I realized with a start that I was nervous. And it seemed far worse than the typical nerves that went along with seeing an ex and wanting to prove you were better off without them. It was more than wanting to avoid shrinking back into that weak, pathetic, broken girl he'd made me into.
Even after twelve years, I was still in love with the ghost of a man who had never existed. I was still in love with the lie Matteo had shown me, and what happened after I saw the real Matteo would always haunt me.
Always.
I pulled my gently used Toyota Yaris up to the house in Barrington Hills where I knew Matteo's family lived back in high school, feeling beyond awkward. I'd never been to the estate when we dated, Matteo preferred to keep me separate from his family life that he'd explained as "complicated." He'd been to my house. He'd spent time with my parents, but he’d never allowed me the same courtesy.
That should have been my first sign that something was wrong with our relationship.
Even never having been there, it was common knowledge where Matteo lived. His family’s wealth was legendary, so much so that some people speculated that their business practices were shady, but most attributed that to jealousy. There was no family as synonymous with success as the Bellandi’s.
I'd known going to the estate was my best bet as soon as I realized my curiosity couldn't let me forget the incident in the bank without finding out why there was any connection between Matteo and I. I wanted him out of my life, scrubbed completely from any trace of him. Call it a near death experience, but I was determined to move on once and for all.
And to do that, I needed answers.
Massive wrought-iron gates sat blocking the driveway, making me release a sigh of frustration. I so did not belong on that estate.
A security guard at the gate stopped me, and I rolled down my window with a smile. “Can I help you, ma’am?” he asked, giving me a once over that stated he found me unimpressive.
Ouch.
I wasn’t wearing Versace or anything, but I had dressed and done my makeup to prepare for facing the man who broke my heart all those years ago. Like any sane woman would do. “I’m looking for Matteo Bellandi,” I smiled.
“Baby, whoever you are he doesn’t do seconds.”
“I—what?” I asked, throwing the car into park once I realized that getting inside would not be as simple as I'd hoped.
“You know. He never does the same woman twice. No matter how good she sucks cock, so stop thinking you’re different.” He shook his head, looking at me like he couldn't believe I had the audacity to turn up on Matteo's doorstep.
“I’m not—”
“Turn the car around and be on your way.”
“You don’t understand—”
“Really? Because you look exactly like all the other bitches he brings around.”
Okay, double ouch.
That one got a physical wince. From what I'd seen in school, he appreciated variety. So I didn't exactly know what that was about, but I wasn't touching it.
Nope. No way.
“Look Mister, I’m not looking for another round. I just need to speak to him. Urgently. Just,” I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose as he turned to walk away. “Tell him Ivory Torres is trying to get in touch with him,” I called, shaking my head and wondering if answers were worth this shit.
“What the fuck did you just say?” he whispered, snapping to a stop and turning back to me.
"That I don't want another round?" I asked, flinching when his steps prowled toward me. His hand touched the roof of my car, his upper body leaning down to put his face level with the window as his wide brown eyes met mine.
"Your name. What did you say your name was?" His voice raised a bit, not to the point of yelling, but enough that I knew he meant serious business.
"Ivory Torres?" My voice was barely a whisper, and I felt a piece of me shrivel when, yet another strange man recognized my name in connection with Matteo.
What the fuck had I gotten myself into coming here?
“The Ivory?”
“Umm, well I suppose so. It's not exactly a common name, is it?” I grimaced with an uncomfortable chuckle.
He turned his back on me without another word, going to the guard booth and picking up his cell. I ran a hand through my hair aggressively, feigning casualness as I did my best to eavesdrop.
Because you're damn right I fucking eavesdropped. I was surprised I didn’t stick my head out the damn window.
