Chapter 4

I fled from the dinner table, desperate to escape Salvatore's threatening smirk and the weight of all four brothers' stares. My heart pounded as I hurried down the hallway, wondering if they would tell Mom about Franco.

"Beatrice?" Mom's voice stopped me. She appeared from around the corner, her face lined with worry. "Are you okay?"

I nodded quickly, not trusting my voice.

"Come," she said, taking my hand. "Antonio suggested I show you to your new room."

As we climbed the grand staircase, my thoughts raced. Would Salvatore tell Mom about Franco to get me in trouble?

Mom led me down a hallway lined with expensive artwork. "This place is... something else, isn't it?" she whispered.

"Mom," I finally managed, "I don't want to stay here without you."

She stopped. "It's only for a little while, sweetheart. This is important for our future."

Antonio appeared at the top of the stairs. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes, just showing Beatrice to her room," Mom replied, her smile too bright.

Antonio joined us as we continued down the hall. "I had my sons prepare a special room for you."

We stopped at a door near the end of the corridor. Inside was a bedroom larger than our entire apartment, with a queen-sized bed and plush white bedding.

"This... is my room?" I asked hesitantly.

"Do you like it?" Antonio asked.

"It's beautiful," I admitted, then blurted out, "But I never sleep alone."

Antonio's eyebrows shot up, and he glanced at Mom.

"Beatrice gets terrible nightmares," Mom explained quickly. "I usually stay with her until she falls asleep."

"I understand," Antonio said. "Perhaps one of my sons could—"

"I'll do it," came Matteo's voice from the doorway. He leaned against the frame, his blue eyes locked on mine. "I can keep her company until she falls asleep."

My stomach dropped. After what happened in the bathroom earlier, the last person I wanted near me was Matteo.

"That's very considerate," Antonio said, sounding pleased. He turned to Mom. "Sofia, let me show you the rest of the upstairs."

Mom hesitated. "I'm not sure—"

"It's just down the hall," Antonio assured her, already leading her away.

As Mom followed him out, she paused beside me, her voice dropping to a whisper: "No matter what, don't let him get close to you. Remember, those Vasquez men all have bad intentions toward young girls."

With that warning, she disappeared, leaving me alone with Matteo.

I suddenly realized my bedroom was situated directly between Salvatore's and Enzo's rooms. Great. Surrounded by Vasquez men.

Matteo closed the door with a soft click. "So," he said, smirking, "you liked watching me jerk off earlier, didn't you?"

I gasped, my face burning. "That was an accident! I was looking for the bathroom!"

"Sure you were," he replied, moving closer. "You could have closed the door right away, but you stood there staring."

I tried to push past him, but he blocked my path.

"You know," he continued, "you seem very... innocent. Have you ever been with a guy before?"

The question caught me off guard. "That's none of your business."

Matteo laughed. "I'm guessing that's a no. I could teach you some things, if you want."

"I don't want to learn anything from you," I snapped. "You're my stepfather's son."

"Antonio and your mother aren't married yet. They probably never will be. We're not related, Beatrice."

The way he said my name sent an involuntary shiver down my spine.

The door swung open. Dante stood in the doorway, his expression cold.

"Matteo," he said, his voice like ice. "Father wants you."

Matteo's jaw tightened, but he didn't argue. As he passed Dante, he paused. "I will wait for you to scream my name."

Once Matteo left, Dante's dark eyes swept over me without emotion.

"Goodnight, Beatrice," he said flatly, then closed the door.

I changed into my pajamas – a simple tank top and shorts – and climbed into bed. Despite its luxury, sleep evaded me. Every creak made me flinch.

Eventually, I drifted off, only to find myself trapped in the familiar nightmare: flames everywhere, screaming, someone calling my name. But this time, a whispering voice: "Beatrice! I found you."

I woke with a start, drenched in sweat. "Mom!" I called out instinctively.

The door opened almost immediately. Matteo stood there, wearing only sweatpants, his chest bare.

"Your mom's not here," he said. "Remember? She left with my father."

"I heard you scream," he continued, approaching the bed. "Nightmare?"

I nodded, pulling the sheets up to my chin.

"Move over," he said, lifting the edge of the covers.

"What? No!" I protested, but he was already sliding into bed beside me.

"Relax," he murmured. "I'm just going to help you sleep. Isn't that what your mom does?"

He wrapped an arm around me, pulling me against his chest. His hand rested just below my breast.

"Stop," I whispered. "Don't touch me like that."

"Like what?" he asked innocently.

“You cannot touch someone’s boobs,” I whispered, my eyes traveling to his muscular hands.

“Why? It’s not like they will explode if I touch them.” He let out a scoff, adjusting his arm under his head to stare at me more comfortably. It was the way he said those things that I felt an amazing wave run through my veins.

“Besides, you have big boobs for your tiny back. Try to loosen up at night time. Take off your bra so that you can sleep peacefully,” he said while looking me straight in the eyes. It made my heart skip a beat.

“Go on, I’m not going to stay awake for you.” He had prominent vertical lines between his eyebrows as he asked me to make a decision.

Reluctantly, I slipped out of bed and hurried to the bathroom. With shaking hands, I removed my bra from under my tank top, feeling exposed and vulnerable.

When I returned, Matteo pulled me against him again, his chest to my back. His hand rested on my stomach, dangerously close to the underside of my breasts.

"Relax," he whispered, his breath hot against my ear. "I'm just keeping the nightmares away."

I tried to steady my breathing, but then his fingers brushed against my nipple through the thin fabric. A shock ran through my body, and I couldn't stop the small gasp that escaped my lips.

"Sensitive," he observed, his voice husky.

"Please don't," I whispered, my body betraying me by trembling not entirely from fear.

"Shhh," he murmured. "Go to sleep. And don't wake me up again with your screaming, or I’ll leave."

I lay rigid in his arms. Just as I thought he had fallen asleep, his hand moved again, deliberately this time, squeezing my breast gently.