Ties of Blood (Book One)

Chapter 7 ~ Matteo

Matteo Morreti

Kidnapping someone like Landon Malcom was never difficult, not when you had experience dealing with cowards who folded the second things got tough.

The type of guy who thought himself untouchable just because he could run his mouth at a party, thinking nobody would ever do anything about it.

But people like him were always easy prey, especially when it came to stepping over the line with something—or someone—they shouldn't have touched.

Gianna. The idiot didn't even try to be subtle. Sure, the kiss on her hand, fine—whatever. That was public, and she was a gorgeous woman; it came with the territory.

But the way his eyes had glued themselves to her ass the second she walked away? Shameless. In front of me? That was a different fucking story altogether. A story that ended with him on the ground, begging for forgiveness.

I wasn't planning on killing him. Not tonight, anyway. That hadn't been the initial plan. But Landon had a way of running his mouth, and I already knew it would be just a matter of time before he said something stupid enough to change my mind.

I refrained from killing Landon over touching Gianna because those were the actions of someone who had fallen victim to the disease people call love. And I don't love.

My men had already handled the first step; they'd grabbed him outside the venue and hauled him off to one of my more discrete warehouses, where we could handle the matter privately. For now, I had more pressing things to deal with.

Gianna had left the party with Camilla, which meant there wasn't much reason for me to stay. I'd handled all the necessary business, shaken all the hands I needed to shake, and exchanged the pleasantries I could barely stomach.

That wasn't my world; it was all noise to me. The real business happened in the shadows, behind locked doors, with men like Landon bleeding on the floor.

I got out of the car in a swift, smooth motion. Alonso was by my side, closing the door with practiced precision. Everything about the night was efficient, cold.

I walked up to the massive metal doors of the warehouse, two of my men standing guard, faces grim under the dim streetlights. The air was thick with anticipation, the kind of tension that comes when everyone knows something is about to go very wrong for someone.

They opened the doors without a word, and I stepped into the dark, musty space. The only light came from a few hanging bulbs that barely illuminated the center of the room. But I could see Landon.

He was tied to a chair, squirming, panicking, his muffled grunts of protest bouncing off the concrete walls. He was trying to say something, trying to make excuses, but I wasn't listening yet. I was more interested in seeing him sweat a little longer.

As I moved closer, his eyes snapped up to meet mine, and the look of sheer terror that washed over his face was almost satisfying. Almost. The idiot had no idea what he'd gotten himself into.

"You should have known better than to cross me, Mr. Malcom." I said it slowly, savoring every word as they dripped with menace.

He whimpered behind the gag, shaking his head frantically, his eyes pleading. I leaned down, grabbed him by the shirt, and yanked the gag out of his mouth so hard he nearly fell out of the chair. His eyes widened in fear, like he was just starting to realize how serious this situation was.

"I didn't mean anything, man! It was just a joke, I swear!" His words came out in a pathetic rush, voice cracking under the weight of his panic.

"A joke?" I repeated, voice calm, though the fury inside me was growing. "Touching what's mine, that's a fucking joke to you?"

The words slipped out before I had time to think about them. 'What's mine?' That was an oddly possessive, even for me. I didn't like, and sure as fuck didn't love Gianna. She was a mere hiccup in my life I couldn't be more excited to get rid of. But Landon didn't know that, yet he still touched and ogled her. 

Either way, I wasn't about to explain myself to a sniveling coward like him.

Landon's eyes darted around the room, like he was looking for some way out, some miracle escape. The realization that there was no way out slowly began to sink in, and I could almost see the fear settling into his bones.

Without another word, I slammed my fist into his face, hard. The sound of it was almost as satisfying as the look on his face when the blood started pouring from his nose. He fell back in the chair, gasping, one hand coming up to hold his face like it would somehow stop the pain.

"You're fucking crazy!" he sputtered, his voice trembling as he tried to shuffle away from me, despite being tied down.

I took a step forward, closing the distance between us again, watching the fear light up in his eyes as I pulled my gun from its holster. 

M.M

My initials read on it. The cold metal felt good in my hand as I pressed it against his forehead, watching him squirm.

"I don't give second warnings, Malcom," I said, my voice low and dangerous. "So take this one very seriously. Touch Gianna again, look at Gianna again, even fucking think about Gianna again, and I'll personally escort you to hell."

He was shaking now, the fear rolling off him in waves. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry! I'm so fucking sorry! Please, don't—please don't kill me!" His words came out in a rush, and for a second, I wondered if he was even capable of processing what I was saying.

But then, before I could even respond, he passed out. Just like that. The pathetic little fucker fainted.

I took a step back, holstering my gun and shaking my head. Of course, he passed out. He'd been pissing himself in fear since I walked through the door. And speaking of piss...

The sharp smell of urine filled the air, confirming my suspicions. He'd pissed himself. Of course, he had. I rolled my eyes, disgusted but not surprised. I'd seen worse reactions before, but this was just pathetic.

"Get him out of here," I barked at my men, already turning to leave the warehouse. "I don't care what you do with him, just make sure he's gone."

I didn't have the patience to deal with him anymore. The job was done, the warning was given, and Landon wasn't worth another second of my time. Whatever my men decided to do with him, whether they dumped him somewhere or taught him another lesson, I didn't care. He was no longer my problem.

I slid back into the car, the leather cool against my back as Alonso hit the gas and sped off into the night.

~~~

I loved this chapter! Although, if you ask me Matteo is being the definition of protective and possessive. I wonder if there was more to his actions than what he's letting on? 🤔🤔🤔