“Yeah, boss. Ivory Torres is here for you.” A pause of silence while the man on the other end of the phone spoke. “You got it.” He ended the call with a touch of his finger to the screen and hit the button to open the gates. They creaked open slowly, acting every bit as heavy as they looked. I ran my hand through my hair again, biting the corner of the inside of my lip and losing some of the nerve that fueled me to drive there. “Go on through, drive right up in front of the house at the circle and someone will show you where to go.”
“I—okay.” My hands went to the steering wheel as my eyes fixated on that gate. Even when it opened fully, I didn't shift my car to drive.
“I’m sorry, Miss Torres. Meant no disrespect to you. You won’t get any going forward.” I turned wide eyes his way finally.
Because there was zero chance, I'd be seeing him again.
Fuck that.
“I—okay,” I repeated, putting my car in drive and going through the gate in a daze.
I was in trouble.
I was in so much trouble. My Uncle would kill me, if he ever found out I was here. My father would kill me too. What the fuck had I been thinking driving up to the house of someone who had criminal connections like I was invincible?
Fuck.
I thought about turning around and escaping the way I’d come, but the gate closed behind me and running away now that Matteo knew I was there felt humiliating. I drove my car up the rest of the driveway, feeling my eyes bug out when the house itself came into sight. It was massive, in a way that was unnecessary—ridiculous even. An intriguing mixture of white stone and grey brick, I felt minuscule in my tiny car. Pulling up in front of the house where the guard at the gate had directed me, I found an older gentleman standing on the stone steps with a bright smile on his face. I shifted into park slowly, taking a deep breath and releasing it on a sigh as I turned off the ignition. Grabbing my purse out of the passenger seat, I opened my door and unfolded myself as gracefully as I could manage. The last thing I needed to do was flash someone my goodies at Matteo's house. I was getting the distinct feeling that was not the kind of man I was looking to attract.
“Miss Torres, I presume?” a man greeted as I shut the door and stared in shock at the house. “My name is Donatello. I manage Mr. Bellandi's home. If you'll follow me, he's asked that I see you to his office.”
I nodded wordlessly, letting him lead me in the huge dark wood doors and into the sprawling mansion. I’d obviously known he was wealthy, but I’d never imagined this. I knew I was stalling. But I couldn't stop my eyes from darting around the foyer in awe. I'd never seen wealth like this before, let alone stepped inside a home of that caliber. The floors were tiled in Mediterranean tile; the walls painted off white with huge archways connecting the rooms in the place of doors.
"Best not to keep him waiting," he said with a polite smile.
I nodded, picking up my pace as I followed him. A curving staircase led upstairs, but we bypassed that in favor of stepping around it to a narrower archway that led into a hall. “Matteo still lives here?” I asked. I couldn’t see that. We were a decade out of high school. The man nodded. “I never got the impression he got along with his father,” I added, deciding there was no harm in exposing how little I truly knew about the man of the house.
“His father passed some time ago. The estate is much more practical for security reasons than the Penthouse in the city where he lived prior, and so he moved back here after his death.” He didn't seem hesitant to reveal Matteo's personal informati
on to me, and I had to wonder if that was common. Surely, a man of Matteo's stature would be interested in confidentiality.
I agreed, thinking back to the gate and the walls surrounding the property. I had a feeling it was nearly as secure as the White House. We stopped in front of two impressive, heavy wood doors. With a smile back at me, he tapped his fingers against it twice. I drew in a shuddering breath, hating the audible way it displayed my fear of what might wait for me behind those doors. Once again, I questioned if I was making a mistake. Perhaps I was better off not knowing, not seeing, not feeling again.
Because the truth was, I had felt little of anything since he'd broken me.
“Enter,” a deep, masculine voice returned, following Donatello's knock. My heart stalled, having thought never to hear that voice again. It had changed, deepened, become more commanding as if there was almost no trace of the boy, I'd loved remaining. And yet somehow, my soul recognized it on some deep level that nearly brought tears to my eyes.
After all the time that had passed, just the sound of his voice through a closed door was enough to bring me to my knees.
