Chapter 18

Zara’s POV

A loud bang was all I heard, and when I looked up, I saw her.

Zara.

She lay sprawled on the cold floor just inside the doorway, dark hair slipping loose from her ponytail, eyes wide with shock as every voice in the room died at once. The argument that had filled the space seconds earlier vanished as it had never existed.

The room froze. Every man around the table went still mid-argument, mid-gesture like someone had pulled the plug on the noise all at once.

For a heartbeat, no one moved and yet all I could see was her. She shouldn’t have been there.

“What the hell—” one of them started snapping me out of my thoughts.

“I believe we have had enough for today. You can all go” I said quietly clearing my throat as I adjusted the collars of my shirt.

“But—,” someone protested.

“Now!” I cut in.

Chairs scraped back in hurried obedience. Boots hit the floor. Papers were gathered too quickly, hands suddenly clumsy. One by one, they filed past her without meeting her eyes, tension rolling off them in waves.

The door closed behind the last man seconds later as silence slammed into the space.

Zara pushed herself upright slowly, cheeks flushed, not just from the fall, but from the sudden awareness of where she was. Her eyes flicked around the room, taking in the table, the scattered documents, the unmistakable weight of what she had just interrupted.

“I—” she started.

I crossed the room in three strides and before she could finish the sentence, I had her pinned.

My palm hit the wall beside her head, the sound sharp enough to make her flinch. My other hand came up, bracing the opposite side, caging her in completely. Her back pressed into the cold stone as my body blocked every possible exit.

Her breath hitched and so did mine.

“What,” I said quietly, leaning in just enough for her to feel it, “do you think you’re doing?”

Her chin lifted despite the fear flickering behind her eyes. “I fell.”

“You were listening.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Don’t,” I cut in sharply. “Lie. To. Me.”

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed.

I could feel the heat of her body through the thin space between us. Could smell her, faintly floral, painfully out of place in a room that had just hosted threats and violence.

“You have no idea,” I continued, my voice dropping lower than before, “what you walked into.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t be shouting about it in the middle of the house,” she shot back, anger flaring through her fear.

And that in particular—did something dangerous to me. I leaned closer, my forehead nearly brushing hers.

“This,” I said, every word coming out faster than intended, “is not your business.”

Her eyes flashed. “None of this feels like my business, and yet I keep getting dragged into it.”

My jaw tightened.

“You don’t wander this house,” I said. “You don’t listen at doors. You don’t come anywhere near rooms like this.”

“And if I do?” she challenged.

My grip tightened against the wall.

“Then I can’t protect you.”

The words slipped out before I could stop them and her expression shifted just slightly—confusion threading through her defiance.

“I didn’t ask you to protect me,” she said.

“No,” I agreed. “You didn’t.”

The space between us felt charged now, electric in a way that had nothing to do with anger anymore. Her chest rose and fell quickly. I was painfully aware of how close we were. Of how easily this could cross a line neither of us could uncross.

I pulled back abruptly, stepping away as the wall had burned me.

“Stay out of that wing of the mansion,” I said coldly. “If you hear voices, you walk away. You don’t look. You don’t listen.”

She straightened, smoothing her shirt with shaking hands. “And if I don’t?”

“Don’t test me!!” I growl, staring into her eyes. Those same eyes that a couple of weeks ago rolled back at my touch in that room.

I met her gaze fully now, letting her see the truth in my eyes, letting it stay on hers longer than it should. She tried to pull away but I tightened my grip on her.

And then she leans forward, with her eyes now staring directly at me. And then parts her lips to say. “Or what, Matteo?”

That does it! No one dares call me directly. Not even her.

With my fist tightened and jaw clenched I finally say “Then this house stops being safe for you.”

The silence stretched between us, and finally, she moved. Not away from me, but past me glaring.

Her shoulder brushed mine as she walked out without another word, chin high, footsteps loud against the floor. And I just stood there long after the sound faded, fists clenched at my sides.

She was a problem. A dangerous one. Because the truth was, I hadn’t pinned her to the wall just to scare her. I’d done it because for one split second, I needed to feel in control again.

And that terrified me more than anything she might have overheard. I stood there long after her footsteps disappeared up the stairs.

Only then did I turn back to the table, so pissed that she’d been here in the first place. Hearing and seeing all that chaos.

The papers lay scattered where the argument had been interrupted. Maps, names. Routes. Threats outlined in ink and implication. I gathered them with controlled movements, forcing my focus back where it belonged.

But my mind refused to cooperate, arguing in my mind that she had heard too much.

Not specifics but enough to know this wasn’t just some wealthy family drama. Enough to feel the danger humming beneath the surface of the walls she slept behind.

I hated that, hated that she was even here at all. And yet—Ever since that night, she had been everywhere in my thoughts.