Page 18 of Matteo (The 4 Seats #1)
Chapter Fourteen
Eleanor Wang
I 'm standing there, staring at the chaos that's unfolded in a mere handful of hours.
The painter's laid out a fan of colors like a deck of cards, each one darker and more brooding than the last—shades that'll turn Niko's room into some cozy den.
The bed they're assembling is solid, the kind that won't squeak no matter what nightmares toss Niko around on it.
"Remember to thank Matteo," I tell him, my voice a mix of gratitude and a warning. "For all this."
Niko's sprawled on the floor, thumbing through the samples, his eyes wide with that innocent excitement kids have before the world claws it away from them. "Mum, Matteo said it's your money too."
"Did he now?" My blood simmers. That man's always playing games with words, twisting them into knots I'm supposed to unravel. "Either way, we're not blowing it all, right?"
"Okay, Mum." He's distracted, already lost in visions of his new room. "When's dinner? I'm starving." His stomach growls in agreement, a low rumble that echoes off the walls.
"Christ, kid, you're a bottomless pit." I shake my head. It's barely been twenty minutes since lunch, but he's acting like he's been stranded in the outback for weeks.
"Hey, Niko," Angel calls down from halfway up the staircase, his voice a casual drawl. "Hungry? Got some pizzas coming. Twenty minutes out."
"Really?" Now Niko's up, energy sparking off him as if Angel's words fuel his fire. "Heck yeah!" And he's off after Angel like a shot, leaving me alone in the soon-to-be-painted fortress.
"Eleanor," Angel throws over his shoulder, "Matteo's hunting for you. He's in his office."
"Thanks." I frown at the maze of halls and doors. "Where's his bloody office again?"
"First door on the right. Can't miss it." His shout echoes down the stairs, bouncing off the walls.
I head for the door, the house's opulence pressing in on me, smelling like money and secrets. This place could swallow you whole if you're not careful. I knock a quick rap of knuckles against dark wood and wait for the grunt that means enter.
"Come in," comes the muffled call, and I push the door open.
"Um, Matteo, what the fuck?" The words slip out before I can stop them. There he is, king of his cluttered little domain, surrounded by stacks of paper and cardboard that teeter precariously on the edge of order and chaos .
"Princess..." His smile flickers across his face, all teeth and dark glee. "You wanted a job. Here it is."
"Ummm, yeah, sure, but what's all this?" I wave a hand at the mess, feeling a headache brewing.
"This, my sweet, is my life in paperwork form." He looks almost apologetic—the bastard. "An admin usually sorts it, but I've been... preoccupied."
"Clearly." I step closer, taking in its sheer volume. "So, what, I'm your PA now?"
"Seeing as you’re so good at being a PA, I thought you could perhaps be mine. That solves the need for a job issue, helps me out, and keeps you safe," he says with that same smirk that tells me he thinks he's won.
"Safe," I echo, tasting the word like it's laced with poison. "This isn’t your main office, is it?" I already know the answer but want to hear him say it.
"Nope, I have a high-rise down on Elizabeth St," he admits nonchalantly as if it's nothing to shuttle mountains of paperwork from there to here to keep me tethered to his side.
"And why can't I just do the paperwork at the office in the city?" I challenge him, even though I know the game he's playing.
"You can, but only when I’m there. Otherwise, here it is," he states plainly, dropping the gauntlet.
"Let me guess—" I start, feeling the walls close in even as I play into his hands, "—I tell Angel what I need, and he'll have it delivered to the house?"
"Yep! That!" He snickers, and something dark curls in my chest. He knows too damn well I prefer to stay put, keep watch over Niko rather than rub shoulders with the other power-hungry vultures circling his throne.
"Princess," Matteo murmurs, and suddenly, he's right in front of me, arms caging me in a gentle yet immovable embrace. I didn't hear him move, a shadow slipping through the light. "You need to tell me what’s going on. There’s only so much I can do with my limited information."
"Later," I breathe in, his scent of cedar and pine anchoring me in the storm. "We'll talk later. Today, I want to breathe."
"Okay, Princess," he concedes, pressing a kiss onto my hair, a softness in his touch that belies the iron in his tone. "But next time I ask, you will answer me."
"Next time," I agree, letting myself melt into him for a moment longer. But there's a part of me itching for escape, the need for freedom gnawing at my bones. With Matteo, it's always about control, but today, I'll let him think he has it.
My stomach's twisting into knots, the kind that only hunger—or dread—can weave. Niko's voice cuts through the thick tension like a knife. "Mum, I'm starving."
"Again?" I arch an eyebrow, but a smile tugs at my lips despite the sinking feeling in my gut. Kids and their damn bottomless pits for bellies.
Angel's already on us like a hawk, circling his prey. "What are we thinking for dinner?" His eyes flicker to me, expectant.
"Carbs," I grunt, stifling a yawn. "Pasta, noodles, whatever." My mind drifts to a place with red-checkered tablecloths and the scent of garlic in the air. "Is Fratellis still kickin'? After the 'rona shitstorm, who knows what's left standing."
Matteo's laughter rumbles through the room before he even steps in. The sound sends shivers down my spine. "Fratellis? Baby, we own that joint. Been cleaning our dirty cash there for years. It's as alive as ever." He flashes that wolfish grin, all teeth, and no remorse.
My eyebrows shoot up—the audacity. "Since when do we chat so openly about the family biz?"
"Princess," Matteo's smirk could cut glass. You're not going anywhere. You're mine, remember?" He looms closer, his presence all-consuming. And now you're my PA. You learned the ropes, including how to launder our money."
"Fuck, Matteo." My gaze darts to Niko, hoping he's too young, too innocent to grasp the gravity of those words. "Keep him outta this."
