CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

ELENA

I woke up feeling disoriented, my entire body aching with the memory of his touch. The blackout curtains had been partially cracked, letting in a small stream of sunlight. He wasn’t in the room, and part of me was relieved by his absence.

Last night had been unexpected and I wasn't sure how to face him. It wasn't my intention to sleep with Mateo when we went out, or at all for that matter. But to be fair to myself, I doubted many women resisted him once they were in his bedroom, so I couldn't really be held accountable for my actions.

I sat up and looked around in search of my phone. I didn’t see it or the dress he took off me anywhere. What I did see, however, was an outfit folded on top of the ottoman that sat at the foot of the bed. It looked to be another dress—thankfully not as fancy .

The heels were another story. There was a silk ivory robe placed alongside them. Reluctantly kicking the comforter off, I tossed my legs over the side of the bed, my bare feet dangling. I gathered up the dress and heels Mateo had left for me, my heart racing as I hurried toward the bathroom. The door creaked open to reveal a room that matched the opulence of the rest of his home.

It was spacious, with dark marble flooring that shone under the gentle lighting. Deep, rich tones covered the walls, creating an atmosphere that felt both extravagant and intimate. Taking up one side of the room was a large walk-in shower with glass walls and polished gold fixtures. And on the other side was an equally impressive vanity, its long marble countertop adorned with neatly arranged toiletries. Above it hung an ornate mirror, its intricate designs reflecting the soft light from a chandelier suspended from the ceiling .

I thought my family was wealthy, this house was the next level. I hurriedly undressed and stepped into the shower, reveling in the warm water cascading over my body. The scent of expensive soap and shampoo filled the air, offering some solace in this unfamiliar place. Once I was clean, I wrapped myself in a fluffy towel, its plush fabric gentle against my skin. At the vanity, I noticed that all of the toiletries were clearly meant for me.

There was a new toothbrush, toothpaste, and even a selection of high-end skincare products laid out as if awaiting my arrival. I brushed my teeth, feeling slightly calmer with the minty freshness in my mouth, before getting dressed. Mateo's chosen dress was nice and soft, fitting me perfectly as if it were tailor-made. The floral pattern was vibrant, a stark contrast to the dark, moody ambiance of the bathroom and the rest of his home. I slipped into the black heels, taking a deep breath to steady myself .

I stepped out into the hallway, the soft click of the door closing behind me echoing in the quiet. The quiet elegance of the space was overwhelming, the kind of luxury that made you feel both in awe and slightly out of place. I took a moment trying to get my bearings. The silence was almost palpable, broken only by the distant hum of activity somewhere within the house.

Gathering my composure, I headed toward the grand staircase, my steps measured and cautious. As I descended slowly, my hand glided along the polished mahogany railing, the smooth surface cool beneath my fingertips. Before I reached the bottom, a figure emerged from a side corridor and approached the base of the stairs. It was an older man with dark blonde hair, neatly combed back, and dressed in simple yet impeccable formal wear. His posture was straight and respectful, exuding an air of quiet authority .

"Miss Castello," he greeted politely, his voice smooth and professional.

I paused on the last step, momentarily taken aback by his sudden appearance. My eyes took him in cautiously as I tried to discern his intentions.

"Mr. Escuro is right this way," he continued, extending a hand in the direction of a long hallway.

I hesitated for a fraction of a second before giving a small nod. "Thank you," I replied softly, my voice steady despite the nervous flutter in my chest.

He waited patiently as I descended the final step and then turned to lead the way. Falling into step behind him, I couldn't help but notice the glint of metal peeking out from beneath his jacket. A gun was holstered at the back of his slacks, a stark reminder of the world I had stepped into. The sight made my stomach tighten, but I kept my expression neutral, unwilling to show any sign of unease .

The sound of my heels echoed through the corridor, each click-clack against the shiny floor amplifying the silence around us. The hallway was adorned with exquisite artwork and antique furnishings, each piece likely holding its own story and worth more than I could imagine. As we walked, I glanced around, an unsettling feeling prickling at the back of my neck as if unseen eyes were tracking my every move.

Despite the grandeur and beauty surrounding me, there was an undercurrent of tension in the air, a sense that nothing here was quite as serene as it appeared. Yet, no matter how hard I looked, I saw no one else—only shadows and the distant, muffled sounds that hinted at life beyond these walls. We reached the end of the hallway, stopping in front of a pair of imposing dark oval doors. The man turned to me with a courteous nod, gesturing toward a set of chairs positioned against the wall .

