Page 69 of Veil of Obsession

“Have you gone a date with her yet?” I ask, feigning a left hook before cutting sharp to the right.

Matteo dodges, barely, his gaze flickering up. His lip curls slightly. “Who?”

I snort. “Don’t play dumb. Your bride.”

His head tilts, like the concept of having a wife is something foreign. Something beneath him.

“No,” he finally answers, throwing a sharp counter. I deflect, stepping back just in time to avoid the full force of it. “There’s another party next week. The Hoffmans are throwing it for both our families.”

Another party. A show. A fucking circus.

I wipe the sweat from my brow with the back of my wrist, letting his words settle. Matteo is detached, as he always is. Like marrying a stranger means nothing.

I watch him carefully, measuring the way he moves. Looking for tells. Looking for cracks.

“You don’t care?” I ask.

He exhales sharply, rolling his shoulders, loose and unbothered. “Should I?”

I go for a body shot, hard and fast, but he shifts at the last second, my fist grazing his ribs instead of crushing them.

“I don’t know, Matty.” I grin, stepping back. “I’d think any man would care about the woman he’s about to marry.”

Matteo lands a clean jab to my side, making me hiss, the sharp pain radiating through my ribs.

“That’s your mistake,” he mutters. “Thinking I’m like other men.”

I breathe through it, gritting my teeth and rolling my neck to the side until it pops. “And what about her? You think she’s looking forward to being your little Camorra bride?”

He shrugs. Fuckingshrugs. “She’ll learn.”

Cold. Distant. Just like always.

I feint another hit, testing, watching for how he reacts. If anything about this has gotten under his skin. But Matteo doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t hesitate. Just like he never did when our brother made his choices for him.

There’s a reason it’s him taking the deal, not me. Matteo’s a machine. Programmed to take orders. To adapt.

Me? I’d sooner put a bullet in my own skull than let some suit hand me a fucking leash.

I step back, shaking my wrists, my knuckles sore from the impact. “Do you even care who she is? Or is it just another business transaction to you?”

Matteo tilts his head slightly, watching me like I’m an idiot for even asking.

“Why would I care?” His voice is even. Bored. Like none of this means a goddamn thing.

I let out a low laugh, shaking my head. “Jesus, Matteo.” I flex my jaw, testing the ache from where he clipped me earlier. “They could be marrying you off to some spoiled, neurotic little daddy’s girl, and you’d still stand there acting like it’s just another fucking Tuesday.”

He exhales through his nose, going for a quick jab. I block it, watching the way his muscles shift, the tension in his stance. Unbothered. Distant. Calculating.

“The way I see it…” Matteo mutters, dodging my next hit with a sharp, effortless pivot. “She doesn’t have to like me. She just has to be useful.”

I pause.

And that right there? That’s the problem.

I know Matteo. I know how his brain works. And if he sees this as a business deal, that’s exactly how he’ll treat her. Cold. Clinical. Like an asset.

I wipe the sweat off my brow, cracking my neck as I watch him reset his stance. “What if she doesn’t want to be useful?”