Anastasia watched as the doctor packed his tools into the first aid box. "Como Estas, doctor." Raquel said as she walked him out of the bedroom.
Anastasia sighed, trying to find comfort in her sitting position. The bed was doing more harm than the comfort it was meant to give. Her mind went to the previous night. Matteo's hand on her thigh.
The look in his eyes that confused her. Was he worried or just her delusion?
She remembered the way he didn't speak, just stared at her until she managed to ignore the terror in her bones and closed her eyes to pretend to sleep til she heard the door close.
Every time she wondered how she never saw him get into bed at night but always managed to be the first thing she saw in the morning. Like he was intentional about somehow starting her day with her.
Raquel returned, a small smile danced on her lips.
"Do you need anything?" She asked Anastasia who in return didn't reply right way, the request hung on her tongue like bad news.
She nodded her head sideways slowly. Raquel got down to clear the nightstand off the tray of food and bottles of pills. As she headed for the door, Anastasia called her back.
"Yes, Madame?" Raquel turned. Anastasia swallowed before responding.
"Can I... Can you please lend me your phone?" She asked cautiously.
When she noticed the terror in Raquel's eyes, she sat out of the headboard, ignoring the ache in her ribs.
"I promise it will be quick. One text, and he'll never find out," she added, trying to convince Raquel. But Raquel didn't cave in. Instead, she became agitated.
"Madame, please. I could lose my job, or worse," she said as she walked closer to the bed, to Anastasia, her voice trembling.
"My daughter lives with my parents," she whispered. "A state away from here. And my brother... he works for Matteo. So forgive me if I'm unable to play pawn in this dangerous game of yours."
Anastasia was too taken aback to speak. The room fell quiet.
She suddenly realized it wasn't just her who lived under Matteo's shadow. She looked away from Raquel and dropped her eyes to her legs. Raquel sighed and moved closer to until.
"And if you care about whoever it is you're trying to contact, you had better think twice, cause believe me..." She nodded her head. "...you wouldn't want him to cast his shadow on them."
~~
By noon that day, Anastasia was relaxing on the terrace on the swinging egg chair. Her eyes fixed on the pool as the wind blew the flowers from the garden into the water.
She couldn't stop thinking about what Raquel said. Would she be putting Lori in danger if she contacted her? But she was sure of one thing... that Lori would be worried sick. And Peach...she would be whining and barking nonstop. She heard the door open and close... Must be Raquel, she thought at first, but Matteo's scent was hard to miss. Her fingers grabbed the cushion as she unconsciously prepared her mind for his presence.
If she was being honest, the man walked into the room, and she would be shaking. It wasn't more that she feared him, it was that she wanted him somehow...even in that fear.
"You refused lunch," he said, his hands tucked into his pockets, his gaze nothing close to her. She didn't look up either. In fact, she tried to avoid staring at him.
"I didn't," she responded.
"You didn't have enough," he added.
That gained a chuckle from Anastasia, an unmistakable snicker.
"What? You control my food portion now?"
She teased, her own comment amusing her as she chuckled even more.
Matteo gave her no reaction nor looked her way. When the silence had died down for a minute, he turned and walked close to the swinging chair.
Her gaze raised to meet his when his cologne grew stronger.
"You're my responsibility. I don't tolerate weakness in something that belongs to me" he said to her. His voice so deeply low it almost unraveled her.
"I'm not your property. You can't buy me, cage me, and expect me to thrive." She challenged, defiance in her eyes.
But Matteo didn't miss the way her throat bobbed. Her eyelids struggling to stay open. He scoffed lowly.
To him, she was anything but tough. He didn't want to admit it but it was the first time he loved the idea of being fragile.
Still, he didn't want that to remain in her. At least not while they were outside his walls.
She could be weak all she wanted indoors. A knock came at the door, and he yelled back to the person to come in.
Footsteps followed until two of Matteo's men stood with them at the terrace. One held a gigantic bouquet of red roses. The other held a big black box tied with red ribbon and a shimmery gold card dangling.
"Boss, this was delivered."
Matteo's jaw flexed before he even turned. He didn't need to ask who it was from. The choice of roses already spoke volumes. And the box? That wasn't a gift...it was rage bait. Who else would dare?
Anastasia stood up, glanced from Matteo to the outrageous bouquet and back at Matteo.
"Is that for me?" She asked, genuinely confused.
Nobody said a word, it was like time paused. Matteo motioned with two fingers.
"Burn them," he said with a voice as cold as ice.
"Okay, boss."
