“See, she wants to meet me,” Mateo says lightly.
Dread runs through me and I realize for the first time, no, I really don’t want to meet him.
His amusement at the scariest moment of my whole entire life has finally convinced me. Vince and Francesca were right, and I am a fucking idiot.
He ducks his head to glance in at me, but I can’t look. Can’t move. Before I see more than a vague blur of him, he’s straightening again.
“Move aside, Cherie.”
His amusement is fading, impatience moving in.
“Please,” she says softly, not moving. “Vince will never forgive me.”
“He’ll be here in a few minutes,” Mateo says reasonably. “I won’t do anything that can’t be undone until he gets here and has a chance to explain himself.”
My stomach sinks, hearing him word it like that, and that does it—that breaks my phantom paralysis. I turn, pushing one leg out of the car, then the other. Cherie doesn’t move, so I can’t stand, but I finally get my first glimpse of Mateo Morelli in real life.
I’ve seen pictures, but they don’t do him justice. I guess his age to be somewhere around 30, but I’m not sure. He feels much older than me. Towering over me in my driveway, the dark-haired, dark-eyed Morelli can easily be identified as a relative of Vince’s, and yet, they feel nothing alike. A mantle of power hangs from the broad shoulders of this man, worn with the comfortable familiarity only attained by never having known anything else. This isn’t a man who had to climb to power—it’s his birthright, and if you want even a shred of it for yourself, you’d better be prepared to fight.
My blue eyes tentatively meet his gaze. I wish I felt confident, as I had all the times I insisted to other people he would probably be more understanding than they thought. “What do you mean, explain himself?” I question. “Vince didn’t do anything wrong.”
Instead of answering me, he smiles a slow, predatory smile. “She speaks.”
In a flash, he’s reaching into the car and grabbing me by the arm. A fearful cry slips out of me as he yanks me from the car, and Cherie gasps, skittering out of the way. Once I’ve cleared the door, he slams me against the closed door of the backseat.
“Hello, Mia,” he says calmly.
My breath hitches, staring into a pair of brown eyes so unlike Vince’s. Where Vince’s have that attractive spark of warmth, the emptiness in this man’s eyes chills me to the bone.
That’s the scene when Vince’s car flies around the corner, coming to a sudden, squealing stop in the middle of the road. He launches out of the car and heads toward us.
“Get away from her,” he calls out.
Mateo moves his body closer to mine. I try to lean away, but with my back against the car, there’s nowhere to go. Vince’s footsteps slow and he looks at me, more fearfully than I’ve ever seen him look.
I realize then, he might not be able to control this situation any better than Cherie.
Mateo’s still grasping my arm, and it’s definitely going to bruise. I look away from Vince, at Mateo, trying to come up with a plan, fast.
We all stand there for a wordless moment; opponents, not friends. Vince moves closer, but stops when he realizes Mateo advances on me more with each step he takes. His warm, hard body presses against mine, so close I’m certain he can feel my heart thundering inside my chest cavity. Vince stops, so consumed with dread that I can’t even imagine what he’s thinking.
And then Mateo’s free hand moves slowly, threateningly down my side to my hip. My blood turns to ice in my veins and I can’t breathe. Confusion and terror band together and render me completely useless, a glorified hood ornament. He doesn’t pay any attention to me while he does it—his eyes are on Vince. My horror grows when he smiles, as if he likes what he sees.
Oh, God. What is this?
Practically vibrating with resentment, Vince takes a step back.
Mateo’s smile doesn’t change, but something sparks in his eyes, something… deceptively pleasant. “That’s better.”
I get the feeling this is all a game to him. A parlor game, a way to pass the time. He comes out the victor in every tournament, so this… this goes on as long as it amuses him.
He obviously likes submission, so I let my arm go slack in his grip. It gets his attention, since up until then, I’ve been straining to pull away.
“Now that the gang’s all here, why don’t we take this somewhere more private?” he suggests, as if I have any say in the matter.
I nod, meeting his gaze. He doesn’t need my permission, but I give it anyway, preferring at least the pretense that I’m in some kind of control here.