Bound by Hatred (Born in Blood Mafia Chronicles 3)

And I didn’t even need to pretend. This was my home now, or it was supposed to be. Of course it didn’t feel like it. It had been a long time since any place had felt like home. In the last few months of my living there, even my parents’ house hadn’t felt like one anymore. There was no use thinking about it now. I’d never forgive Father for how he’d treated me, nor Mother because she’d let him. Maybe I was dead to them, but they were dead to me too.

My finger hovered in front of the button that would turn the coffee maker on. This eerie silence was driving me crazy. Scolding myself for my ridiculous caution, I finally pushed it. I grabbed a cup and selected a Cappucino. I wasn’t on the run anymore. The worst had already happened.

With a satisfying fizz, the hot liquid shot out. The moment it was done, I cradled the cup and took a long sip, feeling how the warmth and familiar taste cleared my mind further. I leaned against the counter, letting my eyes wander through the apartment. I actually liked the puristic design, the sleek black leather couches, black hardwood furniture and white walls. I wondered if Luca and Matteo had hired the same interior designer because their furniture was so similar. I could see myself looking for art pieces that would fit in, could see myself shop for pillows that would bring some color in, could see myself decorating a large tree for Christmas. I walked around the counter, perched on the stool and turned my back on the place I could so easily see myself living in.

This wasn’t what I wanted. Or at least something I hadn’t wanted six months ago, something I shouldn’t want, not after risking so much to escape it. I closed my eyes and inhaled the comforting scent of my coffee. I needed to see Aria again, but was I even allowed to go one floor up to her penthouse? The idea that I had to ask Matteo and maybe even Luca for permission whenever I wanted to see my sister drove me up the walls. It was a good reminder of why I’d run in the first place, something I could never allow myself to forget.

A warm breath ghosted over my neck, followed by a low, “Good morning.”

I cried out in surprise and sent my coffee cup flying off the kitchen bar. It broke into dozens of sharp pieces and spilled coffee everywhere. My head whirled around and I found myself face to face with a smirking Matteo.

“Fuck. Why the hell are you creeping up on me like that? You scared the hell out of me,” I hissed.

He shook his head with an amused expression. “All those nasty words pouring out of your sweet mouth, is that really appropriate?”

He was making fun of me. His eyes took their sweet-ass time wandering over my curves, lingering on the hickey before moving a bit lower again. And the worst thing was the way my body was reacting to his closeness, his scent, his muscled chest. Thankfully, my face didn’t feel hot, so maybe I hadn’t blushed.

“Since when do you care about being appropriate?” I muttered. I slipped past Matteo and knelt beside the broken remains of my cup. I hoped Matteo didn’t suspect what his proximity was doing to me. I picked up the pieces but Matteo came to my help. I wasn’t sure if he was doing it to be nice or if he knew about his effect on me and was trying to play with me. From what I knew about him, I guessed the latter. I was trying not to look his way as he squatted beside me. He was giving me a good view of his perfectly shaped ass. Goddammit, why did he have to look like that?

Without warning, he brushed his finger over my swollen lip. “I really should have killed your father.”

His touch was so gentle, it made me want to nuzzle my face against his neck and have a good cry. “Do you have a mop?” I asked casually.

He shrugged, dropping his hand. “I’ve seen Marianna run around with one on occasion.”

I rolled my eyes. Of course he had no clue. He probably had never even done his own laundry. “Do you at least know where Marianna keeps the cleaning stuff?”

His gaze lingered on my cleavage. With a sigh, I rose to my feet and stalked off in search of a storeroom. When I finally returned to the mess in the kitchen, mop in hand, Matteo was talking on the phone. He was leaning against the counter, legs casually crossed.

I tried to listen to the conversation as I wiped the floor. I had a feeling it was about me.

“Come over now. I want this done a.s.a.p.”

With that he hung up, and turned back to me. I leaned the mop against the wall, then asked. “Who was this? A new bodyguard you want to keep an eye on me?”

“Something like that. I’m going to put an ankle bracelet on you.”

“What? Have you lost your mind?”

“On the contrary, but we both know you’ll use the next chance you get to escape again, so until I can trust you to stay with me, you’ll have to wear the bracelet.”

I stared, completely stunned and so angry I was worried my head would explode. “So you admit I’m your prisoner. You’re treating me like one after all.”

Matteo advanced on me. “Without the bracelet I would have to lock you into this apartment, but with it, you can spend time with Aria, walk around New York, and live an almost normal life.”

“I guess you want me to thank you for your kindness?”

The asshole actually chuckled. “No. Knowing you I didn’t expect you to like the idea.”

“Nobody would like that idea! And you don’t know me, Matteo.”

He moved very close and without warning he slipped his hand under my shirt, pushed aside my bra and twisted my nipple. At once, my core tightened with need. “I know that you love it when I do this with your perfect little nipple,” he growled.