Page 11 of Ruined By Protection (Feretti Syndicate #5)

Matteo

T he sleek black Escalade cuts through morning traffic like a shark through water. I drum my fingers against my thigh, watching the city blur past the window. The leather seat beneath me is butter-soft, the car's interior smelling of Italian cologne and new leather, but none of it improves my mood.

"You're quiet today, Matteo." Noah's voice breaks through my thoughts. His eyes flick to me briefly before returning to the road.

I shrug. "Not much to say."

Truth is, I'm pissed about this whole situation. JFK airport pickups aren't part of my job description and I wanted to relax today.

In the back seat, Evelyn shifts, the soft rustle of her clothing drawing my attention. She catches my eye and offers a small smile before returning her attention to her phone.

"The charity gala is coming together nicely," Evelyn says, breaking the silence. "Damiano must be pleased with the RSVPs."

Noah grunts in agreement. "Senator Williams confirmed yesterday. That makes three politicians in our pocket."

"They're not in our pocket," Evelyn corrects gently. "They're supporting a good cause."

Noah's laugh is dark and amused. "Sure, bella. Whatever helps you sleep at night."

I stare out at the gridlocked traffic ahead, my patience wearing thinner by the minute. "We should have taken the helicopter."

"For an airport pickup?" Noah scoffs. "Bit excessive, even for you."

"At least we wouldn't be sitting in this shit." I gesture at the sea of cars ahead.

"Your cousin," I say, turning slightly to address Evelyn. "What's her story?"

Evelyn looks up from her phone, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Hazel? We grew up together. She's more like a sister than a cousin."

"That's not what I asked."

I catch the brief flash of hesitation in Evelyn's eyes before she answers.

"She's going through a difficult time. That's all."

"And that's why we're personally picking her up instead of sending a driver?" I press, not bothering to hide my irritation.

Noah's eyes meet mine, a silent warning to back off. I ignore him.

"Look, I'm not trying to be an asshole but I'd like to know what I'm walking into." I turn further in my seat to face Evelyn. "Is she in trouble? Running from someone?"

Evelyn's fingers tighten around her phone. "Please, Matteo. Just... let it be for now."

I'm about to push harder when Noah cuts in. "We're here."

The Escalade pulls into the terminal drop-off area. I step out, scanning the crowded entrance. Force of habit. Noah hands the keys to a valet with a generous tip and we make our way inside.

JFK is a fucking nightmare as usual—masses of people rushing in all directions, announcements blaring overhead, the smell of stale coffee and fast food hanging in the air. We find the arrivals board and I check the flight from Austin.

"Delayed," I mutter. "Of course."

"An hour," Evelyn confirms, looking at her phone.

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. "Perfect."

We find a coffee shop near the gate and claim a table. Noah orders espresso for each of us and I watch as he places a protective hand on Evelyn's lower back. The tenderness in that simple gesture still surprises me sometimes, considering what I know Noah is capable of.

After the barista delivers our coffee I decide to try again.

"So why the Feretti mansion?" I ask, keeping my voice casual.

Evelyn stirs her espresso slowly. "Lucrezia insisted."

"Lucrezia?" That catches me off guard. "How does she even know about your cousin?"

"I mentioned the situation to her," Evelyn says, not meeting my eyes. "She was adamant about helping."

I nod. Even though I'm confused.

Evelyn sighs, watching my face and probably recognizing my confusion.

"I don't know much, honestly. Hazel called me out of the blue asking for help.

She sounded... scared." She pauses, choosing her words carefully.

"I told Lucrezia that my cousin needed somewhere safe to stay for a while and she immediately offered the mansion. "

"And you didn't ask why your cousin suddenly needed a safe house?" I can't keep the disbelief from my voice.

"She's family," Evelyn says firmly. "When family asks for help, you help. Questions come later."

I lean back in my chair, studying her. Evelyn's usually open face is now a careful mask but I detect something in her eyes—worry, maybe fear. Whatever's happening with her cousin, it's serious.

"Fine," I say.

Hazel

My heart bangs against my ribs as the plane finally touches down at JFK.

The past hours feel like a fever dream—sneaking out while Elliott was gone, the taxi to the airport, the feeling that he would somehow know where I was heading even though I left my phone behind.

I know he will track the call with Evelyn.

Every time the flight attendant walked past I tensed, half-expecting her to lead Elliott's security team. But they didn't appear. I made it.

I adjust my sunglasses as passengers start grabbing their bags. My hands shake as I pull my small carry-on from the overhead bin. It contains everything I could safely take—some clothes, my mother's locket, and the cash. Not much to show for twenty-four years of life on this earth.

The walk through the terminal feels endless. Every security guard makes my pulse spike. Every announcement over the PA system sounds like a warning. I keep my head down, sunglasses firmly in place despite being indoors.

Finally I exit, walking toward the arrivals hall where Evelyn promised she’d be waiting.

