Page 19 of Ruined By Protection (Feretti Syndicate #5)

Hazel

I watch Lucrezia tap away on her phone as we walk down a long hallway I haven't explored yet. The Feretti mansion is like a maze—I've only seen a fraction of it since arriving yesterday.

"Evelyn had to run off with Noah for something," Lucrezia says, sliding her phone into her pocket. "So you're stuck with me for a bit."

"I don't mind." My fingers move instinctively to my ribs and I wince slightly.

"I want to show you something that might cheer you up," Lucrezia says, her face brightening. "We're heading to the nursery."

"Nursery?" I hadn't realized there were children in the house.

Lucrezia's lips curve into a smile. "Yes, to see Zoe and little Sofia. Did you know Zoe is pregnant?"

I blink in surprise. "I had no idea. When I met her at dinner last night, I couldn't tell."

"She's about three months along now," Lucrezia says with a laugh. "She's barely showing yet. Sofia is only four months old, so they'll be close in age."

We turn down another corridor and Lucrezia lowers her voice conspiratorially. "At this rate they're going to fill this whole house with little Damiano and Zoe babies. My brother acts all tough but you should see him with Sofia. Complete puddle."

The thought of the intimidating Damiano Feretti melting over a baby makes me smile.

"It's nice," I say quietly. "Seeing a family who actually love each other."

Lucrezia's expression softens and she squeezes my arm gently. "Hey, you're family now too. Evelyn's family is our family."

I don't know what to say to that. Family hasn't meant safety for me in a long time. My parents tried their best but they were always struggling. And Elliott... well, he was never family. He was a prison I built for myself.

We stop outside a door painted a soft cream color. I can hear a gentle melody playing inside—a lullaby.

"Ready to meet the littlest Feretti?" Lucrezia asks, her hand on the doorknob.

I follow Lucrezia into the nursery and my breath catches. The room is bathed in soft natural light from tall windows, with pale yellow walls and delicate cloud patterns painted across the ceiling. A beautiful wooden crib sits in the center and Zoe stands beside it, gently rocking a tiny bundle.

"Look who I brought to meet Sofia," Lucrezia announces softly.

Zoe turns, her face lighting up when she sees us. "Hazel, come in."

I step forward hesitantly, drawn by curiosity. I've never really been around babies—none of my friends have children and I avoided the topic with Elliott after his demands became more aggressive.

"Would you like to see her?" Zoe asks, noticing my interest.

I nod, moving closer. Zoe shifts the bundle in her arms and I get my first glimpse of Sofia Feretti.

"She's so... tiny," I whisper, unable to restrain my awe.

The baby really is impossibly small, with delicate features that somehow hint at both Damiano and Zoe. Her eyelashes rest against chubby cheeks and one tiny hand has escaped her blanket, fingers curled into a perfect miniature fist.

"Would you like to hold her?" Zoe offers.

My eyes widen. "Oh, I don't know if I should. I've never held a baby before."

"It's easy," Zoe says, already moving toward me. "Just support her head and cradle her body."

Before I can protest Zoe is transferring Sofia into my arms, arranging my hands to properly support the baby's neck and back.

The weight surprises me—so light yet somehow substantial. Sofia squirms slightly at the transfer, her eyes fluttering open to reveal dark irises that stare up at me with unfocused curiosity.

"Hi there," I whisper, a strange warmth spreading through my chest.

Sofia's tiny fingers flex and stretch and without thinking, I offer my pinky. Her hand immediately closes around it with surprising strength.

"She likes you," Lucrezia says, watching us with a smile.

I can't look away from this tiny person. The softness of her skin, the perfect miniature fingernails, the way her chest rises and falls with each breath—it's mesmerizing.

"I had no idea they were this small," I admit, gently swaying as Sofia's eyelids begin to droop again. "Or this perfect."

I stare down at Sofia's perfect little face, mesmerized by how peaceful she looks in my arms. The warmth of her tiny body against mine creates a strange ache in my chest—something between longing and fear.

"She's absolutely perfect," I whisper, unable to look away from her delicate features.

Zoe laughs softly. "They aren't always this perfect, believe me. You're seeing her during a rare quiet moment."

"Really?" I glance up at Zoe.

"Oh yes. Last night she screamed for three hours straight. Nothing would calm her—not feeding, changing, rocking, singing. Damiano and I took turns walking her around the house at 3 a.m. Exhaustion is definitely part of the game as well as perfection."

I look back down at the peaceful baby in my arms. "It's hard to imagine her screaming for hours."

"Just wait. She'll show you her lungs soon enough." Zoe smiles, moving to sit in a plush rocking chair near the window. She places a hand on her still-flat stomach. "I'm a little terrified about having two under a year old, to be honest."

"At least you have help," I say, thinking about how many people live in this mansion. "Lucrezia, even Damiano..."

Zoe nods. "I'm incredibly lucky that way. I keep wondering how tough it is for women who don't have this kind of support. Single mothers, women without family nearby, those who can't afford help..." Her voice grows thoughtful. "Just trying to take a shower must be impossible."

Lucrezia sits on the arm of Zoe's chair. "Remember when Sofia was a couple of weeks old and you hadn't slept more than two hours at a stretch? You said motherhood was like being an Olympic athlete—except the event never ends and no one gives you a medal."

