Page 43 of Ruined By Protection (Feretti Syndicate #5)

Hazel

I pause outside Damiano's study, my finger hovering over the screen of my burner phone. My chest expands painfully as I stare at Elliott's last message.

The sick confidence in his words makes me angry at myself mostly. For letting him believe he can manipulate me. Well, I indeed let him.

Not anymore.

Taking a deep breath, I push open the heavy wooden door to find Matteo, Noah, Daniel and Lucrezia gathered around a table covered with maps and documents. They all look up simultaneously, their expressions shifting from intense focus to softness when they see me.

The air in the room feels charged as I move toward the table. Lucrezia moves next to me, her arm brushing mine in silent support. I can feel everyone watching me, their gazes heavy with concern but feels more like pity.

“Everything’s set,” Noah informs me, “Just need you to bait the trap now.”

"I can handle this," I tell them, though my voice wavers slightly.

Matteo's eyes meet mine. "We know you can."

I open the messaging app and stare at Elliott's name. My fingers tremble as I begin to type, carefully choosing words that will feed his ego.

Elliott, I'm sorry I left the way I did. I just needed some time to think about what happened between us.

I hit send then pause, swallowing hard before continuing.

Sometimes I feel like you don't actually love me. Not when you hurt me like that.

The room is silent and I can feel Matteo's presence behind me, not touching, just there.

I need to know things will be different if I come back.

I hit send again before I can change my mind, then place the phone face-down on the table. My hands are shaking so badly now that Lucrezia reaches over and squeezes them between her own.

"You did great," she whispers.

The response comes faster than any of us expected. The phone buzzes against the polished wood, making me flinch. Daniel and Noah exchange glances while Matteo remains perfectly still beside me.

I turn the phone over, steeling myself before reading Elliott's reply.

Baby, I've been so worried. You know I love you more than anything. Things got out of hand but I promise it will never happen again. Come home and let me show you how sorry I am.

How many times had I heard this exact promise? How many times had I believed it?

"He's using the same script," I say, strangely calm and level. "He always does this—apologizes, promises it won't happen again, then waits until I feel safe before..."

I don't finish the sentence. I don't need to. The four faces watching me understand exactly what comes next in Elliott's cycle of abuse.

Another text drops, like he’s afraid I might escape the hook. I’ll come get you in New York.

I repress a shudder at the idea of it, as well as the fact that he knows exactly where I am.

"What should I say now?" I ask, looking at Matteo.

He moves closer, his protective shield enveloping me. "Tell him you need to discuss it face to face. Ask if you can meet at the country house, just the two of you."

The brutal practicality of his suggestion makes my breath catch, but of course he's right. Elliott would expect me to be ashamed, to hide the evidence of his violence.

I type the message, showing it to Matteo before sending.

I need more assurance. Maybe I could come to the country house where we could talk in private.

The response is immediate.

Of course, sweetheart. Whatever you need. The house will be ready for you. Just tell me when you're coming.

I place the phone down again, exhaling slowly. "He's taking the bait."

Noah nods approvingly. "Perfect. This gives us the opportunity we need." He’s immediately on the phone with Damiano and before I have the chance to back out of this nightmare, he comes back with the timeline arranged.

"Tell him you’ll fly in tonight," he directs.

“Wait,” Matteo interjects. “Don’t make it sound too pre-planned. Tell him, you had booked a ticket to visit your parents. That might give him a scare after what he tried.”

I send the message to Elliott about flying in tonight and my stomach turns as I wait for his response. The phone buzzes almost immediately.

Perfect. I'll arrange a car from the airport straight to the estate. Don't worry about anything—I'll arrange something special for the two of us. Just like old times.

Just like old times. That makes bile rise in my throat. I know exactly what ‘special’ means to Elliott—expensive gifts to make up for bruises, champagne to wash down my tears, and promises that evaporate by morning.

"He's arranging transportation from the airport," I tell the others. "And something 'special' at the country house."

"Of course he is." Matteo's jaw clenches so hard I can’t imagine he’s not breaking his teeth.

I look into his virulent gaze, seeking comfort, suddenly overwhelmed by the reality of what we're planning.

"How are we going to do this?” Lucrezia pipes up. “He'll know something's fishy if Hazel doesn't arrive on a commercial flight."

"We need to check the next commercial flight to Austin," Matteo tells the others.

“On it,” Noah’s fingers move quickly. The others wait as he pulls up flight schedules. "There's an American Airlines flight leaving JFK at 8:15 arriving Austin at 11:37 local time," he says.

"Our private jet will land before that,” Matteo instructs. “Hazel, you can exit the airport normally the same time the commercial flight arrives."

Daniel studies the airport layout on his phone. "There's a private aviation terminal on the east side. I’ll arrange ground transport to the main terminal—it’ll only take about ten minutes."

I watch them work with terrifying efficiency, each one, even Lucrezia, pitching in to handle a piece of this deadly puzzle.

Matteo

"Let’s eat something," I announce, noting the wilting in Hazel's posture. "You haven't had anything since breakfast."

The planning session has stretched on for hours until every detail is meticulously arranged. Hazel's shoulders sag with exhaustion, the weight of what's coming pressing down on her.

"I'm not really hungry," she protests, but I'm already guiding her toward the door with my hand at the small of her back.

"Trust me on this," I murmur close to her ear. "You'll need your strength."

We navigate through the mansion, quiet except for distant sounds of Ettore banging copper pans in the kitchen. A delicious aroma cuts through my tumbling thoughts about everything that could go wrong tonight.