Donatello opened both doors with a flourish, waving me forward with his hand and a bow of his head. I took a deep, steadying breath before I managed to will my feet to move into the room.
My eyes darted around the opulent space, reflecting on the way the decor in that house made me feel cheap in my forest green button up and short white petal skirt with silver rivulets all over it. I felt out of place and realized I'd never belonged in Matteo's world.
No wonder he dumped my ass.
At least my heels made me feel classy, looking stunning and strappy all wrapped around my ankles in forest green suede against the dark hardwood floor. “Ivory.” There was a smile in his voice, and I turned to the left where the room curved to find him staring at me from behind his desk, pen still in hand. Though his head tilted down to look at the paper he'd been writing on, his eyes fixated on me with startling intensity.
The breath whooshed out of me, confronted with that impossibly handsome face. In high school, he’d been all about clean edges, the blond-haired All-American boy next door with the stunning blue eyes and boy muscles packed onto his frame however he could. A decade later his hair was darker, browner than blond, and it only made those piercing azure eyes of his seem brighter. His once clean-cut face was covered in some cross between stubble and a very short, well-groomed beard. He’d bulked up, his lean frame a thing of the past with no issues packing on muscle now that he’d aged, that much was visible even covered by the designer suit he wore. He was everything he’d been in high school, intimidating and unattainable, but now he was just more. The pen fell to the paper in front of him with a clatter that drew me from my stare, and I shook myself a bit. “Ivory,” he whispered again, standing with a smile and walking around the desk to approach me. His lips found my cheek in greeting, and I winced when the contact sent a shiver through me. “You’re as beautiful as I always knew you would be.”
I flushed, staring up into his intense gaze. He stood too close, far too close, and I shifted back a step pointedly. "Thank you," I murmured awkwardly. Years ago, there'd been obvious affection in the way he looked at me, humor always in his eyes when they landed on me. That was absent, gone, only an almost dark, unsettling intensity remaining. "You look good too," I returned. The smirk he gave me communicated that he was arrogant enough to know just how much of an understatement that was.
Lie of the century.
His smirk melted into a grin. “What are you doing here?” His words were harsh, but his tone was gentle, almost mystified, and laced with his own disbelief.
I understood it very well. Standing in front of him after all those years of pain was a surreal experience, I had no desire to repeat. I wanted to get it over with and be on my way.
“I was at the Byline Bank in McKinley Park this morning when three armed men wearing ski masks came in to rob it,” I said in answer, deciding to just be blunt with the situation. I was growing increasingly suspicious of whatever might have brought criminals to identify me in connection with Matteo.
He stilled, his body freezing in a way that felt unnatural. He didn't so much as twitch aside from the movement necessary to form his next words. “Did they touch you?” His voice was carefully controlled.
“No. As soon as one of them got a good look at me, he begged me to tell you they didn’t know I was there. That they couldn’t have known I’d be there, and to tell you they didn’t touch me.”
“Ivory—” His face gentled, movement returning to his body suddenly. He leaned further into my space, and I backed up another step. I would not allow him to cross that line, not after everything he'd done. All I could do was get my answers, say my peace, and move on with my life finally.
“Why would bank robbers know my name? And why would they panic because of you?” My arms crossed over my chest, and my teeth sank into that spot at the corner of my mouth that had practically become a chew toy under all the stress of the day.
“You’re under my protection. You have been since high school.” His voice hardened slightly as his gaze traveled down to my crossed arms. He didn't appear to appreciate the posture, or the attitude behind it, but kept his mouth shut about it.
“Right,” I grumbled. “Well, let me make something very, very clear then. I do not want your protection.” The remaining gentle look disappeared in favor of hard, cruelly handsome lines. “Remove it, and I will go on living my life like you do not exist just as I have done for twelve fucking years.”
“Be very careful,” he grumbled under his breath. His nostrils flared at me, what had once been a relaxed posture tensing as he stood taller.
