MATTEO
Matteo thought he might be dreaming when he saw Valentina standing across his mother's kitchen, clad in a simple sundress and stirring his mother's homemade pomodoro sauce. Then, when she crossed the tiled floors and threw herself in his arms, he was certain that he'd awakened in a dream.
And yet, the sensation of Val's body did not fade, and he didn't slip back into a pain-killer induced state of unconsciousness. He felt her, soft and supple, pressed against his front, with her thin arms wrapped around his neck like she might fall to her death without him. The scent of her filled his nostrils for the first time in three days – hints of vanilla and warmth tantalizing his senses.
She was here. She was hugging him.
Subtle pain twinged in his shoulder and chest, but he ignored his body's complaints and, at last, slipped an arm around Val's waist, drawing her nearer. He could count on one hand the number of times he'd gotten to hold Val so close against him, but they fit together like they'd been molded from the same body. He wanted to close his eyes and bury his nose in the crook of her neck and inhale until she filled every part of him, but felt several eyes watching their actions carefully.
Over Val's shoulder, Matteo noticed his mother's wide eyes. A small smile tugged on Allison's lips, but Luca stared with brows furrowed. Confusion and something else – concern – clouded his gaze. The concern of a man who watched his don's precious daughter and heir throw herself in the arms of a man that had no right to hold her.
If anyone else in the Cosa Nostra saw their embrace, Matteo would likely lose the hand that snaked around her waist. Or, something that he valued much, much more.
He abruptly released Val from his hold, stepping back to force her to drop her arms from his neck. Every fiber in Matteo's body protested at the sudden absence of her, and a small sound escaped her lips when he first pulled away. He warned himself that distance was good and necessary.
"Care to explain why you're all in my kitchen?" Matteo finally croaked, his voice a bit hoarse from lack of use. He looked from Val to Luca and Allison, a brow raised.
"Agh, Matteo!" his mother chastised, waving her spatula like a weapon. "You're speaking to the Romano's daughter, mio Dio! Show a bit of gratitude to the poor girl. She came all this way to check on you."
Poor girl? Matteo leveled an incredulous gaze to Val once more, who wore a soft blush on her cheeks. He didn't think anyone in their right mind would regard the Romano principessa as a poor anything, but his mother had always held a soft spot in her heart for girls. Matteo often thought she would've enjoyed a daughter more than a son.
"Ah, come to beg me to return to your service already?" he challenged, hoping to reconstruct the boundaries between bodyguard and mafia princess with their familiar banter. "Have you tired of Luca, already?"
Something in Val's eyes flashed, and the smile that graced her lips morphed into a smirk. "I don't beg," she cooed, crossing her arms against her chest.
That's not what I remember. Matteo bit the words back, even as his traitorous mind conjured memories of their night beneath the oak tree. She'd never explicitly said the word 'please,' but he'd seen the desperation in her eyes. Her soft little mewls that begged him to touch her and offer sweet release...
Blood started to rush to Matteo's cock, and he forced his attention back to his mother. The arousal faded as quickly as it came, thank fuck.
"That still doesn't explain why you've put the Romano heir to work in our kitchen," Matteo addressed his mother, a small reprimand lacing his words.
Women like Valentina, the daughters and wives of the most powerful men in the Cosa Nostra, did not partake in housework. They had servants for that. If Leonardo saw his heir busying herself over a pot of tomato sauce, he'd undoubtedly consider it an insult.
His mother frowned, and hesitation inked into her dark eyes. Although she'd been married to Leonardo's cousin many years ago, after his death, her connection to the Romanos nearly severed. Matteo knew that she likely hadn't been to a proper Romano dinner party in over thirty years. Didn't realize that the don's family lived a drastically different life in their polished mansion.
"Oh, I offered to help," Val interrupted, stepping closer to his mother. The two women's eyes met, and they shared a wide smile. "We all did. Your mother taught us how to make fettuccine al pomodoro. Look!"
Indeed, Matteo had smelt the tantalizing tangs of tomato and basil all the way from his bedroom upstairs. His mother loved to cook, but he hadn't realized that she had help until he heard voices in the kitchen as he descended the steps. Still, he'd been surprised to find Val at the helm, stirring his mother's signature sauce.
