In the heart of a modern city, two rival families hold the power. Valentina, a fiercely loyal daughter, and Matteo, a cunning and determined son, find themselves on opposite sides of a dangerous feud. But when their paths unexpectedly intertwine, th...
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As soon as we sit down at the table, frustration churns inside me. My fists clench, and I can feel the tension pulsing through me. I can't believe I had to step in and make a scene because of her.
I glare at Valentina, my voice low and sharp. "What were you thinking, Valentina? Causing another scene like that?"
She looks at me, her eyes widening in surprise. "What are you talking about?" she asks, her tone more confused than defensive.
"You know exactly what I'm talking about," I snap, my irritation clear. "You couldn't just stay away from him? You had to start something with Daniel?"
For a moment, I see something flicker in her eyes—hurt, maybe—but she quickly masks it, keeping her expression neutral. "Matteo, I didn't start anything," she says, her voice calm but firm. "You saw what happened. He grabbed me. I was just trying to walk away."
Her words hit me, and I know she's right. I remember him grabbing her wrist, and the anger that surged through me when I saw it. But I'm still frustrated—this whole situation is a mess.
"And you couldn't handle it without making a scene?" I mutter, though I know it's not fair.
She lets out a quiet breath, keeping her gaze steady on me. "I wasn't trying to make a scene," she says, her voice level. "But you're the one who stepped in and started fighting him, Matteo."
I feel a twinge of guilt, but I push it down. "Yeah, because he shouldn't have touched you," I say, a bit more defensive than I intended. "But if you'd just kept your distance, maybe none of this would've happened."
Valentina nods slightly, her face neutral, but I can tell by the way she avoids my eyes that my words hit her. "I got it," she says quietly, almost to herself.
The calmness in her voice makes me pause. She's not fighting back, not throwing my words back at me. She's just... accepting it. And somehow, that makes me feel worse.
I push back my chair and stand up, needing to get away from the tension between us. "Just... don't let this happen again, alright? We can't afford more problems."
I walk away without looking back, leaving her sitting there. Even though she doesn't say anything, the silence that follows me feels heavier than any words she could've spoken.
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As I watch Matteo walk away from me, I feel a hollow ache settle in my chest. He didn't even look back. I don't understand how he could blame me for what happened—Daniel grabbed me first. I didn't want any of this.
His words replay in my head, sharp and accusing. I wanted to fight back, to defend myself, to tell him he was wrong. But when I tried, the words just wouldn't come out the way I wanted them to. Instead, I felt... defeated. Like I couldn't muster the strength to stand up to him, not after everything that just happened.
And now, all I can think about is how much I hate myself for sounding so weak. How I let him walk away, making it seem like I was the problem when I know I wasn't.
I clench my fists under the table, frustrated with myself for not saying more, for not standing my ground. But it's too late now. He's gone, and I'm left here feeling small, hurt, and angry—mostly at myself.
I stay seated at the table, feeling out of place amidst the laughter and conversation around me. The sting of Matteo's harsh words lingers, making it hard to enjoy anything. I watch as people mingle and have fun, but I feel like a spectator in my own misery.
After a while, Matteo reappears. His face is still tight with frustration, and there's no sign of the warmth I might have hoped for. "It's getting late," he says brusquely. "I'm taking you home."
I stand up slowly, feeling a mix of relief and resignation. "Okay," I reply, my voice quiet.
We head outside to his car, and the drive is marked by a thick, uncomfortable silence. The quiet of the night seems to amplify the distance between us. I stare out the window, watching the streetlights flicker past, while Matteo keeps his eyes fixed on the road, his jaw clenched.
The car came to a stop, revealing a beautiful house before my eyes—I assumed it was Matteo's, though I had expected him to simply take me back home.
"Come on," he urged me out of the car, and I followed him through the wrought iron gates, which opened with a faint, eerie creak.
The driveway wound through meticulously manicured gardens, every flower and shrub trimmed to perfection. It was undeniably beautiful, yet there was a coldness to it, as if no one truly lived here—it felt more like a museum than a home.
He unlocked the front door, and as I stepped into the foyer, my footsteps echoed on the marble floor. The air carried faint hints of old wood and something floral, expensive and unfamiliar. A grand staircase with dark oak steps and a plush crimson carpet greeted me.
The walls were adorned with classical paintings, and heavy doors lined the hallway, each one closed, hiding who knew what kind of secrets.
I caught a glimpse into a room—perhaps a study—where dark wood panels and shelves filled with books hinted at knowledge and power. On a massive desk, a map of the city was spread out, papers scattered with notes that looked both important and dangerous.
"That's my father's office," Matteo remarked, noticing my gaze linger.
I nodded silently and followed him upstairs, where he led me to what I assumed was his room.
Matteo's bedroom felt like stepping into another world, where luxury and danger coexisted seamlessly.
The walls were painted a deep, rich charcoal grey, starkly contrasting with the soft glow of dimmed lamps that cast a warm, amber hue across the room. Heavy curtains, the color of midnight, framed tall windows overlooking the city skyline.
A sleek mahogany desk stood against one wall, its surface cluttered with papers and a laptop—a testament to Matteo's dual roles as both businessman and heir to a mafia dynasty.
A desk lamp cast a pool of light that illuminated the scattered documents, their contents a mystery hidden behind Matteo's guarded expressions.
As I stood in Matteo's bedroom, I couldn't help but feel a mix of apprehension and fascination.
"You can sleep in my bed; I'll take the guest room," Matteo said abruptly, his voice cold and dismissive.
I hesitated, unsure. "Are you sure? I can sleep in there if you want."
"Nah, it's fine," he said with a shrug, clearly uninterested in discussing it further.
I moved to his bed, pulling back the covers and lying down. The softness of the sheets did nothing to comfort me; sleep was elusive.
AUTHORS NOTE Matteo was kind of a dick ngl but hey he only gets better!! Let me know how you guys are liking the story!! Please follow my TikTok @heartss4bookss for more updates and content!!
