CHAPTER TWO — A dirty night with the beast.

Alexandria's POV.

I turned around.

Matteo's wife was standing in the kitchen doorway, clad in a silk robe, one hand still resting lightly against the frame, as if she hadn't decided whether to enter fully or leave immediately.

She looked so beautiful, and I just know she's been taking care of herself. She came looking surprised to see me. And of course who wouldn't be surprised to see a random lady right in her kitchen?

She has warm brown sharp eyes. Perfect posture. Matteo is indeed a lucky man.

The second thing I noticed after her elegance was the way she looked at Matteo before she looked at me.

Like she's being careful and scared at the same time. She came forward to our front and stood beside me.

The kitchen went completely still.

Everyone in this city knew Matteo Bellini was married. His wife appeared beside him at charity galas and political dinners and funerals where important men pretended they had died of natural causes. 

She was part of the Bellini image — polished, untouchable, expensive.

I had just never expected to meet her barefoot in her kitchen at two in the morning wearing a secondhand green dress and holding a glass of water like an idiot.

"Matteo."

Her voice was very calm and fragile. Like she's afraid of saying something. I kept staring at her to say something first. I didn't greet, I was just standing and staring.

He looked at her without moving. "You weren't supposed to be back until tomorrow." Matteo said.

"My meetings ended early."

Only then did she look at me directly. I didn't turn my face nor did I say a word.

Who is she? Why is she here? Is this another captive Matteo?

I felt it immediately.

The fear underneath the composure. My heart sank. Another captive?.

"Who is she?" she asked again quietly.

"A complication," Matteo said.

I looked at him. I have never been this confused in my whole life. 

"I see," Guilia said back. She didn't even try to make accusations or argue. And that alone made my feet go cold.

Her eyes returned to me. "Do you have a name?"

"Elena," I said in a snappy manner.

She kept mute for a while, then she nodded once, like she was filing it away somewhere private.

"I want to speak to you," she said to Matteo.

Not in a demanding tone. She said it softly.

He held her gaze for a long moment before standing. "Stay here," he told me.

"You keep saying that," I said 

"And you keep ignoring it."

He walked past her. Giulia stepped aside immediately — too immediately. Like instinct.

 That was when I understood. Everybody was afraid of Matteo Bellini. Including his wife.

They disappeared down the hallway.

I stood alone in the kitchen, holding my water, listening to the low murmur of voices somewhere beyond the marble walls. 

I couldn't make out words. Giulia was speaking softly while Matteo spoke less.

I set down the glass. thinking.

Elevator locked. Front entrance guarded. Service staircase keypad-protected from this floor. 

Forty-one floors above ground with no phone, no money, and a dangerous man somewhere down the hallway discussing me with his terrified wife.

Excellent work, Elena.

I pressed my thumbnail into my palm and forced myself to breathe evenly.

Ten minutes later, they returned.

Giulia first. Perfect again — except her robe was tied tighter and her shoulders sat just a little too straight, the way people carry themselves after surviving something unpleasant.

Matteo followed with his usual unreadable expression.

"You'll stay in the east room tonight," Giulia said. Careful, "There are clothes in the wardrobe. Someone will return your phone in the morning."

Sleep didn't come.

I lay on top of the grey sheets fully dressed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the silence of a penthouse that cost more than most people earned in a lifetime.

I had just closed my eyes when the door opened. Not even a single knock.

Matteo crossed the room and set my phone on the edge of the bed. But he didn't step back. He stood there looking at me the way he always looked at me because I have been keeping tabs.

"Thank you," I said.

He didn't move.

"Matteo."

He reached down and took my face in his hand and that was the end of any conversation I had been planning to have.

 There was nothing slow about him. Very rough and brutal,  the full weight of a man who had never once in his life asked for permission to take what he wanted.

Some part of my body really wanted to stop him, but I couldn't. My fingers ran down his tightly built abs.

 My hands were in his shirt while I remembered his wife could just bump...

I stopped thinking.

Matteo’s grip on my jaw was iron-hard, tilting my face up with zero gentleness. His thumb dug into my cheek, forcing my mouth open as he leaned down and kissed me like he was punishing me for the debt my father owed him.

I gasped into his mouth, my hands flying to his chest. I told myself I was pushing him away, but my fingers curled into his shirt instead, gripping the fabric as heat flooded between my legs despite the fear.

He broke the kiss only to shove me backward onto the bed. The mattress dipped hard under his weight as he climbed over me, knees pinning my thighs apart. 

His hand went straight under my dress, ripping my panties down my legs in one brutal tug. The fabric tore.

“pleeas...Matteo — wait —” I breathed, but he didn’t.

He drew the dress up to my waist, exposing me completely. Two thick fingers pushed inside me without warning, rough and deep.

 I cried out, back arching at the sudden stretch. He pumped them hard, curling them cruelly against that spot that made my thighs shake.

“You’re soaked,” he growled against my ear, voice low and dangerous. 

“Kidnapped and dripping for your captor. Pathetic little slut.”

He pulled his fingers out, unzipped his pants, and freed his cock — thick, heavy, and already leaking. No condom. No mercy. 

He gripped my hip with bruising force and slammed into me in one vicious thrust.

I choked on a scream, the burn intense as he stretched me open. He didn’t give me time to adjust. He fucked me as he hated me — hard, punishing strokes that slammed the headboard against the wall. 

Each thrust was brutal, bottoming out so deep it hurt. His hand wrapped around my throat, squeezing just enough to make my vision blur at the edges while he pounded into me.

“Quiet,” he snarled, even as my moans and whimpers spilled out. 

“My wife is down the hall. You make too much noise and I’ll fuck your throat instead.”

His hips snapped faster, the wet sound of skin slapping skin obscene in the quiet room. He released my throat only to grab both my wrists, pinning them above my head with one hand while the other slapped my breast hard enough to sting. 

He pinched my nipple, twisting it as he drove deeper, grinding against my clit with every savage thrust.

Tears pricked my eyes from the overwhelming mix of pain and pleasure. My body betrayed me, clenching around his cock as the pressure built fast and violently. 

I came hard, biting my lip bloody to stay quiet, my walls pulsing around him.

Matteo didn’t stop. He fucked me through it, even rougher, chasing his own release like I was just a hole for him to use. 

His hand left my wrists and gripped my ass, lifting my hips off the bed so he could fuck me even deeper at a merciless angle.

He buried himself to the hilt and came with a low, guttural groan, flooding me with hot spurts. 

He stayed inside me for a long moment, pulsing, before finally pulling out. Cum leaked down my thighs immediately.

I lay there panting, dress bunched around my waist, body aching and marked with his fingerprints.

Matteo stood up, zipping himself back into his pants like nothing had happened. 

He looked down at me with that cold, unreadable expression.

“Clean yourself up,” he said flatly. “And don’t leave this room.”

He turned toward the door.

That was when my phone — the one he’d just returned — started ringing on the bedside table.

The screen lit up with Priya’s name.