Page 20 of Ruined By Protection (Feretti Syndicate #5)

Hazel

" I think green is definitely your color," Lucrezia says, holding up a silky emerald dress against my body. "It makes your eyes pop."

I study my reflection in the full-length mirror of the guest bedroom. The dress is beautiful. The fabric runs like water between my fingers and tiny crystals catch the light along the neckline.

"I can't keep borrowing your clothes," I protest weakly, even as I smooth my hand over the delicate material.

Lucrezia waves dismissively. "Please. Half these things still have tags on them."

She tosses the dress onto the bed and pulls open a drawer filled with jewelry. "Now, for accessories. Something simple, I think. You have that natural beauty thing going on."

I blush, still not used to her casual compliments. In the two days I've been at the Feretti mansion, Lucrezia has taken me under her wing like a long-lost sister. It's... confusing. Nothing like what I expected from a mafia family.

"Another dinner tonight?" I ask, slipping behind the screen to change.

"We always eat together," Lucrezia explains, her voice carrying across the room. "It's like... I don't know, a tradition or something. Damiano insists on it. Says families that eat together stay together."

I pull the dress over my head, careful of my still-tender bruises. "Every night?"

"Unless someone's away on business." She laughs. "Though God help you if you criticize Ettore's cooking. Matteo nearly fired a guy at the casino for saying the tiramisu was too sweet."

My stomach flutters at the mention of Matteo. I've been avoiding him since that moment at the nursery window, when I caught him watching me holding baby Sofia. The intensity in his eyes had been too much.

I step out from behind the screen. "How does it look?"

Lucrezia claps her hands together. "Perfect! Now sit. Let me do something with your hair."

I perch on the vanity stool while she gathers my blonde waves into an elegant twist, leaving a few tendrils to frame my face.

"There," she says, stepping back to admire her work. "Simple but sophisticated."

"Thank you," I say quietly. "For everything. You've been so kind to me, yet you barely know me."

Lucrezia's expression softens. "I love Evelyn. And she loves you."

I hesitate, the question that's been burning inside me finally spilling out. "Can I ask you something? Something... personal?"

She raises an eyebrow. "Of course."

"How do you..." I struggle to find the right words. "I mean, doesn't it bother you? What your family does?"

The moment the words leave my mouth I feel my cheeks flush hot with shame. "I'm sorry. That was incredibly rude. I didn't mean?—"

"You mean the mafia thing?" Lucrezia interrupts, her voice surprisingly calm. She sits on the bed, smoothing her skirt. "You're wondering how I can act normal when my family kills people?"

I swallow hard, feeling like I've crossed an invisible line. But Lucrezia's expression isn't angry—just thoughtful.

"It's different when you're born into it," she says, twisting a silver bracelet around her wrist. "I've never known anything else. This life, these rules—it's all totally normal to me."

She looks up, meeting my eyes. "I'm not saying it's always been easy.

But the Ferettis have a code. People who aren't in our world—they think everything is black and white," Lucrezia continues, her voice taking on an edge.

"But regular people break their promises all the time.

They lie, they cheat, they hurt each other for no reason. At least we have reasons."

I think about Elliott—Harvard-educated, country club member, CEO of a Fortune 500 company. A perfect upstanding citizen who broke my ribs last year because I spoke to a male server at a restaurant.

"The world isn't divided into good people and criminals, Hazel," Lucrezia says softly. "Sometimes the monsters wear the nicest suits and have the cleanest hands."

The truth of her words hits me and I touch the fading bruise on my arm—evidence of Elliott's pristine reputation and my private hell.

"I'm sorry," I say quickly. "I shouldn't have asked that. It was rude of me."

Lucrezia waves away my apology. "Don't be sorry. It's a fair question." She stands, moving to the jewelry box again. "You're living under our roof. You should understand what that means."

She selects a delicate gold necklace with a small emerald pendant. "Here. This will complete the look."

I turn so she can fasten it around my neck, grateful for the change in topic. "It's beautiful."

"Keep it," she says. "It suits you."

"Oh, I couldn't?—"

"Please," she interrupts with a smile. "Consider it a welcome gift."

The cool weight of the pendant settles against my skin. I’m embarrassed to consider that it would have taken me a month of good tips to even think of buying something like this. Back when I earned my own money, of course.

"Speaking of welcome," Lucrezia says, "how are you settling in? Is everything comfortable?"

"More than comfortable," I assure her. "The room is gorgeous. I've never slept in a bed that comfortable before."

She laughs. "Wait until you try the pool house. The beds there are even better."

There's a knock at the door and Evelyn pokes her head in. "Are you two ready? Ettore's making that lamb dish tonight, and Noah's already downstairs drooling."

Lucrezia rolls her eyes. "Men and their stomachs. We're coming."

As we follow Evelyn into the hallway, I feel a strange mix of gratitude and unease. These people—this family of brutal criminals—have shown me more kindness in two days than Elliott did in two years of marriage.

What does that say about the world? About me?

I push the thought away as we descend the grand staircase. One day at a time. That's all I can handle right now.

Matteo

I arrive at the mansion twenty minutes early for dinner, parking my Ducati in its usual spot. My blood still boils thinking about Vanessa showing up at the casino like she had any right to be there. The fucking nerve of that woman.

After the shitshow at the casino the last thing I need is Damiano on my ass for being late to another family dinner.

The main dining room is empty except for Ettore, who's arranging silverware with military precision.

"Matteo," he nods, surprised. "You're early."

"Miracles happen," I mutter, running a hand through my shower-damp hair. "What's on the menu tonight?"