"Please have a seat," he instructed politely.

I obliged, smoothing the fabric of my dress as I settled into one of the chairs. The cushion was firm yet comfortable, upholstered in rich, dark leather that matched the opulent decor of the house. The man approached the doors and opened one just wide enough to slip through, offering me a brief glimpse into the room beyond. I caught sight of four men dressed in dark suits, their postures rigid and expressions unreadable, before the door closed again with a soft thud.

Left alone in the quiet hallway, I took a deep breath, attempting to steady the nervous energy swirling inside me. My mind raced with questions and uncertainties, but I knew that soon enough, I would have to face whatever awaited me beyond those doors. For now, all I could do was wait and try to maintain the composure that had carried me this far. The silence enveloped me once more, broken only by the distant tick of a grandfather clock .

A man’s shrill cry of pain jolted me to my feet, the sound slicing through the heavy silence. My pulse quickened as I took an instinctive step back, every nerve in my body screaming to retreat from whatever was happening in the next room. Before I could take another step, both doors swung open with a force that made the chandelier overhead tremble, and the man in question was unceremoniously shoved into the hall.

He landed on his knees with a sickening thud, his disorientation evident as he wobbled, trying to regain his bearings. His once immaculate suit was now a crumpled mess, one cufflink torn away, dangling uselessly from his sleeve. I couldn't tear my eyes away from his hand, which was desperately cupping a bleeding nose, the bones beneath the skin twisted into an unnatural angle that made my stomach churn.

Mateo emerged from the room like a dark specter .

His expression was infuriatingly calm, almost indifferent, as he looked down at the man.

"Get him out of my house," he commanded, his voice a quiet yet authoritative force that left no room for argument.

Two of the men I had glimpsed earlier stepped forward without hesitation, each grabbing an arm and beginning to drag the man down the hall. His feet scraped against the polished floor, leaving faint streaks of blood in their wake. The third man, the one who had stayed back, gave Mateo a tight-lipped smile, though the fear in his eyes was palpable. He muttered something unintelligible under his breath before scurrying after the others, his anxiety evident in every hurried step.

I stood frozen, still staring down the empty hall long after they had vanished from sight, the remnants of the scene playing on a loop in my mind.

“Elena. ”

My name, spoken softly, snapped me out of my daze. Mateo’s voice was gentle, yet it carried an unspoken command that drew my gaze back to him. He stood there, composed, as if what I had just witnessed was nothing more than an everyday occurrence—a man completely in control, even amid violence. Our eyes locked, and for a brief moment, I was acutely aware of the vast chasm between us.

“I didn’t expect you to be awake so soon. I apologize for the mess.”

The mess. Not the fact that he’d just shattered a man’s hand and nose before discarding him like yesterday’s garbage. Then again, for someone like Mateo, that probably was nothing more than a love-tap. His bright smile, aimed directly at me, did little to diminish the unease twisting in my stomach, but it was disarming enough to make me pause. He wasn’t dressed in the sharp suit I’d grown accustomed to seeing him in .

Instead, he wore a simple black button-down, the sleeves partially rolled back, revealing the edges of that intricate tattoo winding up his forearm. The slacks he paired with it were tailored to perfection, emphasizing his lean, powerful build. Somehow, he looked even more dangerous—more alluring—than he had the night before.

I bit back the urge to ask what I had just witnessed, knowing better than to let those words slip out. It wasn’t my business, and the rules of this world were clear: keep your mouth shut and your eyes averted. Before my sister and I were sent away, we’d been raised around men like Mateo—men who dealt in shadows and made their own rules. My mother and father may have lavished me with love and affection, but they were far from angelic. I remembered a scene like this one unfolding outside my father’s office when he thought Eva and I were fast asleep .

It was when he realized we’d seen what happened a lesson was ingrained in me—see nothing, say nothing. Of course, he was also extremely apologetic, unlike Mateo.

His eyes roamed over me from head to toe, taking his time as he absorbed every detail. His gaze was heated, reminiscent of the night before, and it brought everything we had done rushing back into sharp focus. The way his hands had moved over my body, the way his voice had sometimes softened just for me—it all came flooding back in a dizzying rush.

The contrast between the tenderness he’d shown me and the brutality I had just witnessed was impossible to ignore. Mateo was a man of many faces, and I was only beginning to understand the depth of that complexity. I held my ground, meeting his gaze with as much composure as I could muster. His eyes darkened as they continued to roam over me, a small smile curling at the corners of his mouth .