"It's true though," Zoe says, looking at me. "The physical demands alone—pregnancy, birth, breastfeeding, sleep deprivation. Then add the emotional marathon on top of that. Mothers are the strongest people I know."

I think about my own mother, how she worked multiple jobs to keep us afloat after my dad's factory closed. How she never complained, even when I could tell she was exhausted.

"My mom was like that," I say softly. “I don't know how she managed."

Sofia stirs in my arms, her tiny face scrunching up before relaxing again. I adjust my hold slightly, suddenly aware of how precious this little life is.

"Women are incredible," Lucrezia says, watching me with Sofia. "We adapt, we survive, we nurture—sometimes all at the same time."

Matteo

I leave Damiano's office with a headache brewing behind my eyes. We've gone over the casino security protocols three times already, but the boss wants everything perfect. Can't blame him—our reputation depends on running a clean operation.

"We good?" I ask, pausing at the door.

Damiano nods, already looking at something on his laptop. "Just make sure the new dealer on table six understands our standards."

The mansion feels quiet as I make my way to the side entrance where I parked my Ducati. The sleek black machine waits for me like a loyal friend. I pull the keys from my pocket, ready to escape for a few hours. The casino will be a good distraction.

Something makes me pause. That prickling feeling when you know you're being watched.

I lift my eyes to the second floor windows, scanning until I spot her. Hazel, standing at the nursery window with baby Sofia cradled against her chest. She's looking down at me with an expression I can't quite read—wariness or questioning. The baby's hand is wrapped around her finger.

For a moment we just stare at each other. It's fucking ridiculous how beautiful she looks holding that baby.

Hazel holds my gaze for a beat longer then deliberately turns her back to me, shifting the baby to her shoulder as she walks away from the window.

The dismissal stings more than it should. I clench my jaw, shoving my helmet on with more force than necessary. The engine roars to life beneath me and I gun it down the long driveway, taking the turns faster than I should, throwing up gravel fountains.

I push the Ducati harder, leaning deeply-angled curves into the road as I leave the Feretti estate behind. The engine's vibration beneath me is a living thing, pulsing between my legs like a beast I'm barely controlling. This is what I need—speed, power, the rush of wind tearing at my jacket.

The bike responds to the slightest shift of my weight. We're one machine, cutting through traffic like a blade. The growl of the engine drowns out everything else—all the questions, all the confusion, all the fucking complications.

I weave between two cars, ignoring their angry honks. The danger sharpens my focus. My heartbeat syncs with the rhythm of the engine. This is clarity. This is control.

By the time I pull into the casino's private lot, my mind is clearer. I park in my reserved spot near the service entrance, running my hand over the Ducati's sleek body before I leave it. The security guard nods as I approach, punching in the code to let me through the back door.

The Venetian Rose Casino pulsates with the sound of money changing hands. Slot machines chime their electronic songs while dealers call out bets at the tables. Even on a weekday afternoon, the place is busy—exactly how we like it.

I move through the back corridors, nodding at staff who know better than to stop me for small talk.

My first stop is the security room, where I check in with the team monitoring the floor.

Nothing unusual—a couple of card counters they're keeping an eye on, a drunk businessman who might need to be escorted out soon.

"Any messages?" I ask before leaving.

"There's a woman waiting for you." The female head of the team informs me.

My guard instantly goes up. "What woman?"

"Redhead. Pretty. Said she was a friend of yours."

Fuck. I know exactly who she's talking about. Vanessa. The woman Noah's been teasing me about for weeks.

I head toward the VIP lounge where she's waiting, my irritation building with each step. Security wouldn't have let her through unless she'd dropped my name. The nerve of this woman.

Vanessa sits at the bar, her red hair lying down her back in carefully styled waves. She's wearing a black dress that hugs every curve, the neckline plunging just enough to draw attention without being tacky. Expensive. Calculated. Her crimson lips stretch into a smile when she spots me.

"Matteo," she purrs, sliding off the barstool with contrived grace.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" I keep my irritation muffled , not wanting to create a scene.

She doesn't answer immediately, just steps closer until her body nearly touches mine. Her manicured fingers trace the lapel of my jacket as she leans in, her lips brushing against my ear.

"I'm horny," she whispers, her breath warm against my skin. "Horny enough to want to be fucked. Right now. Just like old times."

Three days ago those words would have been enough. I would have taken her to my office, bent her over my desk, and given us both what we wanted. No questions, no complications.

But now? The thought leaves me cold. Worse than cold—it pisses me off.

I step back, breaking contact. "I'm working."

Confusion flashes across her face, quickly replaced by determination. "You've never been too busy for me before."

"We had sex, Vanessa." I keep my voice flat, emotionless. "That's all it was. Nothing else."

Her smile falters. "You can't be serious. We had something special."

"We fucked a few times. That's it." I glance around, making sure none of my staff are within earshot. "I told you when it ended–Don't show up at my workplace again."

Anger flashes in her eyes, transforming her pretty face into something harder. "I thought we had an understanding." Her voice sharpens. "I thought?—"

"You thought wrong." I cut her off, my patience evaporating. "What part of 'it's over' wasn't clear?"

She studies my face, searching for something. Whatever she sees makes her jaw tighten.

"You'll regret this," she says quietly. "We were good together."

"We were convenient together," I correct her. "And now we're done. Security will show you out."

I turn away, already reaching for my phone to call the head of security. Behind me I hear her inhale sharply.