"Well, she taught Val and me how to make it," Allison added with a playful smirk, cocking a generous hip to the side. "Luca's been causing problems."
Matteo glanced toward the young bodyguard, who seemed to have relaxed from his initial suspicions. Luca shrugged sheepishly. "No men allowed in the kitchen, apparently."
"That's right!" his mother piped and pointed toward the kitchen table, already prepared with napkins, silverware, and glasses of wine at every spot. "You boys, take a seat at the table. We're eating soon."
He knew better than to argue with her.
***
Despite his initial doubts, dinner went well.
His mother hadn't entertained guests in months, maybe even a year, and Matteo knew she loved having company over. He tried to visit his mother in their family's old home at least twice a month, but Leonardo kept him busy. Sometimes, weeks separated their dinners, and his mother undoubtedly grew lonely.
She always kept his sheets washed and his bed made, prepared to host him whenever Leonardo gave him a break. Most nights, Matteo spent at the Romano estate or in a small apartment in the city, but, when he'd been shot, his mother demanded that she return to his childhood home to let her care for him. He knew she enjoyed every dinner they spent together, but, watching his mother host Val, Allison, and Luca, Matteo wished that he could give her something more. A family to host every weekend. Grandchildren to cook traditional Italian meals with...
"Really?" Val giggled, sipping on the remnants of her second glass of wine. She sat directly across the table from Matteo, giving him the perfect view of her flushed skin and vivacious smile. "He was scared of clowns?"
Matteo frowned as his mother revealed yet another secret from his childhood. Throughout all three courses of their meal, their dinner party laughed at the various tales that Adele dredged up from his youth. He might've been more frustrated by her betrayal, but, for the first time in years, happiness bounced off the walls of the Costa home again, and he couldn't bring himself to disrupt it.
"Terrified!" his mother chuckled, pressing a hand to her reddening chest as she took a long swig of wine. "When he was five, I took him to a local fair. He wanted to go through the fun house attraction alone, so I let him."
Matteo froze, sudden heat surging up his neck. He knew where this story ended. "Ma–"
She paid no heed to his protest and continued, losing herself to laughter along the way. "A clown chased him back out a few minutes later, and we had to go home for clean pants!"
Allison and Luca burst into fits of laughter, but, across the table, Val gasped, clamping her palm over her mouth to refrain from joining in.
"Poor thing!" she cried, even as she struggled to contain her own amusement.
Matteo shook his head, massaging the bridge of his nose. "Alright, alright. Dinner's over," he groaned, scooting his chair away from the table. He leaned down to retrieve his own plate, then reached across the table to take Val and Allison's empty dishes as well.
"Oh, don't be angry with me, Matteo," his mother chastised, a wide grin still pulling on her lips.
"I'm not angry," he answered, rounding the table to collect Luca and his mother's plate as well. He really couldn't fault his mother for sharing these stories. She didn't have anyone else to tell them to. Still, he'd cut out Luca's tongue if the boy dared repeat a word of this to another member of the famiglia.
He carried the stacked dishes to the sink, ignoring the twinge of pain at his shoulder when he bent to carefully place the glassware in the basin. He leaned his hip against the kitchen counter and stiffened when Val spoke up again.
"Mrs. Costa, do you have any pictures of Matteo from when he was a boy?" Val implored. She rested her elbow on the table, her chin cradled in the palm of her hand while her eyes flickered between Matteo and his mother. There was something devilishly playful in her angelic gaze.
"I have an album or two from before he got to the age when he refused to let me take pictures of him." Matteo couldn't ignore the pointed jab in her words. When he turned eight, he began to give his mother a hard time. "I could probably grab them in the attic–"
"Another time, Ma," Matteo interjected, acutely aware of the strange heat creeping up his neck. "Valentina needs to get back home."
"No, I don't–" Val started to argue, as combative as always, but she must've seen the resolve in his eyes, because she finally sat back and sighed. "Actually, he's right. My father doesn't want me out late after the attack from the Russians."
Matteo still felt anger coil tight in his chest when he thought about the Bratva's failed assassination attempt. Even shopping in the little city of Scarsdale, Val wasn't safe, and Matteo hated that he couldn't protect her. He felt it in the deepest parts of himself, an innate, possessive urge to stay by her side, despite Leonardo's orders that he take at least a few more days to recover.
