Page 18 of Ruined By Protection (Feretti Syndicate #5)

"Mom?" My voice cracks on that single syllable.

Matteo

I step out of the shower, steam billowing around me as I grab a towel from the rack.

My muscles ache in that satisfying way that only comes after pushing them to their limits.

Two hours in the mansion's gym—boxing, weights and a punishing core routine—has helped burn off some of the restless energy that's been plaguing me since last night.

Since seeing her again.

I wipe condensation from the mirror and stare at my reflection. The man looking back at me is tougher than the one Hazel knew in Austin. More scars. More blood on his hands.

I dress quickly in dark jeans and a black Henley, rolling the sleeves up to my elbows. My stomach growls, reminding me I haven't eaten since breakfast. I check my phone—no messages from Daniel about Hazel, which means everything's going according to plan. Still, the lack of an update irritates me.

The mansion is quiet as I make my way downstairs. Damiano's at the office, Zoe's at some charity committee meeting, and Lucrezia's with Hazel. The only sound is the distant clatter of pots and pans from the kitchen.

I follow the noise and the mouthwatering aroma of garlic and herbs. Ettore, our chef, stands at the massive center island, muttering to himself in rapid Italian as he chops something with meticulous expertise.

"Whatever that is, I want some," I announce as I enter.

Ettore looks up, his round face breaking into a grin. "Matteo! Perfect timing. I need a test subject."

I raise an eyebrow as I slide onto one of the barstools at the island. "Test subject sounds dangerous."

"Bah!" He waves the razor-sharp knife dismissively. "For you, maybe I should try poison, eh? Save some poor woman from your charm."

I smirk at the familiar banter. Ettore's been cooking for the family since before I joined, and he's one of the few people who treats me like a normal human being rather than Damiano's enforcer.

"What are you making?" I ask, eyeing the array of ingredients spread across the marble countertop.

"Something new for Friday's dinner." He gestures proudly to a pan where golden parcels of pasta are arranged in neat rows. " Cappellacci di zucca con salvia e burro nocciola. "

"Pumpkin cappellacci with sage and brown butter," I translate automatically. My stomach rumbles in anticipation.

"Not just any pumpkin," Ettore corrects, wagging a flour-dusted finger at me. "Special heirloom variety from my cousin's farm in Emilia-Romagna. Imported last week."

Of course. Nothing but the best for the Feretti table.

Ettore slides a plate toward me with three of the plump pasta parcels, drizzled with glistening brown butter and topped with crispy sage leaves. The rich, nutty aroma makes my mouth water instantly.

"Tell me what you think," he demands, crossing his arms over his chest. "Be honest."

I cut into one of the cappellacci with the side of a fork.

The pasta yields, revealing a vibrant orange filling.

I take a bite and close my eyes as the flavors hit my tongue—sweet, earthy pumpkin balanced with the sharp tang of aged Parmigiano, wrapped in silky al dente pasta and bathed in nutty brown butter.

" Cristo ," I mutter after swallowing. "That's incredible."

Ettore beams with pride. "You think the Don will approve?"

"If he doesn't I'll personally handle his removal as head of the family then report him to the Culinary Institute," I joke, already cutting into the second piece.

I'm halfway through demolishing the third cappellacci when the kitchen door swings open. Lucrezia's voice floats in first, followed by light laughter that stops me mid-chew.

"...and then Noah actually tried to convince the waiter it was a traditional Italian custom!"

Hazel's laughter—bright and unguarded—sounds like a fucking virtuoso melody. I look up just as they enter and for a split second, I catch sight of her smiling. It transforms her face completely, softening the wariness I've seen since she arrived. She looks younger, lighter.

Then her eyes land on me.

The smile vanishes instantly. Her shoulders tense and she takes an almost imperceptible step back, like a prey animal spotting a predator.

Fuck.

I force myself to continue eating, stabbing the pasta with more force than necessary.

"Matteo," Lucrezia says, surprise evident in her voice. "I thought you'd be at the casino all day."