"Relax." Matteo's voice is silky and steely. He'll work with Angel. Be our tech wiz, not my successor." We stride out, leaving the conversation—and my unease—behind us.
"Longest fucking day of my life," I mutter, dragging my hands down my face as if I could wipe away the weariness and the weight of this new world I'm trapped in.
Power and control are all a game to Matteo, one he plays with a master's hand.
But even masters can lose, and I've got a few cards up my sleeve he hasn't seen yet.
I announce my dinner choice to the void of the living room, my voice echoing off the high ceilings. "Prawn linguine." My words hang in the air as I trudge upstairs, each step declaring exhaustion. Matteo's bedroom awaits, a sanctuary with strings attached .
Opening the bathroom door, it hits me—the need to wash away the grime of the day, the filth of the life I'm shackled to.
Cupboards fly open under my frantic search, and then, jackpot.
Epsom salts and body wash—manly scents that promise to scrub clean more than just skin.
I chuckle—a dark, humorless sound. "That'll do. "
The tub groans as I twist the tap, water gushing like a waterfall.
Time ticks by, a slow drip of moments waiting to be drowned.
I slip into his wardrobe, a sea of organized chaos, where grey sweats line the shelves—uniforms for the hot and damned.
Snatching a pair, I can't help but wonder about his obsession with tens.
It's a compulsion, a need for control so deeply ingrained.
I reach for an oversized tee, another set of ten. Fucking typical. And there he is—Matteo, looming in the doorway, arms barred like the gates of hell. His smile is a razor's edge, slicing through the tension.
"Shit, Fuck Matteo," I yelp, hands flying to my skirt as a trickle of betrayal dampens my thighs. "Don't sneak up on me! My bladder is shot after having Niko.”
"Sorry, Princess," he drawls, not sorry at all. "Just admiring your pillaging skills."
"Fuck off," I snap back, but my heartbeat betrays a different kind of flutter. I storm past him, leaving the scent of borrowed masculinity on my skin.
The bath is nearly spilling over in the safety of steam and tile.
A good tap, or maybe just another way for Matteo to show how everything he owns works better than you had before.
I shed the layers of the day, stepping naked into the near-scalding embrace of the water.
Red blooms across my skin, a map of heat that soothes achy muscles and inflamed thoughts.
Heavier's footsteps this time were a deliberate intrusion. "Did you stomp so that I'd hear you?" I don't turn, eyes closed, as I let the water seep into every pore.
The glass hits my hand with a clink that echoes off the tile—Matteo's offering, liquid gold swirling in crystal. "Yes, Princess, I didn't want to scare you and have you leaking again," he says, the low rumble of his chuckle stirring the steam around us.
"Thank fuck for whiskey," I mutter, wrapping my fingers tight around the calm surface. The burn as it slides down my throat is a welcome flare of warmth against the bath's heat. "Dinner soon?"
"Ten minutes out," he replies, leaning against the doorframe, all casual arrogance and tailored suit. "Need it upstairs?"
I shake my head, droplets of water flinging from my hair. "Nah, I'll come down. But Niko—" I pause, catching the shift in Matteo's expression, something like concern creasing his brow. "Can you make sure he showers and gets into his PJs?"
"Me?" His voice is a mix of surprise and something else, something softer. "You're trusting me with that?"
"Shocked?" I smirk up at him through the haze. "I figure you can handle a kid's bedtime routine."
"Thank you," he whispers, bending to press his lips to my damp forehead. The kiss is a brand of ownership that still sends shivers down my spine.
"Trust doesn't mean shit in our world, Matteo," I say as he retreats, but inside, I'm wondering if maybe, just maybe, it could. Could I let this dangerous man inch closer to my son, step by cautious step?
"Ten minutes," he calls back before disappearing, leaving me alone with the weight of decisions I never wanted to make.
"Fuck," I exhale, resting my head against the porcelain, letting the water steal the tension just for a moment longer.
The room's chill slaps me awake, a rude contrast to the bathwater's embrace. Blinking against the harsh light, I see Matteo hovering over me, his inked arms reaching down. He's got that look in his eye, part concern, part something darker, more possessive.
"Come on, Princess, you've turned into a prune. Let's get you dressed and reheat this pasta," he growls, his hands firm under my arms as he lifts me from the water.
"Shit, sorry," I slur, consciousness still tangled in sleep's heavy curtains. My mind's a scrambled mess, and my limbs feel like they're made of fucking lead.
"Nothing to be sorry for," Matteo says, setting me down with a smirk playing on his lips. He's amused, the bastard. "Can you stand enough for me to get your clothes on?"
I swat at him, annoyed, not needing his goddamn help. "I can get dressed myself; I'm not that old yet."
"Could've fooled me," he chuckles, backing off. "We could hear your snoring from downstairs."
"Fuck off, I don’t snore," I snap, but my voice lacks heat. I know it's true; I just never thought I'd let my guard down enough around him .
"Bullshit," he fires back, grinning now. "Niko heard it, and I quote and say, 'That would be Mum asleep in the bath again,' so clearly, this is a regular thing for you. He even offered to come up and help get you out."
"Shit, cat's outta the bag," I mutter, feeling the flush creep up my neck. Niko and his innocent observations. And Matteo? He loves this, seeing me as less than perfect.
"Big time," he agrees, that familiar dangerous glint in his eyes. "Now come on, Angel's just heating up your pasta for you."
I grab a towel and wrap it around myself, refusing to look at Matteo as he leans against the doorframe, watching me with a predator's patience. Everything about him screams power.
Dragging my feet, I follow him out, already missing the seclusion of the bath, the brief respite from this life I'm trapped in. But the hunger gnawing at my belly won't let me linger, and neither will Matteo's presence, pulling me back into the chaos I’ve woken up to.