Page 25 of Matteo (The 4 Seats #1)

Chapter Nineteen

Matteo Ricci

W hy the fuck is Enzo even here? We usually have a system.

A civilised fucking process of appointments or at least a goddamn courtesy call—like normal people.

But no, this cunt has to just pop up unannounced, like a relentless weed sprouting between the cracks in the pavement, useless and bloody annoying.

I stride into the bathroom on Eleanor's heels, turning on the cold tap.

Water splashes over my skin as I wash off remnants of our earlier escapades, feeling a smug sense of satisfaction when I glance down and notice how wet my pants are.

"Looks like you've marked me good, Princess," I say, holding out my foot to show her the evidence.

"Are you complaining?" she shoots back with that fiery tone that drives me wild.

"Complaining? Hell no." I give her one of those looks that says I'm thinking about a whole lot more than what meets the eye. "Might have you lick it off my shoes later," I deadpan. I'm only half-joking .

Her eyes narrow in that challenging way I can't resist. "You wouldn’t dare."

"Oh, but I would, Princess. You know it," I retort, soaking a hand towel and attacking the stains on my pants.

They'll be a daily reminder of what we did and how she tastes.

"And let's get one thing straight—if you think teasing me by going commando isn't gonna end in punishment, then you don’t know me very well. "

I watch her reflection in the mirror while she straightens her skirt, fixes her hair, and readies herself for whatever fucked-up day awaits us.

With a smile that could light up the darkest alley in Sydney, she turns and saunters toward me.

"If multiple orgasms are punishment, Matteo, I can guarantee I’ll never wear undies again. "

She leans up, pressing her lips to mine in a kiss that sends a signal straight to my dick. It twitches in response, already eager for the next round with her. This woman, this dangerous, intoxicating vixen, has me wrapped around her little finger—and I'm twisted enough to love every minute of it.

"Be careful what you wish for, Eleanor," I growl, my hand landing a firm slap on her ass as she struts out the bathroom door. She throws me a look over her shoulder, that mix of defiance and desire in her eyes. I can't help but grin at her bravado.

"Come here." I jerk my head towards my seat, pulling it around so we can both park our asses behind my desk.

She slides into it, her skirt hitching up just enough to keep my mind racing.

I couldn't care less about how absurd we might look, side by side like some twisted power couple.

I flick open my laptop, and Spider Solitaire pops up.

"Here, Princess. Pretend you're doing something productive while I deal with Enzo Morelli. "

Her brows knot in confusion, cute as hell, but she nods. "Sure, no worries, Matteo."

That's when a knock rattles the door, Spike's voice slipping through. "Boss, Enzo is in the waiting area."

"Cunt," I mutter under my breath before calling out louder, "It's alright, Spike, come in."

"Want me to bring him in, Boss?" Spike's burly frame fills the doorway, his eyes flicking between me and Eleanor.

"Yeah, mate, drag his ass in here." I swivel towards Eleanor, locking eyes with her. "You—just sit tight and sort through this shit, yeah? And only speak when spoken to. Got it?"

Her lips twist into a sly smirk, and fuck me if it doesn't light a spark in my veins. "When spoken to, huh?" she retorts, playful yet piercing.

I lean in close, my voice dropping to a warning growl. "I'm serious, Princess. You hate taking orders, I know, but today's not the day to push me." Her expression hardens, that bitchy streak flaring up.

"Okay, Matteo." Her tone is flat and resigned, but her eyes are still throwing daggers as she returns to the screen.

"Good girl," I whisper, but it's more for me than for her. Because every fiber in me knows that Eleanor Wang is anything but tame, and as I wait for Enzo to slither into my office, I can't shake the feeling that today is gonna be one hell of a ride.

My fingers find Eleanor's chin, tilting her face up to mine; those defiant eyes always spark fires I'm too eager to stoke. "Hey, Firecracker, I love you."

"I love you too, Cocksucker." Her words are honey-laced with venom, which soothes and burns.

The moment shatters with Enzo's braying laughter as he barges into my office like he owns the fucking place. “Nice to see my information paid off, and you got Eleanor back,” he jeers, nodding towards her as if she's some stray mutt I've retrieved from the streets.

"Cheers for that," I snap back, slipping on the mobster mask like a second skin. The world's split into two—the chaos of my heart and the cold command of the throne I sit upon.

Enzo's here uninvited; again, his disregard for protocols grates my last nerve. "What do you need, Enzo? I'm clocked full today, but appointments are below you, aren't they?" My arms cross over my chest, a barrier against the bullshit I know he's about to spew.

