Matteo (Dark Erotic Mob Romance) (Rossi Family Book 1)

by Rachael Orman

  I didn’t see or hear anyone until lunch time, when I went to grab some fruit from the kitchen. Aida was there, but she was leaning against the counter holding her hip with a meaner scowl than the one she normally wore.

  “Is there something wrong?” I couldn’t help asking even though she’d never once been nice to me.

  “No. Leave me be,” she snapped at me before resuming her duties.

  I grabbed an apple and a few grapes before exiting again. My fingers hurt. They always hurt, but it was worse after cleaning all day the day before and the time I’d spent in the garden, only to start it all over again. They hadn’t healed correctly. Some of my fingers were twisted in places they shouldn’t be and even after so much time, they were swollen and painful. I wasn’t going to complain though. I could handle it. I could handle anything as long as I didn’t have to go downstairs again.

  Getting my chores done took longer, though. I couldn’t grip the duster and broom or anything as well as I once could, but eventually I made it through everything. When I looked out the window, I saw the sun was already setting and that meant I would have no time in the garden. I wanted to cry, but instead heated a bowl of broth I found in the fridge before hiding in my room.

  That night I found it much harder to fall asleep. The pain in my hands was terrible and it was hard to relax and get comfortable.

  When the sun rose the next morning, I stumbled through getting ready as my hands were stiff and their mobility was even more limited. In the kitchen, I found my list and nearly cried out in glee when I found three gardening magazines waiting as well. I was confused as to why Matteo would give them to me, but I wasn’t going to question it.

  By the time I ran to my room to hide them and return to the kitchen, I determined it was probably his way of giving me the materials I needed to learn how to care for the garden. Even as excited as I was to get my chores done and have some time to start reading them, it took me until after sunset yet again to finish my chores. I’d even skipped lunch trying to make up for the longer time it took to complete each task.

  Aida was in the kitchen when I entered to scrounge something up for dinner. Her face was pale, and she was again holding her hip while breathing hard.

  I glanced at her and was tempted to ask if she was okay, but I knew she’d deny anything was wrong. It was clear there was something bothering her, quite possibly her hip from the way she kept gripping it.

  She wouldn’t tell me anyway, so I grabbed some vegetables from the drawer and a bottle of water before leaving her where I found her. I had more important things, namely my gardening magazines, to take care of.

  The next morning I found her in almost exactly the same position when I gathered my list. Again, I ignored her and went about my duties. That night when I set my completed list on the counter, she stopped me.

  “What is taking you so long, girl? You used to be much faster,” she stated. If I didn’t know better, I’d think there was concern in her voice.

  “It’s nothing. I’m getting them all done each day,” I said trying to brush it off as nothing.

  “Don’t lie to me. Matteo has noticed your lack of enthusiasm to tend to the garden.” She leaned both her hands on the counter to stare at me.

  “It’s not that I don’t want to be out there taking care of it. That’s not it at all. I am blessed that he has even offered to let me spend time outside,” I answered, embarrassed. I didn’t want him to think I wasn’t thankful.

  “Then let’s hear it. What is your excuse?” She lifted an eyebrow like she was ready to shoot down anything I would say.

  I took a breath then held up my hands for her to see.

  “It’s my hands. My, uh, fingers were broken and didn’t heal right. It makes a lot of my chores harder, or at least take more time to complete. I will try harder tomorrow to get them done so I can get to the garden so Master doesn’t think I don’t appreciate everything he allows me to do.” Once I finished, I hid my hands in the folds of my dress like I normally did.

  “Listen to me. I hate you. I think you are a spoiled little girl who doesn’t realize what she has. You think it’s so tough here. If you only experienced half the hell I grew up with…” Her voice trailed off before she cleared her throat and continued. “It would be wise to do whatever you have to in order to get out to that garden every day. That’s all I have to say to you and I don’t know why I’ve even said as much. Now leave me be so I can get this finished.”

  I walked out of the room, dazed. In all the time I’d known her she hadn’t said so many words total, let alone at one time to me. Her insight to her past explained a lot, but I didn’t need to experience worse. I didn’t think I could handle anything worse than what I’d already been through. I spent the rest of the night reading through one of the magazines until I literally couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore, falling asleep on the table.

  When I woke the next morning, I was filled with determination. I would find a way to get to the garden if it killed me. Surprisingly, I found little tricks that helped me cut off some time from each task, and I managed to make it outside before the sun hit the horizon. Barely.

  I didn’t have long, but it was better than the previous few days, and it gave me hope that I could actually survive with my messed-up hands.

  A few weeks passed and with each day I managed to get a bit faster with a little more time to spend on the garden. Once a week, I’d be gifted with a couple new magazines. All of them were about gardening, and I cherished each and every one of them.

  My hands never stopped hurting, but like everything else, I grew used to it and learned how to accomplish everything I wanted to.

  The garden was starting to look as beautiful as I once remembered, and I felt like I wasn’t a complete imbecile fumbling around when I spent time on my knees in the beautiful, hot sun.

  I was returning from my gardening when Aida stopped me.

  “You need to wash up and get changed into a clean dress,” she told me.

