Emilio sat on the edge of his bed, the key Matteo had given him resting in his palm.
It was a simple thing—cold, small, harmless on its own.
And yet, it felt like a shackle.
He could still hear Matteo's voice from earlier, low and steady:
"I'm the reason they haven't touched you yet."
Emilio had spent the last hour trying to convince himself that he wasn't afraid. That Matteo was just playing mind games. That this was all some elaborate trick to keep him on edge.
But deep down, he knew better.
The men watching the bakery weren't some paranoia-fueled hallucination. Matteo wasn't the kind of man to waste words. If he said Emilio was being watched, then he was.
And if Matteo said he was the only thing keeping those men at bay?
Then Emilio had a much bigger problem.
He exhaled sharply, gripping the key tighter before shoving it into the drawer of his nightstand. He needed sleep.
He needed to forget about Matteo DeLuca.
…Except, Matteo wasn't the kind of man you just forgot.
And an hour later, when a loud crash sounded from the alley outside his apartment, Emilio knew—knew—that he had been so, so wrong to think he could just ignore this.
His heart slammed against his ribs as he bolted upright, ears straining for any other sounds.
Then—another crash.
This time, closer.
Emilio's blood went cold.
Someone was outside.
Moving on instinct, he grabbed his phone and slipped out of bed, his bare feet silent against the wooden floor. He made his way toward the front door, fingers tightening around the phone as he hovered near the peephole.
The alley was too dark to see anything clearly, but then—
Another sound.
This one wasn't a crash.
It was a voice.
Low. Smooth. Dangerous.
"Emilio."
Emilio's stomach dropped.
Matteo.
He yanked the door open before he could think better of it. "Are you out of your damn mind?" he hissed, stepping out onto the small landing. "It's two in the morning—"
Matteo looked completely unbothered, standing just outside the alley like he belonged there. He was dressed in all black, the dim glow of the streetlight catching the sharp angles of his face, his deep black eyes unreadable.
"You didn't use the key," Matteo said smoothly.
Emilio blinked. "Are you serious right now?"
Matteo took a slow step closer. "Very."
Emilio let out a harsh breath, rubbing a hand over his face. "You're insane."
Matteo smirked. "Possibly."
Emilio wanted to strangle him. "You can't just show up at my apartment in the middle of the night like some—some deranged stalker—"
"Would you rather it have been them?"
Emilio froze.
Matteo's tone had shifted, the amusement in his voice gone.
Emilio swallowed hard. "What?"
Matteo tilted his head toward the end of the alley. "You weren't alone tonight."
The blood in Emilio's veins turned to ice.
He wanted to accuse Matteo of lying.
But he knew.
He knew.
Because he had felt it.
The weight of unseen eyes. The sense that someone had been just a little too close when he locked up the bakery. The way the shadows outside his apartment had felt wrong when he came home.
His fingers curled into fists. "Who?"
Matteo exhaled through his nose, something dark passing over his expression. "That's not important."
Emilio's jaw ticked. "The hell it isn't."
Matteo stepped even closer, and Emilio hated that he didn't back away.
"They won't touch you," Matteo said, voice low. Certain. "Not while you're under me."
Emilio bristled. "I'm not under anything."
Matteo smiled. It wasn't pleasant.
"You think you have a choice in this?" he asked, his voice so soft it made Emilio's pulse spike.
Emilio refused to be intimidated. "I do."
Matteo's expression shifted—something darker creeping into his gaze.
"Then walk away," he said.
The words were so simple. So easy.
But Emilio couldn't move.
Matteo just watched him, those dark eyes searching his face. And then—so slowly Emilio could have imagined it—Matteo reached out.
His fingers brushed just beneath Emilio's chin, the touch barely there, but Emilio felt it everywhere.
Matteo tilted his head. "You won't," he murmured.
It wasn't a question.
It was a fact.
Emilio's breath shook.
He should have shoved Matteo's hand away. Should have turned around and slammed the door in his face. Should have done something other than just stand there, letting Matteo's touch linger like a brand against his skin.
But he didn't.
Because deep down, some part of him already knew the truth.
Matteo had caught him in his web.
And there was no way out.....