The Hitman's Mark

30. A Good Man

Val blinked, heat flaring in her cheeks and deep in her stomach at his proclamation. She swallowed, her lips parting. "So will you kiss me?" she asked, breathless.

Ravenous intensity shone in Matteo's eyes, overshadowing hints of resignation, before he answered by pressing his lips against hers. His mouth consumed her, even though restraint underlined his every movement– so different from the wild look in his gaze. He maintained control, directing the unhurried slide of mouth against mouth. Val moaned, too enraptured by the feeling of him to be embarrassed.

Matteo cupped the back of her head, holding firm as their lips danced, slow and achingly thorough. His stubble brushed her chin and cheeks, and he tasted like mint and something else– something heady. Then he swept his tongue along her lower lip, and Val's answering gasp offered unrestrained access.

She struggled to keep up, but fire stirred in Val's belly and made her long for more. She shifted closer, practically draping her legs over his lap in a desperate ploy to minimize any distance between their bodies. Her hands fell on his chest, sliding up and down the soft material of his button-up, savoring the strength packed beneath every muscle that she touched. Her fingers curled into the fabric, crumpling it within her fists.

"Please," she begged between heavy breaths. She didn't even know what it was that she begged for. She only knew that Matteo could give it to her. "Please."

He kissed her through it all, his lips and tongue and teeth molding Val like clay in his expert hands. She was happily helpless against him. And yet, when Val shifted again, her thigh brushed against the seam of his pants, and Matteo's control wavered.

She felt him, hard and long against the outside of her thigh. She thought she might've even felt him twitch at the sudden contact, and the hitman immediately ripped his mouth away from her. With harsh breaths and a startling hunger in his eyes, he rasped, "That's enough."

Matteo squeezed his eyes shut like pain shot through his body, and he carefully removed Val's hands from his chest. She didn't protest, even though every fiber in her longed to kiss him again as his fingers lightly stroked her wrists. He placed her hands back in her lap before scooting ever so slightly away.

Val frowned, hyper-aware of the sudden wetness between her thighs. She didn't understand why he suddenly pulled away. "Did... Did I do something wrong?"

He shook his head and released a short laugh, the sound brash. "No. Dio, no. You were perfect. Too fucking perfect, principessa." His voice softened at the end, and the familiar nickname washed over Val and sent goosebumps down her spine.

Pride flared in her chest at his praise. She knew he'd been with countless women. Men like Matteo always had. Even though he hadn't kissed them all, Val felt reassured by his honest words, and she enjoyed knowing that she'd brought him some semblance of pleasure. His arousal that had brushed her thigh was evidence of that.

A small smile tugged on Val's lips, and her eyes flickered to his pants before she looked up at him again. "Why did you pull back, then?"

Hesitation crossed his features, then he shook his head. "You asked for a kiss, Val. Only a kiss."

Her face must've conveyed her disappointment, since Matteo quickly smiled and scooped up one of her hands in both of his. "And you're injured, princess. It's been a long night, and nothing good could've come from going any further."

Val had her doubts, but she didn't argue. "You're right," she sighed.

Matteo's thumb traced one of her knuckles, and Val barely resisted the urge to lay her head on his shoulder again. If she did that, she'd only want to kiss him even more, and she wouldn't push her luck.

"Val?" he murmured, his thumb never stopping its gentle strokes. "We can't do that again. I won't do it again."

"I know." The words were thick on her tongue, and she chose to focus on their folded hands in her lap to keep the familiar sting from her eyes. She still didn't know the true reasons behind his resistance, but that was a problem for another day. "Matteo?"

"Yeah, baby?"

"Thank you," she whispered, lifting one of Matteo's hands and pressing his palm to her cheek. She wanted to feel his calloused fingers on her skin, one last time.

Before he could respond, the sound of car doors slammed from outside, announcing the arrival of Lara and the guards transporting Franscesco. Even if Val asked Matteo to stay, she knew he wouldn't. Not when he had the Russo heir to deal with.

***

MATTEO

Matteo surveyed his spread of blades, laid out neatly on a little metal cart in the Romano's Black Room, a hidden sound-proof vault in the depths of the mansion's basement. A final destination for most of the men unfortunate enough to find themselves there.

He grinned down at his favorite knives and selected a moderately dull douk-douk. He didn't often have the chance to work on a prominent Made Man from another famiglia and wanted their time together to last. The slim pocket-knife would serve his purposes perfectly.

"My... father w-will kill... kill you a-all," Franscesco Russo groaned from where he sat on a chair in the center of the room.

Leonardo huffed a harsh laugh, meandering back and forth at a leisurely pace in front of their prisoner. "I don't think he will."

"Not when he hears what you tried to do to Leonardo's daughter," Adriano sneered, cracking his swollen knuckles. The sottocapo had enjoyed a few rounds of beating on Francesco before Matteo arrived. Now, blue and purple bruises littered his dominant hand.

Thick, sticky blood spilled from gashes on Francesco's cheeks and temples, his eyes nearly swollen shut. He looked like hell, and Matteo hadn't even started on him yet.

Typically, Matteo didn't like to torture without reason. If Leonardo needed information out of a prisoner, he eagerly took a blade to every inch of the man. Slicing or plying a man's toenails, first. Then, if the prisoner managed to resist squealing, he'd move on to the fingers. There were countless extremities to target without causing death...

For this particular prisoner, Matteo would start with the cock.

He'd been planning this punishment since he heard Val's recollection of the events at the gala. Since he'd heard the vile things Francesco had dared to threaten Matteo's principessa with... Yes, he would make this man suffer.

Kissing Val offered a brief moment of reprieve and vanquished all thought of violence and death from his mind. In those moments, there had only been Val. Her impossibly soft lips and her hands gliding up and down his chest. The little gasps and moans that escaped her mouth when he'd tasted her with his tongue. It made him wonder what sort of noises she might make if he'd pushed her back against the mattress and laid her bare– took from her what she'd willingly offered that night in the garden.

No. He couldn't allow himself to even imagine that. At least, not while Val's father stood in the same room as him. Not when he desperately needed to remain focused.

Matteo turned back toward Francesco and flicked his thumb against the douk-douk's dull blade. The knife was barely sharp enough to cut the pad of Matteo's finger, but increased pressure would make it an effective tool for his purposes...

The corners of Matteo's lips pulled into a smirk, and Francesco had the common sense to look scared. "Shall we begin?"