  “I’m sorry?” I asked. She hadn’t spoken to me since the night she’d given her advice. I’d spotted her numerous times looking like she was in pain or ill, but never asked about it.

  “Hurry. I need you to get presentable and serve dinner tonight for the guests. I’ve made everything. All you have to do is take it out to them,” she said, collapsing into a chair I hadn’t noticed had been pulled into the kitchen.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I sputtered before walking quickly to my room. I washed in the sink as much as I could and pulled on a nicer dress than the ones I wore for cleaning. I eyed the fancier dresses I’d never gotten to wear that still hung there. They wouldn’t be fitting for the staff to wear, so I went with one of the plain but dressy ones with a pair of flats.

  “Here. Gently place a plate in front of each guest. Do not speak. Do not look at anyone. Simply drop them off and get back in here as quickly as possible,” Aida said, thrusting two plates in my direction.

  I didn’t understand why she didn’t do it herself like she normally did, but I wasn’t going to question it. I gathered two plates and went to the dining room. There were at least a dozen people gathered around the table, so it would take a few trips to get all the plates out. After setting down the first two, I quickly returned and dropped off the next few. By the time I was halfway done, I heard murmurs from some of the guests.

  “I knew she looked familiar. She was the woman Matteo brought to dinner the one night,” the woman said followed up by a snicker. “And now she’s the help. Poor little thing. Thought she could hang with the big girls.”

  “She must have done something right to snag Matteo even for a night,” another woman added.

  “Probably lied about who she was or maybe she just gave a good blowjob,” the first woman scoffed.

  I ducked my head, embarrassed that no matter what they said, I was worse than they could think. I wasn’t hired help. I wasn’t even in his bed because I wasn’t good at anything sexual. When I returned with more
plates, I tried to ignore their voices.

  “Wonder how Monique feels about having her around,” said a new woman, joining the conversation.

  “She has him under her thumb. He’s not sleeping around with the help,” the apparent leader answered.

  “Oh, please, all the men have a mistress along with a wife around here,” one of the other women said.

  “They aren’t married yet,” Allegra added loudly. I hadn’t realized she was there, not that it mattered. It did embarrass me that the only person I’d met that I thought could’ve possibly been a friend saw me as the help, though.

  “They will be soon enough.”

  That’s when it hit me. Matteo and this Monique woman were engaged. My vision grew fuzzy as I returned to the kitchen. I don’t know how I managed to make it through the rest of the dishes, but I did and collapsed back against the counter when I was done.

  “Help me get the next dish ready,” Aida demanded as she struggled to stand up from the chair.

  I did as asked. She had a hard enough time standing that I figured she’d made me serve because she couldn’t have walked around that much.

  She dished up one plate and then sat back down expecting me to do the rest based on the one she’d made.

  While I could clean any part of the house with my eyes partially closed, I had never worked in a kitchen, and it took me a long time to get them all even remotely close to the one she’d made.

  She huffed in disgust when she looked over the plates.

  “It’ll have to do.” She waved me off to get the dirty plates and then deliver the next course of the meal. Thankfully, the conversation had turned to another topic and I made it around the room without feeling faint, like the rug had been yanked out from under me.

  In fact, it wasn’t until I was in my bed later that night, after serving all five courses and putting what dishes I could in the dishwasher and hand washing the rest, that I finally thought about what I’d heard. It explained why I was no longer in his bed. He had replaced me with a brighter, shinier model.

  I’d caught numerous glances of the woman who sat next to him during the meal. She’d made sure to keep her left hand on the table, where the massive rock on her finger glinted in the light, catching my eye every time I walked passed.

  She fit in his life much better than I ever would. It shouldn’t have been shocking. He’d said he needed a date because he was being pressured by his father. Did I expect him to stay single or marry me to get out from peering eyes? Not likely.

  I couldn’t help but wonder if his father touched Monique the way he’d touched me. From what I’d seen of her interacting with the other guests, I doubted it. She wouldn’t even let Matteo touch her without making a face and moving his hand. Not that he did it often. I’d only spotted him touch her hand twice, and she’d pulled away like she was disgusted.

  None of it made any sense to me. Was he really keeping me around as a maid? Why was he marrying someone who didn’t even appear to like him? Was she another ploy to escape his father?

  In the end, it didn’t matter. I would do what I was told and that was all, because that’s what I was trained to do… or else.

  The morning after the dinner, Aida wasn’t in the kitchen, but Matteo was.

  “Gia. Come,” he said, holding out a hand.

  I walked up to him, but stayed far enough back to not crowd him.

  “Take my hand.” He moved the hand he was holding out up and down impatiently.

  I placed mine on top of his, unsure of what to expect.

  He pulled my hand closer to him, and I had to shuffle closer. After a moment of staring at my hand, he looked at my face.

  “Why didn’t you tell me your hands were so messed up?” he asked.

  I swallowed and shook my head. I didn’t know how to answer.

  He sighed loudly.

  “These have to be fixed. It explains a lot,” he said.

  “About what, sir?” I couldn’t help but ask what he’d seemed to figure out.