“I want nothing to do with you or whatever the hell it is you’re involved in where criminals are afraid of you. You let me live my life without interference, and if I get gunned down in the street then so fucking be it," I hissed, glaring up at him. The muscle in his jaw ticked, his glare turning positively glacial. "It will be better than being a part of whatever this is," I mumbled, turning on my heel to leave.
The doors I'd entered the room through had closed, courtesy of Donatello no doubt. I'd been too wrapped up in the enigma of a man behind me to notice.
It wouldn't happen again. I swore it on my soul, I would never see Matteo again.
He wasn't worth it.
I barely had my hand wrapped around the handle before Matteo's palms pressed against the wood beside my head, and he leaned into me—caging me in.
Fuck.
I'd forgotten what it was like to have a man make me feel short. At 5'7" I wasn't the tallest woman, but I was no slouch. It took a large man to make me feel tiny. Matteo's 6'5" was effective.
“You’ve been very foolish coming here,” he murmured, near my ear. His breath tickled the flesh, sending a shiver racing through me. “I let you go twelve years ago, and it was the most difficult thing I’ve ever done. Did you really think I would do it twice?” I ignored my confusion at his words. Like he'd walked away for any reason other than wanting to fuck around.
“There’s a difference,” I gasped as his mouth trailed over the side of my neck in the whisper of a caress. Barely there, so subtle that with anyone else I might have wondered if it was a figment of my imagination. But I knew Matteo's lips, knew his mouth, knew his scent.
“What’s that?” The humor in his voice even sounded arrogant. He knew how affected I was by his touch, and I stilled my body and willed it to shut the hell up.
“I wanted you then,” I hissed. “I don’t anymore.”
“Ah, my Angel, you expect me to believe you have not missed my touch? That you are not already wet for me?”
Why did that voice of his have to be so deep, so fucking sexy? I wanted to turn around and rip out his vocal cords, just so I couldn’t torment myself with the prospect of him using it to seduce other women who looked like me.
“Fuck you, Matteo.” I grumbled, yanking my head away from his wander
ing lips.
“You should be careful, Angel. I’m a dangerous man now. I do not tolerate disrespect.” He stepped away from me, as if the sound of that nickname in his voice wasn’t enough to bring the threat of tears to my eyes. As if the teasing torment of his breath on my neck had been nothing but a game. “I have business to tend to tonight,” he said as he straightened his suit like he was a gentleman and not a deviant who’d just violated my space. “I’ll pick you up at seven tomorrow for dinner.”
“That will never happen.” I laughed, turning to look at him over my shoulder only briefly. He had to be kidding me.
“Cara mia, you will be ready and waiting, or I will feast on you instead.”
I gasped. “Go to hell, Matteo.”
“I’ve lived in Hell for twelve years, Angel mine. It is time for me to feel the sun again.” With that, he moved to sit in the chair behind his desk.
"What does that even mean?" I asked, and he tilted his head to look at me thoughtfully. "You don't even know where I live," I pointed out, turning the sterling silver knob on the door and pulling it open.
"Ivory," his voice called out, and I paused in my steps to go over the threshold. "I mean it, Angel. You will be ready for dinner at seven."
"Or what?" I whispered, raising my chin and turning to face him. "I won't have sex with you. I won't ever make that mistake again."
"We will see about that," he smirked, picking up his pen once more. "You're too naïve to know when you're playing a very dangerous game. I am not a man you say no to."
Donatello appeared in the doorway, eyeing the tension between us. "Miss Torres, may I be of some assistance?" he offered, seeming to want to dissipate the anger pulsing through the room. My heart thudded in my chest. I couldn't say what it was about Matteo's threat, but I knew he meant to make good on it. However, that would happen.
"No, thank you," I snarled, feeling badly for the older man as I turned and stormed toward the door. "I'll show myself out."
Bloodied Hands: A Dark Mafia Romance (Bellandi Crime Syndicate Book 1) Page 3