Page 31 of Ruined By Protection (Feretti Syndicate #5)

Hazel

I slam the door behind me and lean against it, my chest heaving. My hands shake so badly I can barely hold the phone that's just destroyed whatever fragile thing was building between Matteo and me.

"Breathe," I whisper to myself, sliding down until I'm sitting on the floor, knees pulled to my chest.

I glance back at my phone, the screen still open to the Facebook—I wanted to check on whether Eliott had made any post after I left—message that arrived fifteen minutes ago. From a profile with no picture and a generic name—Jane Smith. Real original.

Stay away from him. He's not yours. He never will be.

And attached—a photo that burns into my retinas even with my eyes squeezed shut: Matteo, his muscled back bare lined by white sheets, sleeping next to a stunning redhead whose arm is draped possessively across his torso.

The timestamp shows 4.17 a.m. This morning. Right after he left my bed apparently.

I'm such a fool. Last night I thought we had something real—the way he looked at me, touched me, how he listened to my story about Elliott.

But I was just another conquest. He left my bed to go straight to hers.

I stare at the phone in my hand, the screen now dark. Part of me wants to hurl it against the wall but it's my only lifeline right now. The message makes it clear I'm not the only woman in Matteo's life. Not even the only woman in his bed on the same night.

I'm not even angry at him, not really. He never promised me anything. We both agreed to keep things casual. I'm angry at myself for believing, even for a moment, that I might be special to him.

My lungs ache with humiliation. I thought I was reclaiming my power, my sexuality, after Elliott's abuse. Instead I've just found another way to be used.

A soft knock breaks the silence and I jerk my head up, quickly wiping at my eyes.

"Hazel? Can I come in?" Lucrezia's voice filters through the door.

I hesitate, not wanting anyone to see me like this, but I need someone right now. Someone who isn't Matteo.

"Yeah," I call out, my voice cracking. I scoot away from the door, pulling myself up to sit on the bed.

The door opens and Lucrezia slips in holding a steaming mug. Her dark eyes soften when she sees my face.

"I brought you some tea," she says, closing the door behind her with her hip. "Chamomile with honey."

The simple kindness makes my throat lump again. "Thank you."

I cradle the warm mug between my hands, staring down at the gold liquid as if it might hold answers. The grassy scent wafts up, soothing but not nearly enough to calm the storm inside me.

"What did he say?" I ask, not looking up. I don't need to specify who.

Lucrezia settles beside me on the bed, her weight shifting the mattress slightly. "He said he's staying until you're ready to talk to him."

A laugh escapes me, bitterly ironic. "Then he'll be waiting a very long time because I'm not going to be ready. Not ever." I take a sip of tea, wincing as it burns my tongue. "I don't want to be ready. Everything is over and the best solution is for him to stop pretending that he cares."

"You have every right to not want him around," Lucrezia says softly. "But he does care, Hazel."

I shake my head, feeling tears threatening again. "He doesn't. Not really."

Lucrezia watches me for a long moment. "What's happening between you two? I mean, I know there's something but..."

I set the mug on the nightstand before I spill it with my trembling hands. The words tumble out then, about Austin three years ago, the night we shared that I never forgot, how he pretended not to know me at the airport.

I pull the phone from my pocket and stare at the screen, still black now, but I know what lurks there. My stomach twists into knots just thinking about it.

"So you had a night together in Austin and now...?" Lucrezia prompts, her eyes fixed on my face.

I wrap my arms around myself, trying to hold it together. "And now I need to leave. I can't stay here with him. I just can't."

"But why?" She leans forward, her brow furrowed with concern. "What happened between last night and now?"

I shake my head, unwilling to share the photo. It's too humiliating and I don't want to drag Lucrezia into whatever this mess is between Matteo and the redhead. "It doesn't matter. This was all a mistake."

"A mistake?" Lucrezia's voice rises slightly. "Hazel, I've never seen Matteo look at anyone the way he looks at you. And I've seen him with plenty of women."

"That's part of the problem," I mutter, getting up to pace the room. The walls feel like they're closing in on me. "I can't do this again, Lucrezia. I can't be with someone who—" I stop myself before I say too much.