The don didn't want Matteo to risk ruining his shooting arm, his greatest asset, any further, even to guard his precious daughter. Matteo pretended not to resent his boss for the decision. Pretended like it didn't go against every fiber in his body to let Luca drive Val home that evening without him.
"Another time, then," his mother agreed, finishing the rest of her glass of wine. "I'll pull out the albums, so they'll be ready when you next visit."
Next visit. Matteo couldn't decide if the knot in his stomach was due to excitement or dread at the prospect.
"That sounds lovely," Val said with a grin, clearly unfazed by his mother's scheming to rope her into more visits. The dark-haired principessa stood from the table and turned her attention back to him. "Before we go, I actually promised Lara that I'd help redress your bandages, Matteo. Since she couldn't come today."
Right. He'd gotten a text from the famiglia's physician that morning apologizing. Apparently, Lara felt unwell and didn't think she should risk infecting him.
Matteo shot her an appraising glance. "Are you sure you're qualified for that?"
Val's answering eye roll brought the ghost of a smile to his mouth. "Yes," she hissed. "She taught me a few nights ago, while you were passed out."
Of course, he hadn't forgotten that, according to Lara, the principessa refused to leave his side during that first night. Apparently, she'd remained, holding his hand and tending to his shoulder long after the rest of the house went to bed. Matteo's chest tightened, but he shook off the feeling and nodded toward the hallway. "Let's go then. I've got the bandages and supplies upstairs."
Matteo headed toward the hallway and staircase, leaving Val to catch up with him after she'd graciously thanked his mother for the delicious meal for the fourth time that evening. He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised by her impeccable manners. She trailed only a step behind him by the time they reached the top of the stairs, separating themselves from the dinner party downstairs.
It felt strange, guiding Val through the halls of his childhood toward the room that he'd lived in as a boy. She pushed to walk by his side, their shoulders nearly brushing in the narrow hallway. "I still can't believe you live here," she murmured, hazel eyes exploring the pictures that hung on the walls. "I pictured you as more of a 'bachelor pad penthouse' sort of man."
"You must think your father pays me more than he does," Matteo joked. "I spend most nights at the mansion on guard duty, although I do have an apartment closer to the city."
As a hitman, he had enough money. He afforded a sizable apartment in New York City, after all. But he also didn't have time to manage lucrative nightclubs or underground casinos like the other capos, and he certainly didn't inherit any business from his absent father. At the end of the day, he was a glorified soldier.
"So you do have a bachelor pad?" Val prompted, wiggling her eyebrows as they turned into his bedroom.
"More like a hideout." He only stayed in the city if he needed to stake out and watch for a target's movements.
Val stopped just inside of his doorway, her eyes widening and her lips ajar as she spun to take in his bedroom. He hadn't changed much since boyhood, knowing that it would break his mother's heart if he threw out the framed pictures of airplanes and the handmade quilt of old t-shirts that she'd sewn him years ago. He didn't think he'd ever have a woman in his room, let alone Valentina Romano.
Somehow, he didn't feel embarrassed, though. Not with her.
"The bandages and shit are over here," Matteo murmured, hoping to pry Val's attention away from the little red train figuring that decorated a shelf by the door. He kept his back to her as he went to retrieve the plastic bin of bandages, antiseptic, and other first-aid materials that Lara left with him.
Val giggled, a soft, lilting sound, as her fingers traced the quilt of childhood t-shirts on his mattress. Matteo's eyes snagged on the pale pink sundress that ruffled just above her knees, not so different from the little white dress she'd worn that night in the garden.
"Ready?" he said, the word rougher than he'd intended. He kept his muscles stiff, in control, as he neared and placed the first-aid bin on the bed.
She nodded, finally turning back to him. Her chin tilted up toward his shoulder, their height difference more noticeable now than ever. "Take a seat on the bed?"
Matteo heeded her request, lowering to the edge of the mattress. With him seated, their eyes were finally level, and, despite the simple lamplight that illuminated the room, he could make out the hues of green and gold staring back at him. Fuckin' beautiful, he thought. Especially when compared to his muddy brown.
Val released a shaky breath and wrenched her eyes away, busying herself with the bandages and medical supplies beside him. "Uh, I need to see your shoulder," she murmured, refusing to look up.