I scan the crowd, searching for my cousin's familiar face. Then I spot her—waving frantically, her hair bouncing as she jumps to be seen above the crowd. Relief floods through me so powerfully that my knees nearly buckle.

"Hazel!" she calls, pushing through the throng of people.

I rush toward her, dropping my bag as she wraps her arms around me. The familiar scent of her envelops me. For the first time in months I feel safe.

"You made it," she whispers fiercely in my ear. "You're here. You're safe now."

My throat tightens as tears threaten to spill. I want to collapse in her arms, to finally let go of the terror and tension I've been carrying. But something makes me look up, past Evelyn's shoulder.

And that's when I see him.

My body goes rigid. This can't be happening. This can't be real.

Matteo.

He's standing a few feet away, those intense amber-brown eyes locked on mine, his expression shifting from irritated boredom to shock horror. The same chiseled jaw, the same broad shoulders, the same man who's haunted my dreams for three years.

"What the hell?" I whisper, my voice barely audible.

I can't speak. Can't move. Can't figure how the man I spent one unforgettable night with three years ago is standing in JFK airport, staring at me like he's seen a ghost.

Next to him I briefly scan another man—tall, dark-haired, dangerous-looking—watching this reunion with calculating eyes.

My entire body goes cold as I stare at Matteo. The shock of seeing him paralyzes me completely. I'm vaguely aware of Evelyn's hand on my arm, her voice asking if I'm okay, but it sounds distant, underwater.

Three years. Three years since that night in Austin. The kitchen table. The hotel suite. The way he touched me like I was something precious. The way I slipped away before dawn.

And now he's here. In New York. With my cousin.

"Hazel? Are you alright?" Evelyn's voice finally breaks through my daze.

I force myself to nod, unable to tear my eyes away from Matteo.

He's even more handsome than I remember—his dark hair slightly longer, his jaw more defined, his presence somehow more commanding.

He's wearing a custom-cut suit that fits him perfectly, highlighting the broad shoulders I once dug my nails into.

But his eyes—those warm brown eyes that once looked at me with such hunger—show absolutely no recognition.

"Hazel, this is Matteo Caruso," Evelyn says, gesturing toward him. "He works with Noah."

Matteo steps forward, extending his hand. "Nice to meet you, Hazel."

Nice to meet you.

The words hit me like a slap. He doesn't remember me. Not even a flicker of recognition crosses his face as he takes my trembling fingers in his. The same fingers that once traced every inch of my body.

"Likewise," I manage to choke out, my voice sounding strange even to my own ears.

His grip is firm, professional, completely devoid of any hint that we ever touched before today. That we were once as intimate as two people can be.

I was just another one-night stand. A bartender he fucked in a hotel kitchen and then forgot about completely.

The irony doesn't escape me. All these years I've carried the memory of that night like a secret treasure, pulling it out for comfort during my darkest moments with Elliott. The way Matteo looked at me, touched me, made me feel—it was my private escape whenever reality became too much to bear.

And he doesn't even remember my face.

"You look pale," Matteo says, his brow furrowing slightly. "Rough flight?"

I nod, not trusting my voice. His accent is exactly as I remember it—that hint of Italian making every word sound like a caress.

"Let's get you to the car," Evelyn says, wrapping her arm around my shoulders. "You must be exhausted."

I let her guide me, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. The man Evelyn called Noah takes my small carry-on and Matteo walks ahead, clearing a path through the crowded terminal.

My mind races, trying to make sense of this impossible coincidence. How is Matteo connected to Evelyn? What kind of work does he do with this Noah person? Can it really be simple import-export?

And why doesn't he remember me?

Was I really so forgettable?

I study his back as he walks ahead of us. The confident stride, the way people instinctively move out of his path.

What world has my cousin gotten herself into? Evelyn was always the sensible one, the violinist with a promising career. How did she end up connected to men like Matteo and Noah, who practically radiate danger?

"You're going to love the Feretti mansion," Evelyn whispers as we follow the men through the terminal. "It's beautiful, and you'll be completely safe there."

Mansion? Safe? The words don't compute. I came to New York expecting to crash on Evelyn's couch in some tiny apartment, not stay in a mansion with men who look like extras in a movie about organized crime.

"Evelyn," I whisper back, "who are these people?"

She squeezes my shoulder. "Friends. Powerful friends who can help. I'll explain everything later."

My stomach knots with fresh anxiety. What have I done? I've escaped one dangerous situation only to land in another I don't understand.

As we approach the exit Matteo turns back to look at us.

"Car's waiting," he says to Noah, who nods and takes the lead.

Outside, a sleek black SUV with tinted windows idles at the curb. Noah opens the rear door and Evelyn guides me inside. She slides in next to me while the men take the front seats, Noah driving.

As we pull away from the curb I catch Matteo watching me in the side mirror. His eyes are unreadable, dark and deep. He can't see I'm returning his observation because of my dark glasses. I avert my gaze to stare out the window at the unfamiliar New York landscape.

I want to laugh at my own naivety. I want to cry at the unfairness of life.