12. Stephano

12

STEPHANO

I knock on the suite's door, freshly irritated. It took some time to track down Matteo and Tasha's room, especially since he isn't answering his phone. Must have been a busy night. Fucker.

When he opens the door in a hotel robe, the bedhead isn't the only thing giving it away. He looks more relaxed than I've seen him in ages. Plus, there's that whiff of sex and sleep.

Needless to say, this riles me up more. Especially since I'm still tense from last night's aborted session with Gigi. No amount of jerking off has managed to make me feel sated. What the fuck's up with that?

"Good morning to you, too," Matteo says as I stomp past him, dragging a cabin bag with clothes for Tasha behind me.

"Next time, let me know where you're slumming it so I don't need to demean myself by begging St. Chalamet to share your room number. You took the phone off the hook and switched your cell phone off. Come on, Matty."

"Yeah. Fine. Sorry, Fanny." He yawns and stretches languidly. "Didn't want to be disturbed, you know."

"Fuck off." I study his face as I park the cabin bag by the wall. He still looks tired, but it isn't the exhaustion of a man who successfully planned and completed an assassination mission in Sicily.

"Have breakfast." He waves towards the suite's lounge and dining area. "You're throwing a hangry tantrum."

More like a lack-of-sex tantrum, but I don't know if that even exists if it's self-inflicted. I put Tasha's aftercare package on the round dining table. A continental breakfast spread takes up most of the surface, but there's coffee, and I can do with another cup. Matteo has clearly started eating, but there's no sign of Tasha.

"Where's she?"

"Showering."

I revel in a smug drop of satisfaction that he isn't in the shower with her. I pull my phone out of my jacket pocket to show him a screenshot. "Just so you know, your little adventure in Sicily has hit the web."

Matteo sits down by the table and plucks a croissant from the bread basket.

"It has?" He eyes the screen but doesn't really pay attention.

"Yeah. What the fuck, bro? Did you have to go burn down the whole fucking estate? We weren't planning to start a war. This was supposed to be a quick in-and-out operation. Only Randazzo's head. Quietly. No trace. Now the whole fucking 'Ndrangheta, Cosa Nostra , and every other Mafia ring who has a finger in the pie are losing their shit."

"I didn't burn the place down. That was the mole's work. It's not our territory, Steph. It's not our war. Those guys were poised to blow each other up since the beginning of time. It was bound to happen sooner or later."

"This isn't a joke, Matteo. This can come back and bite all of us in the ass, and more."

"Yeah." He brushes a hand down his face. "Had to be done, though. They'll sort themselves out. It isn't our turf."

"You hope so, especially?—"

Tasha pads into the room, hesitant and shy, wearing a fluffy white hotel robe, just like Matteo's. A full blush blooms over her cheeks, and I look away to spare her. That's the look of a woman thoroughly fucked. Gigi had the same glow when I left her last night.

Gigi . I push the image of her away, but it's been popping up in my mind's eye the whole morning. Annoying as fuck. Even when she's not in my presence, she finds her way into my head?—

Fuck.

Matteo holds out his hand for Tasha and pulls her onto his lap. I want to gag with jealousy as he presses his nose into her neck and inhales deeply. They look like an ad for honeymooners. I don't know how he managed this or if he even understands what this means. He's gone and kicked the house of cards that's the European Mafia and fallen in love at the same time. Never mind the fact they'll come for us, they'll also come for our women.

This is the reason I've always kept women at arm's length. With Tatiana, who meant more to me than what she should have, it's only been proven again that I couldn't protect a normal woman like I'd wanted to, never mind a Mafia wife. This is one of the reasons I've sworn off marriage, and even if I meet someone who makes me look at her like Matteo looks at Tasha, I'll have the self-control to push her away.

"You smell divine,' Matteo says, ripping me out of my dark thoughts.

Gigi smelled divine, too. And she tasted so fucking good. I wanted to lick and drink another bottle of champagne off her pussy.

I push the white gift box with an elaborate pink bow in Tasha's direction.

"Your aftercare package. A suitcase with clothes for you." I point to the door where I parked the cabin bag. "I'll leave you to it," I say as I stand. "We meet in thirty minutes. The plane takes off in two hours."

I'll skip my cup of coffee, because I'm not going to hang around and watch them make out. We have an eight-hour flight ahead of us, in a private jet. I'm going to be caged with these two, and they won't be able to keep their hands off each other. I stalk to the door, but Tasha's voice makes me pause.

"What happened to Gigi?" she asks as she moves to her own seat.

"Gigi?" I deadpan.

"Yes. Gigi Trapani?" Matteo repeats. "The one and only Gigi Trapani."

The one and only .

He won't forget her soon. She kidnapped him, after all. Neither will I. She never thought about herself for one second during her rescue mission. She only had the intention to protect and save a stranger. She ticked me off by being so disdainful, fitting the perfect image of just another conceited, spoiled Mafia princess with a bloated self-esteem, but what she did for Tasha was selfless.

Last night, Gigi came for one thing but stayed for another. She didn't have a bodyguard, and I have no clue about her day to day. For all I know, she's one of those that broke the mold and got away. I have no place messing with someone like her.

Instead of getting to know her, I chose to punish-fuck her, then ground my heel down on her, insinuating that those last words of hers were my own. Whore . And all this, after she showed me how vulnerable she really is. That moment when her eyes revealed what she felt as I rolled my gaze over her perfect body gave everything away.

I could have corrected her, could have told her that wasn't what I'd been thinking at all, but no. I'd kept quiet, being a total fucking dick just because she pressed the one button that's been eating at me my entire life. Sounds about right. No wonder I can't seem to box up the memories of her.

"Nothing." I grunt. "See you in thirty."

I woke up telling myself absolutely nothing happened between me and Gigi Trapani. If our last words haunt me for the rest of my life, I only have myself to blame.