  “Why you are slow to complete your chores. Why you use a shovel to pull weeds instead of your hands…” He trailed off. “Just a lot. Skip your chores and return to your room. I have some calls to make.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  He didn’t release my hand for a long moment though. When he did, I walked calmly from the kitchen.

  Chapter Twelve

  If I’d been confused the night before, I was really baffled after what he’d said. Did he really think I would bring up something like damage left behind from what he’d done to me? How did he know I didn’t have the strength in my hands to pull the weeds out, at least not the bigger ones that had stable roots.

  He had to have been watching me when I was in the garden. The thought made me smile. Somewhere deep inside he had to care for me a little bit.

  Did he really care about my messed up fingers? I still completed what he asked me to so it didn’t make sense that he’d care they were mangled and unsightly… but he did.

  I was sitting in my chair, looking at the garden when my door opened a while later. Standing, I turned to face Matteo before dropping to my knees, hands at my lower back.

  “I have spoken to a doctor about your hands. You will be going in for a procedure tomorrow to fix them so be ready at five AM sharp by the front door,” he said from the doorway.

  “Yes, Matteo,” I said, keeping my head down.

  He stood there for a moment before stepping into the room and closing the door softly.

  “Over the bed,” he breathed out.

  I stood and bent over the mattress without hesitation.

  “Lift your dress up. Bunch it around your waist.”

  I did so, and he groaned quietly.

  “No panties?” he asked.

  “I haven’t gotten used to wearing them again,” I answered, voice muffled from my face against the bedding.

  “Play with your pussy. Tease your clit,” he said as if I hadn’t spoken.

  I pushed a hand down between my thighs to slide a finger over my slit. I squirmed awkwardly. While he’d played with me before, I had never touched myself. Never in a sexual way. Closing my eyes, I tried to remember the way he’d done it.

  The tips of my fingers teased my hair-covered lips, tickling them. Pushing one between them, I found the nub that made me instantly arch my back and push my body against my hand. Again and again, I bumped against the bud as it grew firmer, pulsing under my touch. Once I felt pleasure starting to gather, I moved further back to push my middle two fingers into my wet opening.

  A strangled moan left my lips, swallowed by the blankets still against my face. Sliding them in and out slowly, I brought my other hand between my body and the mattress to flick against the hard bump of pleasure at the front of my slit.

  It didn’t feel nearly as good as it did when Matteo touched me, but knowing his eyes were on me while I did such a forbidden and naughty act turned me on enough to move faster and more surely than I would have alone.

  “Faster,” Matteo demanded as he stepped close enough for me to feel his body heat radiating against my thighs. His hands rested gently on my hips.

  The burning heat of his touch coupled with the movement of my own fingers amped the pleasure higher.

  My fingers moved faster simply from his word, and I couldn’t help but move my hips in tandem with each stroke, forcing them deeper and harder.

  “God, bella, tell me how it feels. Does it feel good? Your hot, wet, beautiful little pussy. Are you imagining it’s me touching you? My fat, hard cock stretching you open? I remember just how amazing you felt wrapped around me, sucking me in, begging me to give it more,” Matteo said as his hands smoothed over my ass and pulled my cheeks apart. His hot breath gushed against the dampness seeping from me, telling me just how close he was. He must have kneeled behind me to get his face that close, but I couldn’t concentrate enough to care.

  My body tensed just before pleasure erupted through me and I cried out, lif
ting my face from the bed. I jerked again when I felt Matteo’s hot mouth against my fingers and opening, lapping up my release.

  Stepping back from me, he yanked me up from the bed by my hair before spinning me. His mouth lowered to mine, his tongue forcing its way into my mouth.

  I dropped my hands to my sides, since I doubted he’d be okay with me touching him. Maybe he wouldn’t mind. I didn’t know, but I didn’t want to do anything to stop the kiss. Having his taste on my lips, him touching me again, it was heaven. He wasn’t hurting me. He was being gentle with me, holding me close to his hard chest.

  I’d missed his scent, his feel… his everything.

  Suddenly though, he stepped back and glared at me.

  “Tentatrice,” he whispered harshly as he swiped a hand over his mouth and stomped out of the room, slamming the door.

  Temptress. He’d called me a temptress. I hadn’t meant to tempt him. He had come on to me.

  I went through the time he’d been in my room over and over for the rest of the day and well into the night. No matter how much I thought about it, I still couldn’t make sense of how he came to believe I’d been at fault for him kissing me.

  When I glanced at the clock, I saw it was close enough to the time for me to meet him that it was pointless to continue trying to sleep, so I began getting ready. I’d never met a doctor, not in their official capacity anyway. The idea of having to go out of the house and be exposed to someone who might get me into trouble or expose Matteo’s secrets scared me. I wanted to beg for him to leave my hands as they were, that I could manage, but I knew better than to go against his wishes. If he wanted to take me to a doctor, then I would go.

  Once I was dressed in one of the nicer dresses he’d bought me, I put on a pair of heels and practiced walking around the room for a few minutes until I felt I could make it down the hall and stairs without making a fool of myself. When I reached the door, he wasn’t there, so I waited, hands behind my back, head down.