Page 26 of Ruined By Protection (Feretti Syndicate #5)

Matteo

I cut off a taxi, ignoring its blaring horn as I accelerate through a yellow-red light.

The gallery comes into view—modern glass facade gleaming in the afternoon sun. I park the Ducati haphazardly near the entrance, not giving a fuck about parking regulations. I tug off my helmet, running a hand through my hair as I survey the street for any sign of Montgomery.

Nothing obvious. No suspicious cars. No men watching the entrance.

Fabio stands near the door, his eyes meeting mine as I approach. "Boss," he nods. "They're in the east wing. Photography exhibit."

"Any sign of Montgomery?"

"Nothing confirmed. But Ms. Taylor thought she saw him in the sculpture room about fifteen minutes ago."

My blood runs cold. "And?"

"We checked. No one matching his description. Could have been her imagination, or he slipped out."

I push past him into the gallery. The space is filled with New York's elite pretending to understand what they call art, champagne flutes in hand, designer clothes marking them as people who've never had to fight for anything in their lives.

I spot them immediately. Lucrezia's dark hair, Hazel's honey-blonde waves.

They stand before a large black and white photograph, Lucrezia gesturing animatedly while Hazel nods.

Even from here I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way her eyes dart around the room between glances at the picture.

She's scared. Looking for him.

I move toward them, observing her face. There's something about her expression that makes my chest tighten—a vulnerability mixed with determination. She's terrified but refusing to break.

As I get closer I decide to ease the tension. No need to scare her more.

"You know," I say, keeping my voice light as I approach, "I've never understood why people pay millions for pictures of other people's garbage."

Hazel jumps, spinning around with wide eyes before recognition hits. Relief washes over her face for a split second before her expression hardens again.

"Matteo," she greets me with a knowing smile. "I didn't expect you to join our cultural expedition."

"Change of plans," I say, my eyes never leaving Hazel's face. She looks away, focusing intently on the photograph in front of her.

Lucrezia glances between us. "I think I'll check out the installation in the corner. Fabio can accompany me."

She walks away before either of us can object, leaving me alone with Hazel in the crowded gallery. The silence between us stretches, heavy with unspoken words.

"You can't ignore me forever, bella," I say quietly, stepping closer to her.

She keeps her eyes fixed on the photograph. "I'm not ignoring you. I'm appreciating art."

"That's a picture of a broken window in an abandoned building."

"It's about urban decay and the transient nature of man-made structures," she quotes, clearly repeating something Lucrezia told her. Sounds like Lucrezia's description of whatever she thinks she sees in these things.

I move to stand directly beside her. "Hazel."

She finally looks at me, eyes flashing. "What do you want, Matteo? I'm trying to keep my distance from someone who happens to have fucked me once. Is that so difficult to understand?"

The crude language sounds wrong coming from her lips, deliberately provocative. I lean in, close enough that only she can hear me.

"Four times, actually," I correct her, watching color flood her cheeks. "Once in the kitchen, once in the elevator—well there, I just ate your sweet pussy, then three times in my suite. And you came five times, if we're keeping score."

She turns away sharply but not before I catch the flare of heat in her eyes. "That's not?—"

"Not what? Not relevant? Not important?" I step around to face her again. "Then why are you blushing?"

"Because you're impossible," she hisses, clutching her purse tighter. "I'm married, Matteo."

"To a man who puts bruises on your body." My voice drops, all teasing gone. "A man who's in New York right now, looking for you."

The color drains from Hazel's face. "What?" she whispers, her voice barely audible over the pretentious chatter around us.

"Elliott's in New York," I say, keeping my voice low but clear.

I didn't want to do this here, surrounded by Manhattan's elite sipping champagne and pretending to understand modern art, but she needs to know.

I've never been one to sugarcoat things and I won't start now. Not with her safety at stake.

"How? How did he find me?" Her breathing quickens, eyes darting around the gallery like a cornered animal.

"I don't know yet. But we're not waiting around to find out."

Her hands start to tremble, the slight shaking quickly spreading through her entire body. Her eyes go distant, that same vacant look from the boutique starting to take over.

"Hazel." I catch her face between my hands, forcing her to look at me. Her skin is soft under my palms but I can feel the tension vibrating through her. "Look at me, bella. Right at me."

Her hazel eyes lock with mine, filled with terror.

"No one is going to hurt you," I tell her, my voice firm and steady. "Do you understand me? No one."

A tear escapes, sliding down her cheek and onto my thumb. Something inside me snaps at the contact—that single drop of her fear igniting a rage so pure it momentarily blinds me.

I brush the tear away with my thumb, gentler than I thought myself capable of being while fury burns through my veins.

"I want to leave," she whispers, her voice small but determined. "Please, Matteo. I need to get out of here now."

I drop my hands from her face and nod once to Fabio, who's been watching from a discreet distance. He immediately moves toward the exit, speaking quietly into his comm unit to alert the driver.

"Stay close to me," I tell Hazel.

We move through the gallery, weaving between clusters of people. Lucrezia falls in step beside us without a word, her usual playfulness replaced by alertness. The three of us move as one unit toward the exit, Fabio clearing a path ahead.

I scan every face we pass, every corner and doorway. My right hand stays free, ready to reach for the gun holstered under my jacket if needed. The weight of it is comforting—a guarantee that I can keep Hazel safe no matter what.

The gallery's glass doors slide open and sunlight hits us as we step outside. The Audi is waiting at the curb, engine running. Fabio opens the back door and I guide Hazel inside, then Lucrezia sliding in after her.

"Back to the estate," I tell the driver. "I'll be right behind you." I close the door and head to the Ducati.