His eyes light up. "Herb-crusted rack of lamb with rosemary jus, truffled potato purée and roasted asparagus. And for dessert, a vanilla bean panna cotta with fresh berries."

I nod in approval, though my thoughts are far from food right now. They're stuck on Hazel and whether she'll be joining us tonight.

Ettore disappears back to the kitchen, leaving me alone with my concerns.

I loosen my tie, feeling on edge. The memory of Vanessa's manicured fingernails on my arm makes my skin crawl.

We had a casual thing—just sex, nothing more.

I made that crystal clear from the start.

But some women hear what they want to hear.

"You're early."

I look up to find Damiano entering, eyebrows raised in mock surprise.

"Don't get used to it," I reply, as he takes his seat at the head of the table.

Enzo enters next, phone in hand as always. He barely glances up as he takes his seat across from me. "The Colombians confirmed for Friday," he says to Damiano. "Their shipment arrives Thursday night."

"Good," Damiano responds, then gives his brother a pointed look. "No business at the dinner table, remember?"

Enzo rolls his eyes but pockets the phone just as Zoe enters with baby Sofia in her arms. The tension in the room immediately softens. Even Enzo's perpetually-annoyed expression eases at the sight of his niece.

I hear female voices in the hallway and my pulse quickens. Lucrezia enters first, followed by Evelyn and Noah. And then—Hazel.

My breath catches. She's wearing an emerald dress that clings to her curves, her honey-blonde hair swept up to expose the delicate line of her neck. A small emerald pendant rests against her collarbone, drawing attention to the smooth skin of her chest.

Our eyes meet briefly before she looks away, taking a seat between Evelyn and Lucrezia.

"You clean up nice," Noah says to me with a smirk, noticing my attention on Hazel. "Special occasion?"

I give him a look that would make most men shut up, but Noah just grins wider. Asshole.

"Ettore's lamb deserves respect," I say dryly, which earns a laugh from Lucrezia.

"Only Matteo would dress up for a piece of meat," she teases.

"Some things are sacred," I reply, my eyes involuntarily drifting back to Hazel.

She's listening to something Evelyn is saying, nodding along with a small smile. The emerald dress makes her eyes appear more green than amber tonight.

Damiano raises his glass. "To family," he says, his standard toast.

"To family," everyone echoes, except Hazel, who simply raises her glass with a polite smile.

The first course arrives—a small plate of arancini with truffle aioli. Enzo leans forward with that shit-eating grin of his.

"So, I heard you had an unwelcome visitor at the casino today," he says, cutting into his appetizer. "Redhead, with legs for days, wouldn't take no for an answer."

I shoot a glance at Daniel, who suddenly becomes very interested in his wine glass. Fucking gossip.

"Nothing I couldn't handle," I say, keeping my voice even.

Enzo snorts. "That's not what I heard. Security said she was practically climbing you like a tree before you had her escorted out."

I feel Hazel's eyes on me from across the table but don't look her way. Instead, I take a slow sip of wine.

"She has boundary issues," I say finally. "Nothing new there."

"Some women can't take a hint," Lucrezia says, twirling her wine glass. "Especially with you, Matteo. You've got that whole mysterious, dangerous thing going on."

I roll my eyes. "I'm about as mysterious as this arancini."

That incites a laugh around the table, even from Damiano. There was a time when we'd all talk shit like this, Damiano included. Before he took over as Don after his father's death. Before the weight of family matters settled on his shoulders.

"Remember when Matteo had that stalker?" Enzo continues, apparently determined to embarrass me tonight. "The senator's daughter?"

"She wasn't a stalker," I protest. "She was... persistent."

"She showed up at your apartment at three in the morning with not a stitch on under her coat," Enzo reminds me.

"And you called me to handle it," Damiano adds unexpectedly, a rare smile playing at his lips. "Because you were too much of a gentleman to tell her to fuck off."

"I wasn't being a gentleman," I correct him. "I was being smart. Her father was on the oversight committee for the port authority. Last thing we needed was trouble there because I hurt her feelings."

"Always thinking of the family business," Damiano says with a nod of approval.

Hazel

I stare down at my plate, trying to focus on the arancini in front of me instead of the conversation ricocheting across the table. But it's impossible not to listen as Enzo teases Matteo about some redhead at the casino.

Redhead, legs for days, wouldn't take no for an answer?

My eyes flick up before I can stop myself.

Matteo's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly, the only sign that Enzo's words bother him.

I shouldn't care. I have no right to care.

But something hot and uncomfortable settles in my stomach as I imagine some gorgeous woman with endless legs throwing herself at him.

I take a sip of wine, hoping it will douse whatever this feeling is. Jealousy? No. That's ridiculous. I barely know this man. Well, I know his body intimately—every hard plane, every scar, the way his muscles flex under my fingertips—but I don't know him .

Matteo doesn't look my way. His focus remains on his wine glass, his expression unreadable except for the slight tension around his mouth.

I study him across the table, seeing what Lucrezia means.

Even in this casual family setting Matteo radiates controlled power.

The crisp white shirt stretches across his broad shoulders, sleeves rolled up to expose strong forearms. His dark hair is slightly damp, curling at the edges as if he just showered.

The shadow of stubble along his jaw makes him look villainous, as well as irresistibly attractive.

Remember when Matteo had that stalker?

Another woman. Of course. How many are there?

I shouldn't be surprised. Men who look like Matteo—who kiss like Matteo—don't stay lonely for long.

The thought of him with other women shouldn't bother me.

I'm married, for God's sake. Well, technically.

And escaping an abusive relationship. The last thing I should be worrying about is Matteo's romantic history.