Page 27 of Ruined By Protection (Feretti Syndicate #5)

Hazel

T he car finally pulls up to the Feretti mansion. I barely wait for it to stop before pushing the door open, desperate for space, for air, for anything that isn't the suffocating weight of Lucrezia's words mixing with my own fears.

"Hazel, wait—" Lucrezia calls after me, but I'm already halfway up the steps to the front door.

Inside, the house is mercifully quiet. I don't stop to see who else might be around. My feet carry me straight up the staircase, taking the steps two at a time despite my exhaustion. I don't look back, don't check to see if Matteo's bike has arrived. I can't face him right now.

When I reach my room I close the door behind me and lean against it, my breath coming in short gasps. The elegant guest room feels too big, too exposed. I slide down the door until I'm sitting on the floor, knees pulled to my chest.

I don't know how long I sit there before I hear a soft knock. I don't answer but the door pushes open anyway, forcing me to scoot forward on the hardwood floor.

Matteo stands in the doorway, his broad frame blocking the light from the hallway. His eyes find me immediately, huddled on the floor. Without a word he steps inside and closes the door behind him.

I expect him to help me up, to guide me to the bed or a chair—something a normal person would do. Instead he slides down the wall opposite me, sitting on the floor with his long legs stretched out in front of him.

We sit in silence, facing each other across the expanse of polished hardwood. His dark eyes never leave my face but he doesn't speak. Doesn't demand explanations or offer platitudes. He just... waits.

The silence stretches between us, not uncomfortable but heavy with all the things we aren't saying. I study him—the sharp line of his stubbled jaw, the powerful way he holds himself even sitting on the floor, the watchful intensity in his eyes.

"I'm not leaving," he finally says, his voice low and certain. "Not until you kick me out."

A laugh bubbles up from my chest—not amused, but bitter and cutting. It sounds foreign to my own ears.

"That's rich," I rasp. "You can't leave me alone for a minute, can you?"

He doesn't flinch at my tone, doesn't look away. "No," he answers simply.

I shake my head, another harsh laugh escaping. "You know what's funny? I'm not afraid of you." I meet his gaze directly. "Not anymore. Not after..."

I don't finish the sentence, but I don't need to. Elliott's presence hangs between us like a ghost.

"Elliott appeared to be such a nice guy," I continue, the words spilling out now.

"Perfect smile, perfect manners, perfect life.

Everyone loved him. My parents thought he was a miracle.

" I press my palm flat against the floor.

"But you... everyone sees exactly what you are.

The danger. The violence. You don't hide it. "

Matteo remains still, his expression unreadable. "Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

"I don't know what it is." I lean my head back against the wall. "I just know that right now I'm more afraid of men who hide what they are than the ones who show it honestly."

His jaw tightens but he doesn't move from his spot on the floor. "I would never hurt you, Hazel."

"I know." The certainty of that assertion surprises even me. "That's the strangest part. I've known you for what—a week? And yet somehow I trust you more than the man I was married to for two years."

Matteo's eyes darken. "He's never going to touch you again."

The quiet promise in his voice should frighten me. Instead it wraps around me like a shield.

"Lucrezia told me about what happened to her," I say after another long silence. "And about the others. Sienna. Zoe. Evelyn—I haven't even asked my cousin if she wants to talk to me." I meet his eyes.

Matteo's expression shifts, something like grief passing over his features before he masters it. "Yeah."

"How do you stand it?" I whisper. "Knowing what happens to women in your world? In any world?"

He doesn't answer immediately. When he does his voice is rough. "By making sure it doesn't happen again. At least not to the women under our protection."

I take a deep breath, the weight of secrets pressing against my chest. Somehow sitting here on the floor with Matteo feels safer than any chair or couch could. Maybe because we're both on the same level. Maybe because it feels like a confession.

"Elliott wasn't always..." I pause, searching for words. "He wasn't always like this."

Matteo's expression doesn't change but his eyes never leave my face. He's listening—really listening—in a way Elliott never did.

"When we met at The Remington I was working double shifts, trying to help my parents after Dad's back surgery." I draw a pattern on the floor with my fingertip. "Elliott came in with some business associates. Left me a hundred-dollar tip on a thirty-dollar tab."

The memory feels like it happened to someone else. "He came back the next night. And the next. Always polite. Always charming. Asked about my family, remembered details about my brother's school, my dad's health issues."

Matteo's jaw tightens but he doesn't interrupt.

"My mom lost her job. Dad needed another surgery." I laugh without humor. "Then Elliott swooped in like some fairy tale prince. Offered Mom a position at Montgomery Industries. Paid for Dad's surgery. Set up a fund for Jake's lessons."

I pull my knees tighter to my chest. "Everyone thought I’d hit the jackpot. The wealthy businessman falling for the bartender. Like some movie."

"And you fell for it," Matteo says quietly.

"I was grateful," I correct him. "There's a difference. I thought maybe love would grow later."

I close my eyes, remembering. "The wedding was perfect. Everything that Elliott wanted. I just had to show up. He'd already chosen my dress, the flowers, the venue. Said he wanted to spare me the stress."

When I open my eyes Matteo's watching me with an intensity that should be uncomfortable but somehow isn't.

"It started small. Comments about my clothes. Suggestions about my hair. Always with a smile, always 'just trying to help.' Then it was my friends. He didn't like this one's attitude or that one's influence. Said they were using me to get close to his money."