Hazel

The car pulls away from the curb, leaving the gallery behind.

I press my forehead against the cool window glass, trying to steady my breathing.

Elliott is in New York. The thought makes my stomach twist into knots.

The bruises on my body seem to throb in response, phantom pain from memories still too fresh.

Lucrezia sits beside me, silent for once. I can feel her eyes on me but I can't bring myself to meet her gaze. The driver navigates expertly through Manhattan traffic, the soft hum of the engine the only sound inside the luxury vehicle.

"I'm sorry," I finally whisper, still staring out the window at the blur of buildings. "I never meant to bring this chaos into your lives."

Lucrezia shifts beside me. When I finally turn to look at her I'm startled by the expression on her face. The usual sharp wit and confidence have drained away, leaving something raw and vulnerable in their place.

"It's not you," she says quietly. "It's just..." She trails off, her delicate fingers twisting in her lap. "I'm so tired of this. All of this."

"What do you mean?" I ask, genuinely confused. From what I've seen Lucrezia has everything—wealth, beauty, a family that adores her.

She lets out a bitter laugh that sounds nothing like her usual musical one. "This life. This constant... cycle." She gestures vaguely with one hand. "Do you know what the worst part is? It's not the danger or the violence or even the secrets. It's watching it happen over and over again."

Her voice cracks on the last word and I'm shocked to see tears gathering in her dark eyes. Lucrezia, who always seems so composed, so effortlessly in control, suddenly looks like she might shatter.

"What happened?" I ask softly.

She turns to look out her own window, profile sharp against the passing scenery. "Last year, something happened to me." Her voice is barely audible. "I was taken. Kidnapped by men who wanted to hurt my family."

My breath catches. "Lucrezia, I?—"

"No, please." She holds up a hand. "Let me finish or I won't be able to." She takes a deep breath. "After that, everything changed. I changed. And part of me thought—stupidly—that maybe it was just me. That my experience was... isolated."

The car stops at a red light and for a moment we're suspended in time, her confession hanging in the air between us.

"But then I started seeing it everywhere," she continues, her voice stronger now but hollow.

"Women being controlled, being hurt. Not just by enemies or criminals but by the men they love too.

By the men who are supposed to protect them.

" Her laugh is harsh, like broken glass.

"I'm stuck watching it happen again and again.

Women suffering under controlling, abusive bastards who think they own us. "

Shame washes over me in a hot wave. Here I am, bringing my mess to her doorstep, forcing her to relive her own trauma through mine.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper. "I shouldn't have come here. I didn't know?—"

"No." Lucrezia reaches over, her hand finding mine. Her grip is surprisingly strong. "That's not what I meant at all. I'm glad you're here. I'm glad you got out."

Lucrezia's fingers tighten around mine, her eyes glazed as she stares at nothing.

"It's not just you, Hazel," she says, her voice hardening. "This past year alone, I've watched five women—including myself—suffer at the hands of men who claimed to love them."

She turns to face me fully, her eyes blazing with a fierceness I haven't seen before.

"Five women, Hazel. All different backgrounds, different circumstances, but the same story. Control. Pain. Fear." She counts each one off on her fingers. "Me. Sienna. Zoe, Evelyn. And now you."

"Sometimes I wonder how many women around the world are living in their own private hell right now," Lucrezia continues, her voice dropping to nearly a whisper. "Thousands? Millions? How many are trapped with nowhere to go? No chance of escape."

Evelyn? What happened to her?

She laughs bitterly. "You know, I was never what you'd call a feminist. Growing up in this family—this life—it's all about the men.

The business, the power, the decisions..

. all of it belongs to them. That's just how it is.

" She shakes her head. "But even as a little girl I remember thinking how unfair it all seemed. "

The car turns onto a quieter street, the rhythmic passing of lights from buildings casting alternating shadows across our faces.

"Sienna was just a kid when it started for her," Lucrezia says, her voice breaking.

"A child. She should have been playing with friends, going to school dances, worrying about homework.

Instead she was learning how to hide bruises and walk silently so she wouldn't disappoint her asshole father.

" She swallows hard. "She lost the most precious years of her childhood to that monster. "

I think about the quiet, dark-haired young woman I met briefly at dinner.

"And Zoe," Lucrezia continues. "Her suffering was different but no less real. Manipulated, lied to, used as a pawn..." She trails off, shaking her head. "The details don't matter. What matters is that another woman's life was treated as disposable."

The weight of her words presses down on me.

My own pain suddenly feels like part of something larger, a terrible pattern repeated endlessly across time and place.

I think about Elliott—his groomed smile, his charming public persona, the way he convinced everyone, including me, that he was a good man.

I stare at Lucrezia, watching as the fire in her eyes gradually dims. Her shoulders drop and she leans back against the leather seat. The passion that fueled her words seems to drain away, leaving her looking smaller somehow.

"I'm sorry," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't mean to dump all of that on you."

"No, please don't apologize." I squeeze her hand, still wrapped in mine. "Thank you for telling me."

Lucrezia nods but doesn't speak again. Her gaze drifts to the window. The silence between us isn't uncomfortable—it's filled with a shared understanding that doesn't need words.

I study her profile in the dim light of the car.

For the first time since I've met her, Lucrezia looks truly tired.

Not just physically, but soul-deep exhausted.

The perfectly-applied makeup can't hide the shadows under her eyes or the tightness around her mouth.

Her usual vibrant energy has vanished, leaving behind a woman who's carrying a weight I hadn't noticed before.

She catches me looking and attempts a smile but it doesn't infuse her features. Then she turns away again, leaning her head against the window.