Hazel is close, her delectable body occasionally brushing against mine. It's these small moments of contact that keep me centered and remind me exactly what I'm fighting for.

We enter the kitchen to find Ettore fussing over a large pot, his sleeves rolled up and his forehead glistening. The kitchen smells like heaven—rich tomato, fragrant herbs and the unmistakable scent of slow-cooked meat.

"Ah! Perfect timing!" Ettore booms when he spots us, his face lighting up. "My best ragu—you must try it before anyone else!"

Despite everything I can't help but smile at his enthusiasm.

"Sit, sit," he insists, waving Hazel toward the island stools. "I can always rely on Matteo for an honest opinion before I serve to the family."

Hazel slides onto a stool, tucking a strand of honey-blonde hair behind her ear. Even exhausted and worried, she's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

"You're in for a treat," I tell her, moving to grab dishes from the cabinet. "Ettore's experiments are better than most Michelin dishes."

Ettore beams with pride, stirring the thick sauce with reverence. "This one is special—egg pappardelle with wild boar ragu. Twelve hours of cooking, twenty-three ingredients."

He serves the wide ribbons of pappardelle coated in rich, dark sauce studded with tender chunks of meat. The steam carries the complex aroma straight to my core, awakening hunger I hadn't realized was there.

Hazel stares down at the pasta, her expression changing from resistance to ravenous. "This looks amazing, Ettore."

"Taste! Taste!" he urges, hovering nearby like an anxious nanny.

I twirl pasta around my fork, watching Hazel do the same. She wraps those lips around it and the sound that escapes her is pure indulgence—a low, appreciative moan that sends me shivers.

"Oh my god," she breathes, eyes drooping briefly. "This is incredible."

Ettore claps his hands together in delight. "You see? The secret sauce is juniper berries and just a touch of dark chocolate."

I lean closer to Hazel, my lips brushing her ear as I whisper, "If I'd known pasta could make you sound like that I would have fed you some much sooner."

Her cheeks flush pink and she nudges me with her elbow, the small smile playing at the corner of her mouth tells me she’s enticed.

"If you two want to give an old man a heart attack," Ettore grumbles, waving a wooden spoon at us, "there are more merciful ways than canoodling at my kitchen counter."

Hazel's blush deepens but she laughs—a genuine sound that lightens my current stress load. These moments of normal domesticity feel precious, stolen from the jaws of everything dark that surrounds us.

"Sorry, Ettore," I say, not feeling sorry at all. "Your ragu is just that good that it inspires amore ."

"Bah!" He waves dismissively but I can see he's pleased. "Eat, eat. You both look like you need it."

We keep eating, savoring each bite. Under the counter I rest my hand on Hazel's knee, needing the connection.

"Thank you," she says softly, her hazel eyes meeting mine.

"For the pasta? I can't take credit for Ettore's cooking," I reply with a small smile.

She shakes her head, reaching out to place her hand over mine where it rests on her knee.

"Not for the food. For everything." Her voice carries a weight that makes my chest expand.

"For believing me about Elliott’s abuse.

For protecting my family. For..." she pauses, searching for words, "for caring about what happens to me. "

Her tone makes me set my fork down and turn fully toward her. Sensing the shift in mood, Ettore quietly busies himself at the far end of the kitchen, giving us privacy.

"Hazel," I say, popping a forkful of pappardelle smothered with meaty sauce into her mouth. Replaying our very first meeting.. "You don't need to thank me for that."

"But I do." Her eyes glisten with unshed tears.

"Most people in my life... looked the other way.

Even when they must have suspected something was wrong.

My friends stopped calling when Elliott made it clear he didn't approve.

The country club wives gossiped behind my back. Nobody wanted to get involved."

Rage burns low in my gut at the thought of her isolation but I keep my voice supportive. "That's not care, bella. That's basic human decency."

"Is it?" A sad smile touches her lips. "Because I've found it's actually pretty rare."

I bring her hand to my lips, pressing a kiss against her knuckles. Her skin smells faintly of the rosemary soap from the guest bathroom.

"You've had the wrong people in your life," I tell her simply.

She studies my face as if memorizing every line and angle. "I keep expecting you to tell me this is too much trouble. That I'm not worth all this... complication."

The vulnerability in her voice slices me like a blade.

I think of all the casual hookups, the women I've kept at arm's length over the years.

The careful distance I've maintained. None of them ever made me feel like this—like I'd tear the world apart with my bare hands if that's what it took to keep her safe.

"Hazel." I cup her face with one hand, my thumb brushing her cheekbone. "You're not a complication. You're the only thing that makes sense to me right now."

A tear escapes, tracking down her cheek until it meets my thumb. I lift it away gently.

"I don't know what I did to deserve someone like you in my life," she whispers.

"You survived," I tell her, my voice rough with emotion. "You kept going. You found the courage to leave when most people wouldn't. That's not nothing, Hazel."

She leans into my touch, her eyes closing briefly. When she opens them again there's a resilience that wasn't present before.

"I'm scared about tonight," she admits. "Not only about Elliott. I'm scared of what happens after. Of who I'll be when this is all over."

I understand her fear. I've seen what violence does to people—how it changes them, marks them. But Hazel has an unwavering quality that she doesn't fully recognize yet.

"You'll still be you," I promise her. "The same courageous, beautiful woman who walked away from security to save herself. The same woman who makes me laugh and drives me crazy and sees things in me that no one else even bothers to look for."

Her lips curve into a small smile. "When you say it like that I almost believe it."

"Believe it," I tell her, leaning in to press my forehead to hers. "I'm not going anywhere, Hazel. Not unless you tell me to."