The bustard son
1020 Words
Matteo’s POV
Being Vincenzo Benedetti’s illegitimate son felt like the worst curse imaginable.
Yet here I was.
Back in the mansion I once swore I’d burn to the ground.
Not as an heir.
Not as a son.
But as a bodyguard.
Pathetic.
My jaw tightened as Charlie’s face flashed through my mind.
More specifically… her lips.
The memory of last night refused to leave. Soft. Unexpectedly. Reckless.
Fuck.
I cursed under my breath.
It irritated me more than it should have.
Everything about this mission was already complicated enough.
Charlie Benedetti.
My cursed half-sister.
The girl every bodyguard assigned to eventually lost within fifty weeks.
The same curse that followed me.
Which meant one thing.
One of us wouldn’t make it to week fifty.
After dropping her off last night, I didn’t stay.
I met my assistant, prepared the media distraction, and even barged into my i***t step-brother’s room while he was busy ruining the family reputation.
Chaos was necessary… it’s the best I could.
Revenge required patience.
And Vincenzo… my dear father… would pay.
The sting on my cheek suddenly burned again.
Charlie’s slap.
My fingers curled slowly.
The moment she hit me, my blood had boiled. Not because of the pain.
But because she had no idea who she was dealing with.
A quiet voice sounded in my ear through my Bluetooth.
“The dealers have arrived. They crossed the border.”
Good.
I released Isabella’s arm without another word and walked away from the mansion.
Behind me, shouting erupted.
Family drama.
Screaming.
I ignored all of it.
Minutes later, my bike roared to life beneath me.
The night air cut through the city as I sped toward the docks.
Gunfire welcomed me the moment I arrived.
Perfect.
I fired back without hesitation.
Within minutes, one of their men was dragged into the warehouse.
The torture chair creaked beneath him.
I removed my blood-stained gloves slowly, as my men brought me a piece of wipe. I had sworn not to kill on this mission, but I guess it wasn’t tiring out as I had thought.
Killing felt therapeutic for me, especially for something I have been doing for years.
I signaled for a cigarette and a lighter, not like I smoke often. The smell of tobacco felt oddly relieving.
I lit up the cigarette and watched my little enemy’s men stutter, as they should.
“Bine ai venit pe teritoriul meu, băiete. (Welcome to my territory, boy.)” I let my Romanian accent flow, fluent in the quiet, dimly lit basement.
My late mother had made sure I learned this, even more than Italian.
I leaned forward, watching the cold sweat roll down my enemy’s face, slowly and precisely.
“Where are they heading?” I asked calmly.
“I… I ehhh… Lord Rinaldi… it…”
Bang!!
Before he could finish, I shot his legs. How I hate being called by my captives. This is audacious.
The captive laughed weakly.
His eyes drifted to my cheek.
“The five fingers on your face… red and swollen,” he sneered.
“Looks like someone slapped you good.”
I was stupid enough to touch my cheek, and it still felt swollen.
Low laughter escaped from my men in the shadows.
They really have a death wish.
Fuck… my f*****g nut job. How I hate it.
“Place him in basement 346 at the end of the villa. No one touches him until I get back.”
“Yes, Rinaldi.”
I left the warehouse without hesitation. I had more than just this i***t to deal with.
If the drug was really taken, it only meant the other factor would come to attack while I was stuck babysitting a spoiled princess.
Frustrating.
“Matteo… argh… apologies, Rinaldi.”
The moment my covered name was mentioned, a chill ran down my spine. Years… f**k.
I had made it clear: no one dares mention that in my territory.
Without another word, I left for my penthouse. Whatever my assistant had to say could be through mail.
Dare him to speak again, and it would be his last breath.
The moment I got home… f**k, the refreshing scent of peace. I had missed it.
I went up to my room and immediately broke into the shower.
The day had been long. I was supposed to be at the Vincenzo mansion, but family drama was inevitable there.
Grabbing some shave cream, I stood in front of the mirror.
And for some reason, the resemblance kept kicking in.
It only made me hate my face more…Mama
I saw nothing but memories.
The ones I had locked away for years… if I didn’t end my father’s life with my own hands, I wouldn’t leave this world.
I had made all the men who had raped Mama kiss the earth goodbye, but that… that hadn’t filled the space or erased her broken memories.
She would cry silently at night and smile weirdly during the day. I clenched my fists, remembering Mama in shabby clothing on the street, begging for food.
She would work her ass off, cleaning homes just to be raped by the men and called a slut.
She would eat less while making comfort for me and each time I tried to help she would pull me back.
She never deserved to die.
Bang!!!
The sound of scattered mirror glass resounded in the shower. Again, I destroyed something without realizing.
My chest burned and my mind was chaotic at this moment.
Sliding into the cold water… sure enough, my body cooled, but the tight squeeze in my chest didn’t lessen.
Revenge is messy. I wouldn’t give it up at once.
Charlie… Charlie Vincenzo.
Last night’s kisses… argh. I couldn’t stop thinking about them.
Those soft hands… just wait. I still locked them above your head and bit those f*****g lips.
I must admit… She's a cutie. But definitely not my type.
I shut my eyelids for a second as ascending footsteps rang through.
My ears were sharp.
I reached for the mini cupboard, grabbed the gun…
At that moment the bathroom door was pushed open.
- Writer
