Page 220 of Merciless Desires

Another glass of wine arrived, carried to me wordlessly by a waiter in a burgundy button-down. I handed him my empty glass and searched the space for Papà before taking a sip. I couldn’t see him, but this was not the place to worry about where my drink had come from. My papà was a good man on a bad path in life, but he was well-liked in the syndicate.

I leaned against the back of the seat, realizing that no one was looking at me. Not a single one of the men who mingled in this space had cast a glance my way. The only man who looked at me was Papà. He came into view again, speaking with the man who had been upstairs when we had arrived.

Papà peered over his shoulder at me, then nodded. I stood and smoothed out my dress as Papà walked toward me with the man who most likely owned this house.

“Marcella,” Papà began as he neared. “I would like to introduce you to Matteo Cortese.”

Matteo Cortese was as handsome as he was lethal. He ran a hand through dark hair and adjusted his expensive black suit. When he looked at me, I was almost surprised. Every man in here had pretended I didn’t exist, but the way Matteo gazed at me, it made me feel like I was the only woman to ever exist to him.

Everything about him screamed danger. It was a warning I was willing to obey.

Papà took my wine glass from me as Matteo stepped forward and swept my free hand into his.

“Marcella.” The way he said my name, like he was testing how it tasted on his tongue, was enticing. “It is my pleasure to have you here with us tonight.”

Flipping my hand, Matteo bent and kissed the middle of my wrist against my pulse point. He drew me forward to then press his warm mouth against my right cheek, then my left.

“Your home is lovely,” I whispered against the side of his face as he lingered after his last kiss.

“Tell me what you like of it.”

As he leaned back, Matteo watched me carefully, his honeyed hazel eyes burning a trail across my face as he took in every detail.

“I have yet to find anything I don’t like, Mr. Cortese.”

“Matteo,” he corrected quickly, and his gaze met mine once again. “That can’t be true. There must be something you dislike.”

I slowly looked away from him and took in the black and white foyer that bled into a den that was equally monochromatic. “There isn’t much color.”

“I will add more. What are you drinking?” Holding a hand toward Papà, Matteo accepted my almost-empty wine glass and raised it to his lips, draining the contents.

“Malbec.”

“Hmm,” Matteo mused, and a ghost of a smile spread across his lips. “I have much better. Do excuse me.”

I finally exhaled when he let go of my hand and stepped back. His gaze slipped across my body quickly, and that smile was back before he turned fully and walked away.

“Marcella…” Papà began, but his words were cut short as a Cortese staff announced that supper was about to begin.

Papà shook his head and reached for my hand, squeezing as we walked toward the dining room.

It was no surprise to find the dining room just as monochromatic as the rest of the house, with black chairs and a table covered in a pristine white tablecloth.

Papà pulled out the farthest chair on the right side of the long table. He sat to my left, and as the room stilled, Matteo settled himself in the seat at the head of the table…directly to my right.

When I peeked up at him, he was already looking at me, and he pushed a glass of wine forward.

“Try this, amorina.”

Sweetheart.

The only woman in a room full of men. The only touch of color slowly swallowed by all the black.

As I reached for it, unable to look away from Matteo whether out of fear or curiosity, I wrapped my hands not around the glass, but around his hand.

“Oh,” I breathed.

With a dark chuckle, Matteo slipped his fingers from below mine.

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