"Right." Matteo gripped the hem of his t-shirt with his uninjured arm and pulled the cotton over his head, gingerly moving the sleeve off of his bandaged shoulder. A small dot of crimson bled through the layers of bandaging that covered his shoulder and back, a significant improvement from the previous night's dressing change.
He noticed how Val kept her eyes solely on the injury, remarkably composed considering Matteo's heart pounded rapidly in his chest. And yet, her voice was a bit breathless as she peeled back the outer layers of bandaging and asked, "Did your mother make that quilt?"
Matteo nodded once. The adhesives stuck to his skin, yanking and pulling on the sensitive flesh. "Yeah. She used to buy me t-shirts every time she took me somewhere new. When I outgrew them, she cut them up and put 'em in a blanket."
"I like your mother," Val admitted, a soft smile gracing her lips. She still didn't look at him, solely focused on his shoulder.
"She likes you, too" he countered and discretely curled his hand into a fist inside his bundled up t-shirt. Anything to keep himself from reaching out to stroke a stray strand of chestnut that slipped in front of Val's brow.
A gentle laugh slipped from her lips. "I bet she likes everyone... I kinda thought she'd hate me when she found out that you'd been shot protecting me."
"I've been shot a lot, principessa." Matteo ignored the subtle sting of antiseptic poured over top of his stitches. The sanitizing liquid bubbled when it contacted the old blood. "She knows it's part of the job."
Val's smile fell, and her throat bobbed as she nodded. She'd only just rejoined the world of the Cosa Nostra. It made sense that she still hadn't grown fully accustomed to the dangerous reality of the life of a Made Man. She was still innocent.
Silence swelled between them, and an abnormal sense of guilt tugged at his stomach. Perhaps he shouldn't have reminded Val of the harsh punishments he'd received by bullet and blade. Perhaps she still possessed too gentle of a heart. Matteo began to think that she'd finish redressing his wound in absolute quiet before slipping out of his bedroom, when she spoke again.
"I bet your mom tells that clown story to everyone that comes over," she jested, clearly hoping to change the subject. Another moment of quiet passed between them before she continued, a heavy veil of nonchalance cloaking her words. "I bet she tries to embarrass you in front of all of your girlfriends..."
Matteo shifted, brows furrowing at Val's poorly concealed inquiry. He shouldn't have answered and instead maintained a degree of professionalism, separating work from his personal life. But, damn him, he replied with a subtle shake of his head. "No... No, I don't bring women back here."
Val blinked, meeting his gaze for the first time since she began working on his shoulder. Surprise flickered behind her eyes. "Oh... why?"
He frowned, uninterested in this line of questioning. He didn't want to explain to Val that he preferred to fuck a woman and never see her again. Didn't want to disrespect his mother by bringing home the type of woman that he typically sought for a night of pleasure.
But Val didn't know when to stop. "I mean, it's not like you have a hard time finding women," she laughed, the sound a bit tighter than usual. "I've seen the way women look at you. You're not so terrible on the eyes. And I'm sure your mother–"
"Enough, Val." Matteo's frown deepened, and he pulled back from her hands, preventing her from putting the finishing touches on his fresh bandages. He gave her a hard look, and he swore she withered beneath it. "I'm a soldier. A soldier without a drop of prominent blood in my body. I'm not exactly matched up with the most respectable women in the famiglia. I can't take my pick of the most well-bred virgins in the Cosa Nostra to bring home to my mother."
She took a step back, the corners of her lips tugging downward as the weight of his words crashed over her. Although Matteo stood at Leonardo Romano's back and handled his every difficulty, he held no true power in their world. His bloodline ensured him of that. He was born with nothing to his name, and he would die with nothing to his name.
So, he'd keep fucking women in the back rooms of nightclubs, only to forget their names the next morning. Because, no matter how high he seemingly climbed in the famiglia, he was nothing. Nothing compared to the daughter and heir of the Romano dynasty.
And that thought, he realized, pained him more than any bullet or blade ever could.
"Right," Val whispered, looking stunned. Hurt pooled in her eyes, and she took another step back. Her lip trembled as she nodded toward his shoulder. "Well, you're all finished. Goodnight Matteo."
She turned and fled his room without looking back. It took everything in him not to chase after her.