Page 44 of Ruined By Protection (Feretti Syndicate #5)

Matteo

I watch Hazel from across the private jet's cabin. She's been staring out the window since takeoff, her delicate profile outlined against the darkening sky. The plane's engines hum steadily but the cabin remains quiet, heavy with unspoken tension.

Daniel and Noah sit farther back, giving us space. Noah scrolls through something on his phone, his face unreadable, while Daniel reviews the security plans for the Montgomery estate one last time.

It's been five hours since Hazel texted Elliott, agreeing to meet him at their country house outside Austin. Five hours of this silence that's slowly eating away at me.

I want to reach for her but something in her posture keeps me rooted to my seat. The soft leather creaks beneath me as I shift my weight, checking my watch for the dozenth time. We'll land in Austin in just under two hours.

"You should try to rest," I finally say, my voice sounding too loud.

"I can't sleep," she says simply.

I nod, understanding completely. "Water? Something stronger?"

"Water would be good."

I retrieve a bottle from the small galley, twist off the cap, and bring it to her with a crystal glass. Our fingers connect as she takes it and I feel her slight tremor.

"Sit with me?" she asks, barely audible.

I slide into the seat beside her, close enough to feel her warmth and take her hand. Outside the oval window, darkness has swallowed the clouds, leaving only our reflection in the glass.

She looks down at our joined hands. "I need to prepare for one of two scenarios. Either he'll make me pay for leaving or he'll try to convince me he can be a good husband." Her voice catches. "Either way, the hard part is that I need to act like I want this when I see him."

"You're stronger than you think, bella." I brush a strand of hair from her face. "I’ll be close by and you won't be alone with him for long."

She swallows hard. "I know. I know the plan."

"The moment you put your foot on the ground, we move in." I promise.

Hazel's head drops onto my shoulder. I watch her eyelids flutter, fighting sleep, before she finally surrenders to exhaustion.

My mind drifts back to last year: Lucrezia after her kidnapping. The haunted look in her eyes when we found her. The way she flinched at any sudden movement. How she'd check the corners of every room before entering, map her escape routes without even realizing she was doing it.

For weeks she barely spoke. Just sat by windows, staring out with empty eyes. The bruises faded from her skin long before the ones inside began to heal.

I remember the rage I felt then—cold, professional fury. I've known Lucrezia since she was seven years old, trailing after her brother with pigtails and a stubborn chin. I helped her with math homework. Taught her to drive. Watched her grow into a fierce, brilliant woman.

Seeing her broken like that—it was like watching someone snuff out the sun.

But this thing with Hazel... it's different.

With Lucrezia, I wanted justice. With Hazel, I want blood.

Hazel

I stand in the arrivals lounge, watching passengers stream out of the terminal. My heart pounds so hard I'm surprised no one can hear it. Every face that isn't Elliott's both relieves and terrifies me.

The commercial flight from New York landed fifteen minutes ago. Our private jet touched down three hours earlier, giving Matteo, Noah and Daniel time to position themselves. I've been standing here for twenty minutes, my legs shaking beneath my sundress.

A middle-aged couple walks past, dragging matching luggage. A group of college students laugh together. A businessman in a rumpled suit hurries by, shouting into his phone.

Then I see him—not Elliott, but a driver in a black suit holding a sign that reads "MONTGOMERY."

I exhale slowly, counting to three like Matteo taught me. This is it.

The driver is ordinary in every way—thinning hair, clean-shaven, probably mid-fifties. His posture is relaxed as he scans the crowd, looking for Elliott's wife who's supposed to be on this flight.

I force a smile and approach him.

"Hi, I'm Hazel Montgomery." The name tastes like ash clogging my mouth.

"Mrs. Montgomery, welcome back." He gives a polite nod. "Mr. Montgomery sent me to collect you. I'm Thomas."

"Thank you, Thomas." I clutch my small carry-on tighter.

"Let me take that for you." He reaches for my bag and I hand it over without resistance.

As we walk from the terminal I think about how normal this all seems. Thomas believes he's just doing his job—picking up the wife of a respected businessman. He has no idea that the ‘delightful wife’ he's escorting has bruises hidden under her makeup.

"The car is just outside, ma'am."

"Thank you." My voice sounds hollow to my own ears.

We step out into the Texas heat. It hits me like a wall after the air-conditioned terminal. Thomas leads me to a sleek black town car and opens the back door.

"Mr. Montgomery apologizes he couldn't meet you himself. He said he's preparing the house for your return."

I force another smile. "How thoughtful of him."

The irony isn't lost on me. Thomas thinks he's serving a legitimate businessman by picking up his wayward wife. He has no idea he's delivering me to a monster—or that monsters are following close behind.

I settle into the backseat of the town car and Thomas pulls away. I scan my surroundings, praying that Matteo is close, following us.

"How long is the drive to the house?" I ask, trying to sound casual even though I know exactly how long it takes to get to Elliott's country house.

Thomas glances at me in the rearview mirror. "About an hour and fifteen minutes, Mrs. Montgomery. Traffic's light today."

I nod, pretending this is new information. "Thank you."

"Would you like the radio on, Mrs. Montgomery?" Thomas asks.

"No, thank you. I'm fine with silence."

It strikes me then—this performance isn't new.

I've been playing dumb for years with Elliott.

Always asking questions I knew the answers to.

Always pretending to know less than I did.

How many times had I deliberately dumbed myself down for my husband?

Asking him to explain things I already understood.

Pretending his mansplaining was enlightening rather than insulting.

I'd been a bartender who could calculate complex tabs in my head, yet I'd ask Elliott to check my math when balancing our household accounts. I spoke three languages but acted impressed when he corrected my pronunciation.

It wasn't just my intelligence that I downplayed. I knew which wines paired with which food but I'd defer to Elliott's choice at restaurants. I could fix simple plumbing issues but would wait for him to handle them so he could feel masculine.

The realization makes my stomach turn. I didn't just endure Elliott's control—I actively participated in crafting the helpless persona he wanted. I became smaller to make him feel bigger.

"Are you comfortable back there, Mrs. Montgomery? Temperature okay?" Thomas asks.

"Yes, everything's fine," I reply automatically, another practiced response.

How easily the lies still come. How readily I slip into the role of the docile, agreeable wife. The perfect Mrs. Montgomery who needs guidance and supervision.

Not anymore.

I straighten my spine against the leather seat. In a few hours Elliott will face consequences for what he did to Melissa, to me, to who knows how many others. And I won't be playing dumb when it happens.