Chapter 6
630 Words
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⚔️ Chapter Five – Touch What’s Mine
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The whiskey burned, but not enough.
Matteo slammed back another glass, the third? Fourth? He didn’t count. He didn’t care. All he could see was the way Ariana had looked at him before he walked out—her eyes rimmed red, her arms trembling from more than pain.
He had come into her room ready to lecture her. Warn her. Control her.
And then he saw the bruise.
The angry purple mark blooming across her shoulder, the scratch clawed down her forearm.
And what had he done?
Not pulled her into his arms.
Not soothed the storm in her chest.
He’d walked away.
Because it was easier than admitting the truth:
He loved her.
He wanted her.
And every second he spent pretending otherwise was tearing him apart.
Matteo stared at the empty glass in his hand. Cracked crystal. Just like him.
He poured another.
The guilt curled in his gut like poison.
Then his phone vibrated.
Lucas had sent him a photo.
Ariana, leaning against a wall, arm bleeding. Eyes glassy.
His vision went red.
The glass in his hand shattered.
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Joan lived in a penthouse across the river. Matteo arrived reeking of whiskey and fury, his coat flaring behind him like a cloak of war. The building staff didn’t question him—they never did.
He took the elevator to the top floor.
Each second ticked like a countdown to violence.
He didn’t knock.
He kicked the door open.
Joan sat on her pristine white couch, swirling wine like a queen. “Matteo?” she blinked, startled. “You look—”
He crossed the room in three steps and backhanded the wineglass from her hand. It shattered on the floor, staining the rug red.
She gasped, rising. “What the hell are you doing?!”
“You laid a hand on her.”
Joan froze.
He stepped closer. “You scratched her. Bruised her.”
“She hit me—”
“She’s a girl,” Matteo growled. “You’re a weapon.”
“She provoked me!”
He grabbed her by the throat.
Not tight.
Not yet.
Just enough to show her he wasn’t bluffing.
“I warned you,” he hissed. “Don’t touch her. Ever.”
Joan choked, struggling. “You’re drunk!”
He was.
And still, it didn’t dull the rage.
“You think I care?” he whispered, tightening his grip. “She’s mine. And you hurt her.”
“You don’t own her!” Joan spat, eyes wide. “She’s your stepdaughter—”
Wrong thing to say.
He slammed her back into the wall.
“She’s not a child,” he snarled. “She’s the only reason I haven’t destroyed this city.”
Joan trembled, mascara streaking.
“Matteo, please…”
He loosened his grip. Just enough to let her breathe.
“You’ll apologize,” he said coldly. “Tomorrow. Publicly. You’ll make it sound like it came from your soul.”
“And if I don’t?”
He leaned in, voice pure venom.
“Then I’ll show you what real pain feels like.”
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He left her there, gasping, broken.
Still, it wasn’t enough.
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The moon was high when he returned to the villa. He didn’t go to his room. Instead, he stood outside Ariana’s door like a coward. Like a man who’d committed a sin and couldn’t ask for forgiveness.
He imagined her on the other side of the wall.
Curled up.
Still hurt.
Still believing he’d chosen Joan.
He leaned his forehead against the wood.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
But she didn’t hear.
And he didn’t knock.
Because even now, after nearly killing for her—
He still didn’t think he deserved her.
- Writer