I swallow before answering. "Finished early."

Lucrezia rolls her eyes at my brevity, then turns to Hazel. "Don't mind him. He communicates primarily in grunts and glares."

Hazel's lips twitch but she doesn't smile again. Her eyes flick to me, then away, like she can't bear to look at me for more than a second.

"What are you eating?" Lucrezia asks, moving closer to peer at my plate.

"Ettore's new creation for Friday," I answer, gesturing toward the chef who's watching our interaction with undisguised interest. "Pumpkin cappellacci."

"Ladies!" Ettore exclaims, wiping his hands on his apron. "Perfect timing. You must taste this."

Hazel hesitates, glancing between Lucrezia and me. "I wouldn't want to impose..."

"Impose?" Ettore looks personally offended. "A beautiful woman eating my food could never be an imposition! Sit, sit!"

He gestures emphatically to the stools beside me. Lucrezia immediately takes one, leaving the seat next to me for Hazel. I can practically feel her reluctance as she slowly approaches and perches one thigh on the far edge of the stool, keeping as much distance between us as possible.

I continue eating in silence, hyperaware of her presence—the faint scent of lavender, the way she tucks her hair behind her ear, the careful way she holds herself. The kitchen feels ten degrees warmer with her this close.

Ettore places plates in front of both women with a flourish. " Buon appetito !"

"This smells amazing," Hazel says politely.

I watch from the corner of my eye as she takes her first bite. Despite her obvious discomfort, her eyes widen in surprise, and a small sound of appreciation escapes her.

FUCK.

"Oh my god," she murmurs. "That's incredible."

Ettore beams. "You see? Food speaks its own language. No translation needed."

Lucrezia launches into a story about Ettore's legendary Christmas feast last year, filling the awkward silence. I focus on my plate but every cell in my body remains attuned to Hazel’s body beside me.

She eats slowly, savoring each bite, her tongue caressing her lip, but I notice she never fully relaxes.

The carefree woman laughing with Lucrezia moments ago has disappeared.

Because of me.

I drain my water glass, needing something to do with my hands. The three cappellacci are gone and I'm tempted to ask for more just to have an excuse to stay. Which is fucking ridiculous. I've never been the type to linger awkwardly where I'm not wanted.

"How was your meeting with Maria?" I ask abruptly, surprising even myself.

Hazel's fork pauses halfway to her mouth. Her eyes meet mine briefly before darting away.

"It was... informative," she says carefully.

"Maria's the best," Lucrezia adds. "If anyone can handle Hazel's situation, it's her."

I nod, searching for something else to say that won't sound like an interrogation. "Daniel said everything went smoothly."

"Yes," Hazel confirms, her voice quiet.

An uncomfortable silence falls. Lucrezia glances between us, her brow furrowing slightly.

I force myself to look away from Hazel, staring down at my empty plate instead. The silence stretches uncomfortably between us.

But not with Lucrezia watching us like we're her favorite reality show.

"So," Lucrezia says, clearly trying to ease the tension, "Hazel, I was thinking tomorrow we could?—"

A soft chime interrupts her. Hazel reaches into her pocket and pulls out a phone.

She glances at the screen and something shifts in her expression. The wariness fades, replaced by a small but genuine smile that lights up her eyes. Her fingers move quickly across the screen as she types a response.

Fuck me.

Is that why she's getting divorced? Some other man? Not that I care who she's fucking. Not my business. Not my problem.

I stand abruptly, the stool scraping against the floor. Both women look up, startled by the sudden movement.

"Thanks for the taste test, Ettore," I call over my shoulder, already heading for the door. "Best cappellacci I've ever had."

I feel Hazel's eyes on my back as I walk away but I don't look back. Whatever game she's playing, I'll figure it out. Just not now. Not when seeing her smile at a text from some other man makes me want to put my fist through a wall.

As I push through the kitchen door I hear Lucrezia's voice behind me.

"Don't mind him. He's always like that."

I don't wait to hear Hazel's response.