"Who what?" she presses.

I turn to face her, my resolve hardening. "Who isn't fully available to me. I just got out of a controlling relationship. The last thing I need is to jump into something equally complicated."

Lucrezia watches me for a long moment, her dark eyes thoughtful. "You know, sometimes I think destiny has a way of bringing people together at exactly the right time, even if it seems like the wrong time."

A harsh laugh escapes me. "Destiny? You think destiny brought me and Matteo together?"

"Three years ago in Austin, and now here?" She raises an eyebrow. "That's quite a coincidence, don't you think?"

I shake my head firmly. "No. That's not destiny. That's just... bad luck." The words taste bitter on my tongue.

"Bad luck?" Lucrezia looks genuinely shocked. "Hazel, you came to us needing protection and it turns out the man assigned to protect you is someone you already shared a connection with. Someone who understands you. Who makes you feel safe."

"He doesn't make me feel safe anymore," I whisper and I hate how my voice breaks.

Lucrezia stands up and takes my hands in hers. "Whatever happened between last night and this morning, I can see it's hurt you. But I also know Matteo. He's not perfect—far from it—but he's not the kind of man who would intentionally hurt someone he cares about."

I pull my hands away. "That's just it. He doesn't care about me. Not really."

Matteo

I squeeze the trigger, feeling the familiar kickback against my palm as the bullet tears through the paper target. The sound echoes through the underground shooting range beneath the Feretti property but I barely register it. My mind is somewhere else entirely.

"Fuck," I mutter, ejecting the magazine and slamming in a new one.

I've been down here almost two hours, burning through ammo like it's popcorn. The targets at the end of the range are shredded, most showing tight groupings center mass. My hands work automatically, reloading, aiming, firing. It's muscle memory at this point.

What isn't muscle memory is dealing with the storm inside my head. Hazel.

I fire three rapid shots, all hitting the bullseye within an inch of each other.

This is where I come when I need to think. When I need to get my shit together. The concentration required to shoot well forces everything else out of my mind, at least temporarily. Each breath, each squeeze of the trigger, each recoil—it's all I focus on.

I rip off my ear protection and toss it on the counter.

"You planning to leave any targets for the rest of us?" Daniel's voice comes from behind me.

I don't turn around. "There's plenty."

"Not at the rate you're going." He steps up beside me, scanning the devastation downrange. "Something on your mind?"

"Nothing worth talking about."

Daniel nods, knowing better than to push.

I glance at him, taking in his solid frame.

Six-four, all muscle, with that military buzz cut that never seems to grow out.

His blue eyes don't miss a damn thing. The small scars on his knuckles tell stories he never shares.

He's the kind of guy you want beside you when shit hits the fan—steady, methodical, loyal to a fault.

"Any word on Montgomery?" I ask, holstering my gun.

"Still at the hotel. Had breakfast sent up about an hour ago." Daniel leans against the counter, arms crossed. "Marco's got eyes on him."

I nod. "Good."

"You know, shooting the entire armory isn't going to solve whatever's eating at you."

"Says who?" I snap, then immediately regret it. "Sorry. Not your problem."

Daniel shrugs. "It is when you're distracted. Distracted gets people killed in our line of work."

He's right and we both know it. I run a hand through my hair.

"It's the Taylor woman, isn't it?" Daniel asks, his voice neutral.

"I need to talk to her."

"Lucrezia said to give her space."

I start packing up my gear. "I know what Lucrezia said."

"But you're going up there anyway." It's not a question.

"I'll give her space after I know what the hell is going on." I zip up my bag. "Five minutes, that's all I need."

Daniel sighs. "Your funeral. Just don't come crying to me when Lucrezia tears you a new one."

"Noted." I head toward the door. "Keep me posted on Montgomery."

"Always do."

I take the stairs two at a time, my mind racing.

The hallway to her room seems longer than usual. I pause outside her door, knuckles raised. Part of me knows I should respect her wishes, give her the space she needs. But the other part—the part that spent the night with her body wrapped around mine—needs answers.