My throat constricts. "Then my phone. He needed to know where I was, who I was with. For my safety, he said. The cameras came next. All over the house. For security, he said."

Matteo's expression darkens. "And no one noticed?"

I shake my head. "We barely saw anyone by then. My family was grateful to him. My friends had all drifted away. I had nowhere to go, no money of my own." I swallow hard. "And then he started... when I didn't follow his rules exactly..."

The words stick in my throat. Matteo doesn't push, just waits.

"The first time he hit me, he cried afterward.

Bought me jewelry. Swore it would never happen again.

" My laugh sounds hollow. "You know what's crazy?

Part of me was relieved when the physical stuff started.

At least then I could point to something real.

The bruises proved I wasn't imagining things. "

"Hazel…" Matteo's voice is rough.

"It got worse," I interrupt, needing to get it all out now that I've started. "If I wore something he hadn't picked out, if I spoke to someone he didn't approve of, if dinner wasn't perfect... there was always a reason. Always my fault."

I tug at the sleeve of my sweater. "He was careful, though. Never my face. Nothing that would be noticeable when I was dressed. And afterwards, always the same pattern. Tears. Apologies. Gifts. Promises. Then the cycle would start again."

I heave at the air, determined to continue. "I couldn't leave." I say simply. "He made sure my family depended on him completely. One word from him and they'd lose everything."

I meet Matteo's eyes directly. "But that's not the whole truth. I was scared. Terrified of what he'd do if I tried to leave. And somewhere along the way I started believing him when he said I was worthless. That no one else would want me. That I was lucky he put up with me."

Matteo's hands clench into fists, then deliberately relax. "What changed? Why did you leave now?"

I look down at my hands. "Last week I bought a dress.

Nothing fancy, just something I liked. When Elliott found it.

.." I shake my head. "The physical pain doesn't matter, although it hurt.

It was what he said to me: Everything you have is because I give it.

" I look at him again. "It felt like a switch flipped inside me. I’ve been through a lot: working instead of studying, partying or flirting, or just living without anxiety gripping my whole existence.

I couldn't stand any more after all that: a man 'allowing' me to wear a dress or drink a second martini.

" It's not just that. I know that if I stayed, I might have ended dead.

Every time he punched me was rougher than the previous time.

Matteo

I watch Hazel worm her way into the floor, her words hanging in the air between us. The rage inside me is a living thing, clawing to get out, but I keep it leashed. She doesn't need my anger right now.

"Monsters like Elliott don't come with a health warning," I tell her, my voice just barely controlled. "They don't snarl or threaten in the open. They smile. They wear tailored suits. They move through the world collecting trust, not suspicion."

She looks up at me.

"That's what makes them so dangerous," I continue. "The worst predators are the ones who look like protectors."

"I should have known," she whispers.

"How?" I challenge her gently. "Did he introduce himself as 'Elliott Montgomery, future abuser'? Did he show you his true face before he had you trapped?"

She shakes her head, a tear sliding down her cheek.

"You survived," I tell her. "That's what matters now."

"I'd rather work three jobs again than go back to him," she says. "I'd rather sleep on the street than spend another night under his roof."

Respect surges through me, unexpected and fierce. This woman has a spine of steel beneath her bruises.

"You won't have to," I tell her.

Hazel wipes away a tear with the back of her hand, composing herself. Her eyes meet mine, a question forming in them.

"Did you really not recognize me at the airport?" she asks, her voice soft but steady. "When Evelyn introduced us?"

I study her face. Her eyes with flecks of amber that haunted my mind for three years. The small constellation of freckles across her nose that I'd memorized.

"I would have recognized you among a million other women with the same hair color," I admit, my voice rougher than intended.

Her eyebrows shoot up. "You're a liar, Matteo Caruso," she slams, though she tries to hide the smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

I shuffle closer, closing some of the distance between us on the floor. "I'm many things, bella," I tell her, my eyes never leaving hers. "A criminal. An enforcer. A man with blood on his hands." My voice husks lower. "But I'm not a liar."

The air between us changes, charged with electric sparks. Her eyes drop to my lips, her own parting slightly. The memory of how she tasted floods my senses.

I lean in, pause, giving her time to pull away. When she doesn't I close the final inches between us to capture her mouth with mine.

For one heart-stopping moment she hesitates, her body rigid. I'm about to pull back when she suddenly melts against me with a soft sound that travels straight to my core. Her hands come up to grip my shoulders, fingers digging into each bicep as though dropping an anchor.

I kiss her slowly, deliberately, relearning the shape of her mouth. She tastes of tears and a uniquely Hazel flavor that I've never forgotten. My hand cups her face.

She pulls back slightly, her breathing uneven. "Matteo," she whispers, my name a question on her lips.

"I remembered everything," I confess, resting my forehead against hers. "The way you laughed when I showed you that Harley. How you looked proudly perched on that kitchen table. The note you left."

Her eyes pop wide. "Then why did you pretend?—"

"Because I needed to know why you were here," I tell her honestly. "If it was really just coincidence or if you were using Evelyn to get to me. To the family."

"You thought I was some kind of spy?" she asks, disbelief coloring her voice.

"In my world coincidence usually ends with someone dead," I say. "And you..." I trace the line of her lip with my finger. "You were the one woman I couldn't get out of my head despite three years of trying."