"You're even more beautiful in the morning light," he murmured, stepping forward with a quiet confidence that sent a shiver down my spine. His hands settled on my hips, firm but not forceful, drawing me closer until there was barely any space between us.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice low, almost intimate.

“Fine,” I replied, though the word felt inadequate, given the whirlwind of emotions still coursing through me.

Mateo’s smile deepened, a flash of something darker flickering in his eyes. “Then I didn’t do a good enough job last night,” he teased, his tone smooth, but with a sharp edge that made my breath catch.

A flush crept up my neck, heat flooding my cheeks as I tried to stammer out a response. “No, it was… it was good,” I managed to say, my voice faltering as I struggled to keep my thoughts in order .

He watched me, clearly amused by my flustered state. "Good?" he echoed, his voice dripping with playful condescension. " Anjinho , I don’t settle for good. I demand more—much more. And I’m quite certain you can give it."

The weight of his words, coupled with the intensity of his gaze, was almost too much. I needed to break the tension, to get my bearings before I completely lost myself in whatever this was.

“I... I need to go home,” I blurted out, my thoughts snapping back to the reality I had left behind. I could feel my phone buzzing relentlessly in my pocket—texts from Melody and Peyton, missed calls from my grandmother and uncle. I needed to check in with them, to get back to some semblance of normalcy, no matter how fleeting.

The playful light in Mateo’s eyes vanished instantly, replaced by something far more dangerous .

His grip on my hips tightened, his fingers digging into my skin just enough to make his displeasure known. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice suddenly void. "You are home."

I stared up at him, my heart pounding. "Mateo, I can't just stay here. I have a life outside of this…outside of you."

His eyes narrowed slightly, and before I could continue, he hushed me with a gentle finger against my lips. "There's no need to ruin a perfectly good morning with unnecessary arguments. Let’s not start the day with tension." His tone was calm, but the underlying firmness made it clear that he wasn’t asking for my opinion. He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes, and I knew better than to push the issue.

“At least let’s have breakfast first,” he suggested, though it was more of a command than a suggestion. His hand remained on my hip as he guided me down the hall, his grip firm yet somehow reassuring .

We walked in silence, the tension from our earlier conversation still hanging in the air, but Mateo’s demeanor had shifted back to something more relaxed, almost casual. He led me out a rear door, and we stepped into the fresh morning air.

As we rounded the corner, the backyard came into view. The terracotta stone patio led the way to a sleek glass dining table, already laid out with an impressive spread. The table was set with fresh food—assorted fruits glistening with dew, warm pastries that filled the air with a buttery aroma, and a selection of cheeses and cured meats arranged artfully on a platter. It was the kind of breakfast that could have been pulled straight from the pages of a luxury magazine, every detail meticulously crafted.

Mateo pulled out a chair for me, a small gesture that felt almost out of place given the gravity of our situation, but I accepted it and sat down .

The serene setting was a stark contrast to the underlying tension I still felt, a reminder that despite the beauty surrounding me, I was not in control. He took his seat across from me, his eyes never leaving mine as if he could sense the turmoil simmering beneath my composed exterior.

“You need to eat, anjinho ,” he said softly, but there was an unmistakable firmness beneath the gentle words. He wasn’t just suggesting; he was telling me.

Not wanting to push any boundaries, I reached for the bowl of fresh fruit, selected a few strawberries, and then moved on to a buttery croissant. The simple act of choosing food felt like a small victory in maintaining some semblance of control. As I took a tentative bite, Mateo reached for a decanter that sat on the table, filled with a rich amber liquid. He poured himself a glass of what I quickly identified as whiskey, the scent of it strong and smoky as he added a few ice cubes .

“Drink?” he offered, his eyes not leaving mine as he raised his glass slightly.

I shook my head, the thought of mixing alcohol with my medication once again, was enough to keep me from accepting. “No, thank you,” I replied, trying to keep my tone neutral.

Mateo nodded, seemingly unbothered by my refusal. He took a slow sip of his drink, savoring the taste before setting the glass down. “Now, why don’t you ask me what you wanted to last night?” he said, his voice low and deliberate. “About our agreement.”

The reminder of our earlier conversation hit me like a wave, and I realized there was no escaping this. I needed answers, and he knew it. I took another bite of my croissant, trying to buy myself a moment to collect my thoughts, but his unwavering gaze told me that time was running out. I swallowed and finally met his eyes. It was time to confront the reality of what I was getting into.