Allure

Chapter Twenty-One

Matteo

I wake up in a cold sweat, my heart pounding in my chest. A quick glance at the alarm clock on my bed stand tells me I've only been asleep for four hours, as it is now 10am local time. Heather sleeps peacefully beside me, blissfully unaware of the horrors that just took place next to her within my mind. I rub a hand over my face, and though I'm still exhausted I know there is no sense in trying to find sleep again. I slip out of bed and pad over to the bathroom, quietly brushing my teeth and throwing on some joggers and a black tee. A few minutes later, my mind still hasn't quieted as I kneel on the pavement in the front garden, working on my old motorcycle.

Visions of bloody asphalt and bullet wounds dance in my head while my ears ring with the sound of gunshots. I sigh, closing my eyes and forcing the brutal memories to the back of my mind. There's no reason to even humor the ideas these dreams have placed in my mind. Every single motherfucker that was involved in the murder of my father and uncle are dead, because my brother and I killed them. I put bullets through the skulls of every last one of them. I would have made them suffer, would have made them regret the day they crossed the Grazianos, but we had to be quick. That was a mercy they didn't deserve.

I breathe harshly out of my nose, slamming down my tools. I make a mental note to call my therapist once I return to New York. The nightmares have steadily plagued me for the past 10 years, but they haven't been this frequent since right after the murders occurred. I shove all thoughts of my past out of my mind and force myself to focus at the task on hand.

Heather

I wake up around two pm to an empty bed. Confused, I roll over to face the empty and dark bathroom. My ears perk at the sound of an engine revving, and I stretch, climbing out of bed to peer out the bedroom window. My stomach flips as I take in the view in the front garden below. A shirtless Matteo, hands covered in oil, is working on an old red motorcycle in the driveway. His muscles ripple as he twists the tool in his hand, methodically screwing the pieces of the bike strewn on the asphalt back together. My brow furrows as I notice a man dressed in all black across the street pull out his phone and snap a photo. My skin prickles in fear but I shake my head, telling myself that he's just a tourist taking a photo, not a threat. I tear my eyes away and head to the bathroom to take a shower.

I walk into the kitchen about half an hour later to make some coffee and am startled by the sight of Matteo with a towel around his waist, spooning coffee grounds into a filter. "I didn't see you come out of the bathroom." I say softly. He finishes starting the coffee pot as he replies. "I used the guest bath down here, I wasn't sure if you were still sleeping." I swallow, my gaze caught on his half naked form. He seems to detect my unease, and he smirks as he walks past me towards the stairs, his towel hanging dangerously low on his hips. "There are fresh croissants on the dining table," he calls out as he climbs the stairs.

An hour later, I'm standing in the front garden with my hands on my hips. "Absolutely not." I eye the death trap on wheels skeptically. "I literally watched you dismantle this thing and put it back together. I'm not getting on it." Matteo rolls his eyes and holds a helmet out to me. "Dio mio, amore mio. Do you truly believe that I would put your life in danger?" I frown at his outstretched hand, and remain silent. His eyes narrow. "Heather?" His voice darkens. "Ugh. No, I don't think you'd put me in danger. Doesn't make me want to get on that thing though." I huff. He sighs, and moves to put the helmet on my head. I don't resist. "If I die at least I'll die with my arms wrapped around a hot italian man," I think to myself.

"Good girl," Matteo praises. "We'll be fine." He climbs onto the bike and pats the seat behind him. "It's only a 30 minute ride, and the views are gorgeous. It's worth it, you'll see." I reluctantly climb on behind him and wrap my arms around his torso. He feels warm and solid, and as we start driving down the street, I find myself relaxing, leaning my head against his broad back. Before long, we're out of the city and sprawling fields and farmland surround the curving road. It's truly picturesque, and I find myself begrudgingly admitting the motorcycle isn't so bad after all.