"We all have a business to run, Matteo," he chuckles, dismissing my sarcasm. "But I came to chat about the girls I want to bring through the city.”

"Christ, we're circling this drain again?" I drill him with a glare sharp enough to slice through his smug grin. "We talked. I said no. What part didn't sink in?"

"Sure, this is a conversation to have in front of your lady," he sneers, eyeing Eleanor, who remains oblivious, her fingers dancing across the laptop keys.

"Eleanor's more than you'll ever understand," I spit back, pride swelling as I speak of her new role. "She's my assistant now. She stays. "

"Fine by me," he shrugs, yet there’s a glint in his eye that I don’t trust. "Anyways, I wanna move women through the cross, hold auctions at the velvet underground."

"Jesus, Enzo, you deaf or just dumb?” I growl. “Not happening. Gallos can deal with that crap. We've got our hands full with the clubs. No need to add trafficking to the mix."

The irritation bubbles, a caustic mix of disdain and anger. I won't let this city become a cesspit for his twisted fantasies—not under my watch.

Enzo leans in, his voice laced with greed and the sharp tang of desperation.

"I know you think that way, Matteo, but we can get up to 500K per piece, and we only need to hold one to two auctions a year and walk away with millions! I’m fucking over peddling drugs and pussy," he spits out, his words seething with the bitterness of a man tired of playing small-time.

"Enzo, what happens to the girls who visit your side of town?

I'm not stupid." My voice is steady, but my insides churn with disgust. The girls all talk.

They whisper horror tales that cling to our streets' shadows like filthy cobwebs.

"I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy.

So no, no way am I going to vote yes on pushing unwilling girls into this town. "

There's a pause, a moment where Enzo's eyes narrow and his lips curl into a sneer.

"We shall see about that," he quips, flicking his wrist as if calling a dog to heel.

"Tino!" The name cuts through the air and a bald brute parts from the group of goons outside my office door.

He's another one of Enzo's lapdogs, eager to please for scraps from the master's table .

Eleanor tenses beside me, her gaze lifting from the laptop screen just as Tino marches in to hand Enzo a yellow envelope. I catch the flicker of fear in her eyes, the slight tremble of her hands she's trying to hide.

"Take a look at these and get back to me soon, Fratello," Enzo says with that snake-like charm, slipping out the door as smoothly as he came in, leaving behind a silence that screams danger.

"Fuckin' cunt," I spit out the words like venom as my eyes dart to Eleanor. She's sheet-white, her usual fire snuffed out by something cold and shadowy lurking behind those wide eyes. "It's okay, Princess. That complete fuck tard ain't gonna get a yes outta me for pushing girls through."

"He isn't the issue," she whispers, so faint I barely catch it.

"Princess, what's wrong?" The question rips from my throat, rough with concern. I've seen her fierce, I've seen her cutthroat, but this ghostly pallor? It's new, it's alarming.

"Who uses the office two doors down?" Her voice is a thread, almost lost in the heavy silence surrounding us.

"Um, no one at the moment; it's empty. Think the girls have turned it into a lunch room or some shit," I say, confusion gnawing at my gut.

"Why?"

"One of the three men just walked out of the room." Her words are a sucker punch, jolting me to my feet.

"What?!" My heart's hammering, blood roaring in my ears. I yank my gun from its place at the small of my back. "Stay inside my office, Eleanor. Lock the door, and don't open it for anyone but me."

I barrel down the hallway, fury and fear a toxic mix pumping through my veins. Spike's there, his face all sharp angles and shadows as he comes back from playing doorman to that slimy fuck Enzo.

"What's up, Boss?" He's instantly alert, and a knife appears in his hand like a deadly magic trick.

"Eleanor saw one of the three guys slip out of office three." There is no need to explain further; Spike's been on the same page since dawn when I confided in him and Angel.

"Shit," is all he says before he moves, lightning-fast, mobile clutched to his ear to rope Angel into this mess.

I backtrack, my steps echoing too loud in the corridor. Office three gapes open, barren and mocking me with its emptiness. Nothing. No hint, no clue, no goddamn anything.

Stacy's just a blur of colors and shapes as I stride up to the front desk, the marble counter cold and solid under my palms. "Can anyone tell me why office number three is empty and what it is currently being used for?

And who was last in it—they walked out of it about ten minutes ago?

" My voice is like gravel, and my eyes bore into them, demanding answers.