to. But when her blonde friend Isabella goes from life of the party to bitch in heels, I wonder if there's some way that I could have prevented this.

It started innocently enough. They grabbed drinks at an outdoor bar and guzzled those down before heading to a club. I thought they got past the door with a stunning pair of fake IDs until the guy tipped me off that the blonde had a stunning rack. "Thanks, buddy." I palm him a twenty and head inside, looking for my under-dressed Cinderella and her out-of-control best friend.

It doesn't take long to find them. Isabella is dancing in a cage and Autumn is down on the ground yelling at some guy in a suit. My blood starts boiling. Do I save the twit who's too drunk to know any better or the girl of my dreams? Decisions, decisions.

I watch from the sidelines for a couple of minutes while trying to determine what to do. Isabella is flashing the room her goods. I don't think she wore panties when she came out. The good news is that she's stopped drinking. The bad news is that she's already had enough drinks to get her to where she needs to be. When Sia said I'm gonna swing from the chandelier, it was Isabella she was talking about. That girl is wild. I kind of admire her spirit.

It only takes her a few seconds to realize that Autumn is being carted off by the man in the suit she was arguing with. Dress or no dress, Isabella pops out of the cage and jumps to the floor. She sticks the landing like a superhero. She has no interest in letting Mr. Big and Bad take her friend for the night, so she grabs onto Autumn's arm and jerks her in the other direction.

At this point, I'm walking toward them. My feet move without being told to. Everyone in my way—the dancing girls, the men trying to cozy up to them, and everyone in between—gets pushed aside. Autumn is being fought over like a piece of meat. The closer I get, the louder their argument becomes.

"Let her go, meathead." Isabella snarls like a dog with rabies. I swear she's about to foam at the mouth.

"You're bad for her, Izzy, just like you were bad for me. Stop dragging our family down." He tugs Autumn's arm harder in the opposite direction.

For a split second, she looks up and sees my face. Recognition lights up on her face and I see a plea for help in her eyes. I consider grabbing her around the waist and pulling her away from them, but I don't want to pull her in a third direction.

Isabella takes a step closer, giving Autumn's body a little slack. "Liam, baby, this is the best pussy you've ever had."

"Excuse me, mind if I steal this beautiful woman for a minute?" I ask when I finally make it over to them. Liam and Isabella agree on something for once; they both shout no at me. I tighten my jaw and remind myself not to rip either of them apart. "Then at least let the lady go."

Liam does exactly that, but only so he can get in my face. "The fuck you want, Vitale? You think I don't know who you are?"

Funny, a second ago I didn't know who he was. It took Isabella saying his name to jar my memory. "Put your dick away, Gallagher. Nobody wants a fight."

He clenches his fists by his sides and puffs out his chest. Liam is a couple of inches shorter than me at 5'9". I think being on the south end of six-foot gives him a complex. I don't care too much, but some guys have Napoleon syndrome about the whole thing. "That's my sister, Vitale. Don't talk about dicks in front of her."

If I clench my jaw any tighter, I'm going to break a tooth. "Sweetie," I start condescendingly, "I'll pull my dick out and show it to her up close and personal if you get any closer to my face. Step back, Liam."

"You threatening her virginity, you motherfucker?"

She's a God damn virgin? I've never been harder in my life. This Irish fuck in front of me could pull out a pair of brass knuckles and thrust them straight into my jaw and I'd still be hard.

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