Chapter 20

Matteo's POV

I watched Isabella retreat across my office, her chest heaving, her eyes wide with a mixture of desire and fear.

The flush on her cheeks hadn't faded, and I could still see the rapid pulse at her throat where my lips had been moments ago.

She had wanted it. I knew she had. The way her body had responded, the sound she had made, the way she had leaned into me, all of it confirmed what I already suspected.

The attraction between us was real, whether she wanted to admit it or not.

But then she pulled away.

And somehow, that only made me want her more.

I stayed where I was, giving her space, watching the internal war play out across her face.

Most women would have melted by now. Most women would have agreed to anything I asked just for the chance to be close to me.

I wasn't being arrogant, it was simply fact. Power and wealth attracted people. And I had both in abundance.

Isabella was different.

She challenged me at every turn. She questioned every decision, fought every boundary I tried to set.

When I told her to stay, she wanted to leave. When I offered her comfort, she pushed it away. When I tried to kiss her, she pulled back.

It was the most refreshing thing I had experienced in years.

"That can't happen again," she managed, her voice shaky but determined.

"It will happen again," I countered calmly. "It's only a matter of time."

"You're delusional."

"I'm realistic." I straightened my jacket, regaining my composure. "You felt it, Isabella. Don't pretend you didn't."

"What I felt was a mistake."

"Was it?" I took a single step towards her, and she immediately moved back.

I stopped, holding up my hands in a gesture of peace. "Your body doesn't think it was a mistake. Your body knows exactly what it wants."

"My body doesn't make my decisions."

"Maybe it should."

She made a sound of frustration, running her hands through her hair. "This is impossible. You're impossible. I can't—I need to go."

She practically fled from the office, the door slamming behind her.

I stood there for a moment, a smile playing on my lips.

The chase, the resistance, the fire in her eyes when she was angry, it was intoxicating.

I had dealt with hundreds of women over the years. Beautiful women, intelligent women, powerful women.

But none of them had ever stood their ground the way Isabella did.

None of them had ever made me work for their attention, their affection, their trust.

They had all been too eager to please, too quick to agree with whatever I said. It was boring. But Isabella was none of those things.

I returned to my desk, but concentration was impossible.

My mind kept replaying the feel of her skin beneath my lips, the sound of that involuntary moan, the way her body had fitted perfectly against mine for those brief seconds before she had remembered to resist.

I wanted her. Not just physically, though that desire was certainly present, but in every way.

I wanted to break down the walls she had built around herself.

I wanted to understand what made her tick, what fears drove her, what dreams kept her awake at night.

I wanted to see her smile genuinely, wanted to hear her laugh without the edge of bitterness that currently coloured every interaction.

I was falling for her.

The realisation should have concerned me. Feelings were complications, and complications got people killed in my world.

But I couldn't seem to stop it.

Every time she defied me, every time she looked at me with those eyes full of fire and determination, I fell a little bit harder.

I spent the rest of the afternoon finding excuses to be near her.

I found her in the library, curled up in a chair with a book she clearly wasn't reading.

She had been staring at the same page for ten minutes.

"Interesting book?" I asked, leaning against the doorframe.

She jumped, nearly dropping it. "Don't you have work to do?"

"I'm taking a break." I moved into the room, selecting a book from a nearby shelf at random. "What are you reading?"

"None of your business."

I came around behind her chair, leaning over her shoulder to see the title. My arm brushed against hers, and I felt her tense.

"Victorian poetry," I read aloud. "Didn't take you for the romantic type."

"I'm not." She snapped the book closed. "I was just killing time."

"There are better ways to kill time." My lips were close to her ear, and I saw the goosebumps rise on her skin. "We could—"

She stood abruptly, moving away from the chair. "Whatever you're about to suggest, the answer is no."

"I was going to suggest a walk in the gardens."

"Oh." She looked momentarily thrown. "Still no."

"Why not? It's a beautiful day. And you know what I think? Fresh air might do you good."

"Because I don't want to spend time with you."

"Liar."

That earned me a glare. "You know, calling me a liar constantly doesn't make it true."

"Doesn't it?" I set my book down and moved closer. She held her ground this time, lifting her chin defiantly. "Then explain why your pulse races every time I'm near you."

"That's called fear, not attraction."

"Is it?" I reached out, letting my fingers trail down her arm. "Because fear doesn't usually make people lean in the way you did earlier."

She slapped my hand away. "Don't touch me."

I laughed. I couldn't help it. The outrage on her face, the way she tried so hard to maintain her composure whilst her body betrayed her, it was perfect.

"What's so funny?"

"You are." I caught her hand before she could pull it completely away, holding it gently. "You're trying so hard to hate me, Isabella. But you don't. Not really."

"I absolutely do."

"Then why haven't you pulled away yet?"

She looked down at our joined hands, seeming to notice for the first time that she hadn't actually tried to break free.

Colour flooded her cheeks and she yanked her hand back.

"I need to go."

"You keep saying that. But you never actually leave."

"I'm leaving now."

"No, you're not."

And I was right. She stood there, frozen in indecision, clearly wanting to storm out but somehow unable to make herself move.

The internal struggle was written all over her face.

"This is ridiculous," she muttered finally.

"What is?"

"This. You. Everything." She gestured between us.

She searched my face, looking for something. Truth, maybe, or lies. "What do you want?"

"You. Just you."

Before she could respond, my phone rang. I pulled it out checking the screen. It was Caleb. One of my most trusted men.

"I need to take this," I informed her reluctantly.

"Of course you do." The sarcasm was back in her voice. "Don't let me keep you from your criminal activities."

I answered the call, turning slightly away. "Talk to me."

"Boss, we've got movement. The sniper made contact."

Everything else fell away. My focus sharpened instantly. "When?"

"An hour ago. He called the number they gave him, confirmed the job was done. They bought it."

I glanced back at Isabella, who was watching me with obvious curiosity. I needed to handle this carefully. "I'll be there in twenty minutes."

"Understood, boss."

I ended the call and turned back to Isabella. "I have to go."

"Business?"

"Something like that."

"The kind of business that involves finding out who tried to kill us?"

I shouldn't have been surprised that she had worked it out. "Yes."

Something flickered in her eyes—concern, maybe. "Be careful."

I went to my rooms first, changing quickly into nondescript clothes, dark jeans, a plain jumper, a jacket that had seen better days.

Nothing that would identify me as Matteo Romano. I added a cap and sunglasses, and checked myself in the mirror.

I looked like any other man on the street. Perfect.

The papers announcing my death had been released an hour ago.

By now, news would be spreading through the underworld. Matteo Romano, heir of the Romano family, killed by a sniper on his own estate.

I drove to the warehouse. My men looked up as I entered, straightening immediately.

"Boss." Caleb appeared from the office area.

"Fill me in."

"The call lasted three minutes and forty-seven seconds," Caleb began, his voice all business. "The sniper followed the script we gave him perfectly. Confirmed the target was down, described the scene, provided details only someone who was actually there would know."

"And they believed him?"

"Completely. They were pleased, actually. Congratulated him on a clean job."

"When's the pickup scheduled?" I asked, forcing my focus back to the present.

"Two days from now."