I knock on Hazel's door, three sharp raps that echo down the hallway.

"Hazel? We need to talk."

Silence.

I try again, a little louder this time. "Hazel, come on. Just five minutes."

"I don't want to talk, Matteo." Her voice sounds flat, distant through the door. "Please just go."

I should walk away. I know I should. But something's wrong and walking away isn't in my nature when there's a problem to solve.

"I'm coming in," I remember to announce, unlike last time, before turning the handle.

The door isn't locked—a small mercy. I step inside to find Hazel sitting on the edge of the bed, her back straight, shoulders rigid. Her eyes meet mine and the iciness there hits me like landing at the North Pole.

She rolls her eyes dramatically. "You're such an annoying man. Did you not hear me say I don't want to talk?"

"I heard you." I close the door behind me. "I just chose not to listen."

I try for a smile, aiming to lighten the tension crackling between us. "Selective hearing. It's a tricky condition. Doctors are baffled."

Nothing. Not even a glimmer of a smile. Her expression remains frozen, eyes hard and unreadable. This is worse than I thought.

"Tough crowd," I mutter, crossing my arms. The playful approach clearly isn't working. Time to be direct. "What's going on, Hazel? Last night we were?—"

"Last night was a mistake," she cuts in, her voice sharp enough to slice. "One I don't intend to repeat."

She may as well have rammed my gut, but I keep my face neutral.

"Why the sudden change? Did I do something?" I take a step toward her but stop when she visibly stiffens. "Talk to me, bella."

"Don't call me that." She stands, creating more distance between us. "I need to go back to my parents' house. That's all."

I blink, trying to process this sudden shift. "Your parents' house? In Austin? Where Montgomery will immediately come for you?"

"Yes."

"That's insane. You can't go back there."

"It's not your decision to make." Her fingers twist together, the only sign of the anxiety she's trying to hide. "I've made up my mind."

"Is this about the divorce? Did Blackwell threaten you somehow?" I rack my brain for what could have changed since last night. "Whatever it is, we can handle it. The Feretti name carries weight, even with sharks like Blackwell."

She shakes her head. "I need to go back to my parents' house. That's all I'm going to say about it."

"Actually, you do owe me an explanation." My voice comes out harder than I intended.

Her eyebrows shoot up. "Excuse me? I don't owe you anything, Matteo."

"According to whom?"

"According to common decency and personal autonomy," she fires back, crossing her arms.

I force myself to take a breath, to find some lightness in this suddenly heavy room. "Not according to the Relationship Guidebook by Matteo Caruso."

Her expression shifts from anger to confusion. "What?"

"Yeah, it's a bestseller in my head." I tap my temple.

"Very exclusive reading. Page forty-three, paragraph two clearly states that when a woman has mind-blowing sex with a man twice—" I hold up two fingers for emphasis, "—and said man still wants to fuck her senseless all day long, she absolutely owes him an explanation before disappearing. Again."

Her mouth opens slightly, caught off guard by my ridiculous claim, or maybe the reminder that she’s good at bolting without goodbyes. I grab my small advantage.

"It's right there after the chapter on sharing sexy cooking duties and before the section on not making the same mistake twice." I shrug as if it's common knowledge. "I don't make the rules, I just wrote them. In my head. Last Tuesday."

For a moment, I think I've miscalculated completely. Her face remains frozen and I prepare for an incoming missile when she throws something at me. Then I see it—the tiniest twitch at the corner of her mouth, fighting her determination to stay mad at whatever I’ve done.

"That's the meanest thing I've ever heard," she says, but there's a crack in her icy demeanor.

"Oh, it gets worse. There's a whole appendix dedicated to communicating after intimacy and not leaping to conclusions.

Very controversial stuff." I take a cautious step closer.

"Look, I know something happened. Last night was.

.. it meant something. To both of us. Then I get up in the morning and suddenly you're planning to flee the state? Something doesn't add up."

She looks away, the brief moment of humor evaporating. "It's complicated."

"I specialize in complicated, bella. It's literally my job description." I sweeten my voice. "Talk to me. Whatever it is, we can figure it out."