2) Matteo The Cruel

It was written in every single muscle of Matteo’s face that throughout his life, he had likely encountered countless enemies, gunmen, and betrayals—but he was facing a girl launching radio frequency threats and screaming ultimatums from inside a pink strawberry donut for the very first time.

Then, he let out a few incredibly harsh, heavy curses. I heard them, but due to the language barrier, I couldn't quite decipher the exact meaning, though they were clearly of local origin.

Turning around, he snapped a sharp hand gesture at one of the men on the yacht. Within seconds, that ear-piercing generator hum and the horrible static from the radio cut out like a knife. The sea instantly returned to its magnificent, calm silence. I took a deep breath as all the red alert lights inside my brain flipped to green.

"Engine’s off. Radio’s silent," Matteo said, perching back on the edge of the deck and looking down at me. "Now, are you going to give me your damn hand, or should I leave you here as shark bait?"

"The probability of a great white shark being spotted at these exact coordinates is zero point zero two percent." I said, licking my dry lips. "But I still can't hold your hand. No touching."

Matteo took a deep breath, as if discarding the very last crumbs of his patience into the sea. His chest muscles strained dangerously beneath his tight shirt. He turned around, grabbed a thick, navy-blue marine rope resting on the deck, and tossed it right in front of me, directly into the center of the float, showing absolutely no mercy. The rope hit the water with a sharp splash, sending a few stray drops of seawater flying into my face.

"Hold onto the rope," he commanded, his voice dripping with authority. "I assume you don't have a problem touching that, genius girl? Or would you prefer I shoot and pop your plastic float myself?"

"Ropes are inanimate objects; they only consist of nylon and jute fibers. So, there is no issue."

What should a normal girl have done in this situation? Hold onto the rope, wait for the man to pull her up politely, and maybe look a little anxious. But I was Nova. I was a zero at social interactions, but when it came to physical mechanics and survival instincts, my brain operated like a computer.

Squeezing the rope between my legs, I began pulling myself upward with all the strength in my arms. It was exactly like PE class in high school, climbing the ropes hanging from the ceiling of that noisy gymnasium I utterly despised... I could see Matteo watching me from above in absolute shock. Instead of a standard coast guard rescue, he was facing a pink-donut-wearing nerd literally climbing his yacht like Tarzan.

With one final surge, I threw myself onto the yacht's luxurious teak-wood deck. The moment my feet hit the dry ground, my knees buckled, and I essentially face-planted onto the deck. Water was dripping from my hair, while my strawberry donut was now floating aimlessly down below on the sea. It was probably going to take a free tour of the Balkans.

Out of breath, I sprawled out on my back. The sky was still blue. I was saved. But the storm of panic inside me hadn't quieted down just yet.

"I could have died." I muttered, staring up at the sky. "Just a moment ago, while drifting in the open sea, I was calculating the probability of accidentally swallowing a squid egg, and that egg resisting the acidic balance of my stomach to grow into a giant squid inside me. It's medically highly improbable, but it's not zero."

I blinked as a massive body blocked out the sun, casting a shadow over me. Matteo was standing directly over me, arms crossed over his chest, looking at me as if he were staring at the most bizarre alien creature he had ever seen in his life.

"A squid?" he asked. His voice was so icy cold that any trace of his previous savior persona had vanished. Alright, could he actually shoot me?

When I averted my eyes from him and looked across the deck of the yacht, the real shock hit me. Standing behind Matteo were three men in suits, their faces as hard as marble. And more importantly... inside Matteo’s slightly open jacket, a custom-made black pistol holster gleamed under the sun. I instantly decoded the prominent bulges around the waists of the other men on deck, recognizing them just like the "threat" codes I saw in cybersecurity software.

It seemed the end of my natural life had arrived; I had reached the end of the oxygen allocated to me on this earth!

While fleeing the noisy world of my watermelon-scented uncle, I had climbed aboard the luxury sanctuary of a man who likely managed human trafficking, smuggling, or a straight-up mafia syndicate in international waters. Great trade, Nova. Truly brilliant.

I blinked rapidly. To avoid eye contact, I focused on the small scar on Matteo’s jawline.

"I understand," I said, trying to keep my voice as level as possible. "The size of the yacht, the military posture of the crew, and the nine-millimeter firearm beneath your jacket... You are not a legitimate businessman. I deduce that you don't have much of a relationship with taxes, and—"

Matteo’s eyes narrowed slightly. As the men on deck shifted subtly behind him, Matteo held up a hand to stop them. "My name is Matteo. Do you really not know who I am?"

"Most likely," I continued, swallowing to clear my parched throat. "Because of what I've seen and the fact that I boarded this yacht without authorization, you will pretend to have rescued me. Then, once we are completely away from territorial waters, you will take me deeper out and eliminate me. Mathematically, that is the most logical cleanup strategy. You might even pour concrete over my feet so my identity can't be established. I guessed right, didn't I?"

Matteo continued to stare at me with the deepest, darkest, and most bewildered silence I had ever experienced in my life. Then, he slowly leaned down toward me, maintaining our distance, and whispered:

"What... kind of a psycho are you, exactly?"

I swallowed and replied, "Hearing that from you is an honor, sir!"