Taken

CHAPTER 4

~~Matteo Rossi~~

The drive all the way to the cemetery was quiet. I appreciated that Marco didn’t try to involve me in any cliche discussion.

“Just drop me at the main gate” I said to him when we were close enough to the funeral home.

He did as told, pulled up to the wrought iron gates and halted the car right there.

Raindrops were already beginning to speckle the windshield.

“I’ll wait here, sir,” Marco said.

“No. Go home. I’ll call a cab,” I lied. I wanted him gone. I needed this space to be truly alone

Marco hesitated, concern etched around his mouth. “Mr. Rossi, with the weather turning… and your father…”

“Go,” I ordered, flatly. The finality in my tone gave room for no argument.

He nodded once, acknowledging the dismissal, and watched me until I stepped onto the wet pavement. Only then did the car pull away.

I walked toward the marble mausoleum where Joe rested.

I reached the stone bench facing the grave, the engraved name, Joseph Almonte, blurring slightly in the growing drizzle of the rain

I sat down, my suit trousers absorbing the cold dampness of the bench.

I stare longingly at his name.

I didn’t cry.

Not a single tear.

The tears were gone, replaced by scary numbness. I’d done so much weeping in isolation at the villa.

A cold sensation prickle ran down my neck.

It wasn’t the rain.

I glanced over my shoulder, a sudden, sharp feeling of being watched slicing through me.

The cemetery was deserted. Not a single soul in sight.

The only sounds were the soft tap-tap of rain on the leaves. I looked back at the head stone, passing the weird sensation off as me being paranoid.

My hand rested on the smooth, cold granite, trailing through, gently

Again, the feeling returned, stronger this time. I inhaled sharply, my eyes scanning the surrounding trees and monuments.

Nothing.

The rain was beginning to fall heavily.

I stood up, turning a slow circle. The feeling persisted.

Whoever was watching wasn't hiding well, or maybe they just didn't care if I knew they were there.

I felt a surge of unholy fury. How dare they intrude on this? On me?

“Marco? Come on out” I yelped, thinking it was him who is watching, probably hiding because I told him to go home.

Silence met my call

I sank back onto the bench, letting the water soak my hair and ruin my expensive suit. I welcomed the chill. It was the only sensation that felt real.

The drizzle turned into a heavy downpour.

~~~ROWAN HAYES~~~

I stood two hundred feet away, shielded by the massive, weeping stone angel atop one of the family crypts.

The stone was useless for cover against the rain. It got colddd ând wetter but I did not move.

I stood, unblinking. My gaze locked on the alone figure at the new grave.

Matteo Rossi.

The only son of the man I despised more than anyone on earth. Lucas Rossi Clement.

To others, the man is an embodiment of dignity who built his wealth on integrity.

My throat tightened, the raw grip of hatred talking â hold of me.

I shook the thoughts away, to concentrate on him. Matteo.

My most anticipated next prey.

Originally, I had planned to lure, capture and execute a clean blow to the Rossi’s love child, take away that one thing They really cherish but plans had changed. Fate had worked in my favour when the right hand man of Lucas Rossi Clement had contacted me for a quick job. And the result of that job…. Was this.

The target had been taken out by something as pedestrian as a car crash.. It felt cheap, unsatisfying, yet I had to make it seem all natural.

Yet, here I was. Standing watch. I hadn't meant to. I’d simply been confirming the location of the burial site and then, I saw him.

The Matteo Rossi had profiled a privileged, arrogant heir. I expected to see frantic tears, maybe a dramatic outburst, or a pampered boy seeking shelter from the rain.

There was only silence

As a killer, accustomed to the grief of my targets’ loved ones.

It was noise, collateral damage. I felt nothing when a wife wept or a sister screamed.

I brushed way the thoughts and finally made my move.

The rain washed away my footprints as I approached him..

I watched Matteo Rossi slump onto the cold stone bench, his defiance dissolving into raw agony

. He was a picture of beautiful, privileged ruin.

The sight of him, silently grieving his loved one didn't bring the satisfaction I expected.

The hatred for Lucas Rossi was a furnace in my core, meant to consume everything attached to that name.

But seeing Matteo broken, alone... the fuel felt different. It was a raw, ungodly desire that coiled low in my gut, not just to destroy him, but to possess the destruction.

To be the one who finally shattered the Rossi heir. It was a sickening, intoxicating kind of sensation

When he called out Marco’s name, I had held my breath, concealed perfectly beneath the shadow of the crypt’s angel. He was mine now. His chauffeur was gone. His boyfriend was a memory. He was utterly exposed.

. He was numb. Perfect.

I continued to move silently. The heavy rain masked the soft scuff of my leather boots on the wet grass. I didn't use the front path. I moved through the dense, dripping yews, closing the remaining distance in seconds.

Matteo was staring blankly at the engraved granite when a hand clamped over his mouth, hard and fast, suffocating any potential cry.

“Hush now, Matteo,” I breathed directly into his ear, my voice las low as it could get. “The dead can wait. You, however, are coming with me.”

He stiffened violently, panic flashing across his face when he realized how close I was, how powerfully I held him.

He thrashed, weakly, but my grip wouldn’t make it easy for him to easily slide off.

I’d planned this moment for months… the lure, the setup.. but never like this. Never while he was this fragile.

I wanted him terrified, yes, but mostly, I wanted him responsive only to me.

“You recognize me, don’t you?” I whispered, digging my fingers into his bicep to steady him as I dragged him backward, away from the grave

I maneuvered him past the stone angel, away from the main path. My car was parked deep in the cemetery's maintenance access road.

He managed a choked, muffled protest against my hand.

“Don’t bother screaming,” I instructed, forcing him toward the waiting rear door. “No one saw you come here. No one saw me. And I have no intention of killing you yet. That would be too kind to Lucas Rossi. No, I need you alive. I need you to suffer a little first. And for that, I need you confined.”

I shoved him roughly into the back seat. Before he could regain his footing, I was in the driver’s seat, starting the engine. The tires spun briefly on the slick earth before gripping.

“I don’t know you, fucking psycho. Where the hell are you taking me?!” Matteo gasped, wiping the rain and a few stray tears from his face.

His eyes were wide, holding a terrifying mix of shock and pure, white-hot hatred for me

The expression satisfied my ego.

I glanced in the rearview mirror, meeting his gaze. A small smile crept up my lips

“Somewhere quiet,” I replied, pressing the accelerator. “Somewhere far from your grieving family, far from your father’s control, and definitely far from that arranged bride you’re desperately trying to avoid.”

The mention of Eleanor Benett caused a visible flinch. Good. My revenge plot just got infinitely more interesting.

Adjusting â mask over my nose, I pressed release.

The air hissed, carrying sedation.

I kept my gaze locked on Matteo until the struggled left his body ând he slumped into unconscious stillness.