Page 84 of Brutal Revenge

Even though Matteo drives with the same fast, smooth control, the ride back to the Caruso compound feels longer than the ride into town. With my arms wrapped around his waist and cheek pressed to his back, I try to comprehend everything that’s happened today.

Minutes of deliberation only bring me more confusion.

My thoughts are the equivalent of a necklace left in a jewelry box for too long. Every time I free one thread, another tightens around it.

I could tell Matteo the truth about why I want to marry a man I loathe, but then what?

Would my confession change the rules?

Would it ruin everything?

It could make my goal unattainable because there are rules Matteo must follow—rules that don’t apply to me since the Turkish mafia operates without a central authority.

We’re still out on our own, hence my ability to marry a foreigner without Henry Gottle Sr.’s approval.

The moment I speak the truth out loud, the fragile structure I’vebuilt over the past four years might collapse, leaving me with nothing but the consequences of my actions.

But then there’s Matteo. Dark, dangerous Matteo, who terrifies millions but also buys a cake for me to celebrate the birthday of my best friend after teaching me how to defend myself.

That last part keeps replaying in my head.

Did he teach me self-defense because I accidentally revealed my plan when I let my emotions speak for me? Or was it something else?

My gut is telling me it is the latter, but I’m still cautious.

It seems like more, but wasn’t that Matteo’s point only days ago?

Wanting something you can’t have is a dangerous game.

As the wind rushes past us, I re-secure my grip around Matteo’s waist. He doesn’t react, but his breathing subtly shifts. It’s the same hooked breath he did when I walked out of the changing room wearing clothes that fit me like a second skin.

There are sides of him I don’t think anyone else has seen, sides he doesn’t willingly show.

He probably doesn’t even realize he’s revealing them to me.

Instead of scaring me, the thought blooms warm recklessness in my chest.

As the Caruso compound gates appear, my stomach tightens. The closer we get, the heavier the tension becomes. Humidity and static, which always arrive before a storm, make the air feel thick.

Matteo must feel it too. His shoulders tense up as his eyes connect with mine through the mirror attached to his bike. We’re standing on the edge of something extremely dangerous, but instead of inching back, we keep walking forward.

He parks the bike, and I slide off. My legs shake for reasons unrelated to the speed of the ride. Matteo takes off his helmet, then runs a hand through his hair. The visual of his mussed hair is breath-stealing. It reminds me of how it looked after I ran my fingers through it while he ate me.

I open my mouth—to say what, I don’t know—but I’m saved when asmall hand slips into mine. Camille smiles up at me, tugging insistently, and I finally breathe out the breath I’m holding.

“I think someone wants to color,” I tell Matteo, grateful for the excuse to step away from the tension threatening to swallow me whole. I need to think this through ahead of committing an irreversible error. “Shall we meet up for dinner?”

Clearly as desperate for time to think as I am, Matteo nods.

“I’ll meet you in the dining room at seven.”

When I nod, his eyes linger on me a moment too long before he turns away.

A minute later, Camille guides me down the long hallway toward her room. She’s vibrating with excitement, and I can’t help but smile.

Her room is bright and colorful, filled with drawings taped to the walls and stuffed animals arranged in neat rows. It must be her playroom because there’s no bed in sight.

As I admire the pretty dresses hanging on a freestanding rack, she rushes to her desk to rummage through the drawer. She returns with a small bundle wrapped in tissue paper and presses it into my hands, her eyes shining.