Anastasia looked at Matteo, even more confused about why he would want to burn them.
Was it from another woman? The thought crept jealousy into her.
"Hold on." She called, and the men stopped walking and turned.
She glanced at Matteo again, anticipation in his eyes as he watched her walk towards his men.
She stared at the bouquet, it looked like a good amount of two hundred roses or more. What woman would send him such a gesture and why? She thought. She reached for the dangling card and pulled it out of the ribbon.
"For the woman who deserves passion, not possession.– Antonio Salvador"
Her heart hammered against her ribs, not just from guilt, but from clarity. She understood the fury behind Matteo's calm. The way his jaw had locked. The demand to burn the gift. It wasn't some woman flattering her husband, it was a man who she had kissed right in front of her very dangerous husband.
If Matteo could nearly choke life out of her over a nameless kiss, what would he do now? It terrified her.
She didn't need to look up to feel Matteo's piercing eyes. The air changed, it became heavier. When she finally looked up, he was watching her with an intensity that made her skin prickle.
"Read it," Matteo said calmly.
Her throat dried.
"You already know who it's from."
"I want to hear it," he replied.
Slowly, she lifted the card again, her voice unsteady.
"For the woman who deserves passion, not possession," she read quietly.
Then, almost inaudibly,
"—Antonio Salvador." she called the name as if it burned. One of Matteo's men shifted uncomfortably.
Matteo laughed. It was low, empty, and nothing about it was amusing.
"So," he said, eyes fixed on hers, "are you impressed?"
Anastasia hesitated.
"That's not..."
"You kissed him," Matteo cut in, quietly.
Her breath hitched. The memory slammed into her chest... Antonio's mouth, Matteo watching, the consequences that followed.
"I didn't ask him to send anything," she said, holding up the card.
"But you liked it," he said.
She didn't say anything. Did she like it? The last time she got a bouquet of flowers, a ring that sealed her fate sat too beautiful between the petals.
"Maybe I like the freedom." She finally replied. He walked to her, his eyes dark, his jaw flexed.
"I protect you."
"You cage me." She shot back.
"You decide what I wear. What I eat and how much I eat. Who I speak to and who speaks back."
"Because you are mine." He replied calmly, like her own rage was empty.
"Yeah," she said, voice shaking. "That's why you almost killed me."
Matteo's expression faltered...just for a second. Enough to hint that he regretted it.
"You think Antonio wants you?" Matteo asked softly.
"I like the idea of not being trapped. There is a difference."
"He wants to prove a point. You're not the prize. You're the weapon," Matteo said, moving closer to her.
"Then why do you look like you're the one bleeding?" she whispered, because somehow his nearness...hot, towering, dangerous, didn't make her flinch. It made her ache.
He stepped even closer. His hand slid around her waist, and he pulled her into his chest slowly, like he was daring her to push back.
She didn't.
Her breath caught.
"Because you let him touch you," he said, voice rough. "You let him think you are reachable."
Her lips parted. Before she could speak, he leaned down and crashed his mouth into hers.
He kissed her like he needed to remind her who she belonged to.
And she kissed him back like she hated herself for liking it. His hand moved down from her waist. He grabbed her. Smacked her ass.
Possession written in every move, every grip, every exhale.
His lips were bruising, his tongue forceful. Searching, like he needed to erase every trace of Antonio from her mouth.
Neither of them paid mind to the sound of the shutting door as Matteo's men walked out.
Instead, he spun her toward the wall, his body flush against hers, hand trailing from her waist to her hip, to the heat between her thighs.
She gasped, moaned in his mouth. She had dreamt of this. She had imagined it in the quiet shame of her nights, how he would kiss her when he finally snapped.
Her hips moved without thinking, seeking friction.
"You wanted this," he muttered in her mouth.
His hand tangled in her hair, yanking her head back just enough to graze her throat with his lips.
"You've dreamt of this."
She couldn't deny it.
Not when his fingers were already gathering the soak in her lace.
"Say it," he whispered in her ear.
"Say who you ache for."
Her voice came out shattered.
"You."
He growled.
And then, he pulled back just enough to speak, lips hovering at her cheek.
"If you want petals," he said, voice dangerous, "I'll buy you a garden, Anastasia."
"But don't ever let another man think he can give you more than I can."
He stepped back and adjusted his shirt. His eyes were heavy with satisfaction as he watched her pant heavily, her lips swollen, legs unsteady.
He left without looking back.
And Anastasia, still pressed against the wall, wasn't sure if she hated him more for walking away... or for knowing she would let him do it again.