By the time I dragged myself out of the bathroom, my legs still felt like jelly.

I got dressed in silence, brushing my damp hair back, refusing to look at my reflection because all I’d see was him.

The dining room was already set when I walked in — candles flickering, food steaming.

Matteo sat at the head of the table, changed into a dark button-down, sleeves rolled up.

He looked infuriatingly calm, like he hadn’t just had me pressed against a shower wall.

“You’re late,” he said smoothly, not looking up from his glass of wine.

I clenched my fists. “You didn’t say there was a time limit.”

His eyes flicked to me, amused. “Sit, bella.”

I sat — partly because I wanted to, partly because my knees still weren’t steady.

For a while, the only sounds were clinking silverware and the faint hum of music somewhere in the house.

I poked at my food, not hungry.

“Eat,” Matteo said without looking at me.

“Stop bossing me around,” I snapped.

That made him look up, his mouth curving into that dangerous half-smirk.

“You’re cute when you’re mad.”

“Don’t,” I warned, heat rushing to my cheeks.

“Don’t what?” he asked lazily. “Remind you of what you let me do to you not even an hour ago?”

My fork clattered against the plate.

“You—” I lowered my voice, glancing toward the door. “You can’t just say things like that!”

He leaned back in his chair, wine glass dangling from his fingers.

“Why not? It’s the truth. You could’ve told me to stop.”

“I was in shock!”

He chuckled softly. “No, bella. You were on fire. I felt it.”

I swallowed hard, hating that my body heated at his words.

He watched me for a moment, then his smirk faded, replaced by something darker.

“You still don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?”

“You’re mine now.” His tone was calm, but there was no mistaking the steel under it. “As long as you’re under my roof, you breathe because I allow it. You walk because I say you can. If I hadn’t killed Vieri, you’d be lying in a pool of your own blood right now.”

My breath caught.

He leaned forward, eyes sharp. “Do you know why I didn’t kill you the night you saw me shoot that man?”

I shook my head slowly, my throat dry.

“Because I couldn’t.” His voice was barely above a whisper now, but it cut through me like a blade. “Something about you—” he paused, his jaw tight “—made me put the gun down. That doesn’t happen. Ever.”

The room felt smaller, hotter.

“You should thank me,” he added.

I slammed my fork down. “Thank you? You dragged me into this nightmare!”

His mouth curved into something almost cruel.

“And yet, you’re still sitting here, bella.”

I stood so fast my chair scraped against the floor.

“Maybe I don’t want to sit here anymore.”

His chair tipped back as he stood too, closing the distance between us in three strides.

“Sit. Down.” His voice was a low command that made me shiver.

“No,” I said, my chin tilting up stubbornly.

He grabbed my wrist — not hard enough to hurt, but enough to remind me exactly who I was dealing with — and pulled me closer until there was barely an inch between us.

“You think you can fight me?” he said softly, almost amused. “Go ahead. Fight. But you won’t win.”

My heart thudded painfully in my chest.

For a long, tense moment, we just stared at each other.

Then he let me go, stepping back as if I were nothing more than an unruly child.

“Finish your food,” he said coldly, turning back toward his seat.

I didn’t sit.

But I didn’t leave, either.

Because deep down, I hated to admit it —

But some part of me didn’t want the fight to end.

The dining room still felt too quiet when I sat back down.

I was very aware of the clink of my fork, the way my heart hadn’t quite calmed down since Matteo told me why he spared me.

He sat across from me, perfectly at ease, swirling the last of his wine.

I hated that he looked so composed.

I hated that I wasn’t.

The silence stretched until I finally snapped.

“Do you ever regret it?” I asked suddenly.

His brow arched. “Regret what?”

“All of this,” I gestured vaguely — the house, the guns, the blood. “Living like this.”

His lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile.

“This life is not something you regret, bella. It’s something you own.”

I rolled my eyes. “You sound like a motivational poster for murderers.”

That earned a low chuckle. “Careful. You keep talking like that, I might just show you how motivating I can be.”

I stabbed at the steak on my plate just to keep from answering.

When we finished eating, I stood and wiped my hands on the napkin, ready to escape.

But Matteo’s voice stopped me.

“Go to bed,” he said simply, already pulling his phone from his pocket.

“I’m not a child—”

He gave me a look.

One sharp look that shut me up instantly.

“Go to bed, Isla.”

I swallowed whatever retort I had and turned for the hallway.

But I didn’t go straight to my room.

Not right away.

The sound of Matteo’s voice carried from the study.

Low, dark, business-like.

I hesitated near the door, the way any sane person would when the king of the underworld is on a call that sounds like it could end with someone dead.

“…I don’t care how it happened,” Matteo was saying, voice like steel. “I want the diamond back where it was supposed to be, and I want it clean before Alexandro sets foot in dubia.”

There was a pause. I heard him exhale slowly, like he was keeping himself from snapping.

“And the shipment?” Another pause. “Good. Burn whoever touched it. I don’t care if they work for me, my cousin, or the Pope.”

I swallowed hard.

The leather chair creaked as he leaned back.

Then his tone shifted, just a little, smoother, darker.

“No,” Matteo said. “I’m not sending just anyone for this. If Alexandro’s coming, we need to make sure he doesn’t suspect a thing. And the only way to get close to him…”

Another pause.

“…is through a woman,” he finished, almost to himself.

I froze, my stomach twisting.

“I think I have someone I can trust for this job,” he said finally, his voice low enough to send a shiver through me.