6. Push and Pull

CHAPTER 6

PUSH AND PULL

The morning light filtered through the curtains, rousing Enzo from a fitful sleep. He groaned, burying his face in the pillow as memories of the previous night came flooding back. The kiss, Matteo's rejection, the humiliation that followed – it all swirled in his mind, making his stomach churn.

For a moment, Enzo considered just staying in bed. Maybe if he hid long enough, Matteo would forget about their awkward encounter. But the thought of appearing weak, of letting Matteo think he'd gotten to him, was even more unbearable than facing the older man.

With a sigh, Enzo dragged himself out of bed and into the shower. As the hot water sluiced over his body, he tried to formulate a plan. He couldn't take back what had happened, but he could control how he reacted to it. If Matteo wanted to pretend nothing had happened, fine. Two could play at that game.

Enzo dressed with care, choosing a tight t-shirt that showed off his lean muscles and jeans that hugged his ass in all the right ways. If Matteo was going to reject him, Enzo was damn well going to make sure he regretted it.

When he finally made his way downstairs, Enzo found Matteo in the kitchen, cooking breakfast. The domesticity of the scene – Matteo in a soft-looking henley, spatula in hand – made Enzo's heart clench in a way he wasn't ready to examine too closely.

"Morning," Enzo said, aiming for casual as he slid onto a barstool at the kitchen island.

Matteo turned, his eyes widening slightly as they raked over Enzo's form. "Morning," he replied, his voice gruff. "Sleep well?"

Enzo shrugged, reaching for the coffee pot. "Well enough. You?"

"Fine," Matteo said shortly, turning back to the stove.

The tension in the air was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife. Enzo sipped his coffee, watching Matteo's back as the older man finished cooking. When Matteo finally set a plate of eggs and bacon in front of him, Enzo murmured a quiet thanks.

They ate in silence, the only sound the clink of cutlery on plates. Enzo couldn't help but sneak glances at Matteo, noticing the tightness in his jaw, the way his knuckles were white around his fork.

Finally, Matteo broke the silence. "We need to talk about last night."

Enzo's heart rate kicked up, but he forced his expression to remain neutral. "What about it?"

Matteo's eyes narrowed. "You know what. What happened on the couch... it can't happen again."

"Relax," Enzo said, injecting as much nonchalance into his voice as he could muster. "It was just a kiss. No need to freak out about it."

"Just a kiss?" Matteo repeated, his voice low and dangerous. "Is that all it was to you?"

Enzo met Matteo's gaze head-on, ignoring the way his pulse quickened at the intensity in those steel-gray eyes. "You made it pretty clear that's all it could be. So yeah, just a kiss. No big deal."

For a moment, something like hurt flashed across Matteo's face. But then his expression hardened, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "Fine. As long as we're on the same page. It won't happen again."

"Whatever you say, boss," Enzo replied, the words dripping with sarcasm.

Matteo's eyes flashed, and for a second, Enzo thought he might actually reach across the island and shake him. But then Matteo took a deep breath, visibly reining himself in.

"Finish your breakfast," he said, his voice clipped. "Training starts in twenty minutes."

With that, he stalked out of the kitchen, leaving Enzo alone with his cooling eggs and a knot of frustration in his chest.

As Enzo changed into workout clothes, he couldn't shake the memory of Matteo's eyes on him, dark with a hunger that belied his words. Whatever the older man said, Enzo knew there was something between them. Something real and potent and dangerous.

And if Matteo wasn't going to act on it, well... Enzo would just have to push a little harder.

When Enzo joined Matteo in the backyard, he found the older man setting up a series of exercise stations. Matteo's eyes narrowed as they took in Enzo's outfit – tiny running shorts and a tank top that left little to the imagination.

"What?" Enzo asked innocently. "It's hot out."

Matteo's jaw clenched. "Let's get started. Five laps around the yard to warm up."

As they ran, Enzo made sure to stay just ahead of Matteo, giving the older man a perfect view of his ass. He could feel Matteo's eyes on him, could practically sense the older man's frustration growing with each lap.

By the time they finished the warm-up, Matteo's breathing was slightly ragged, and Enzo didn't think it was just from the exercise.

"Alright," Matteo said, his voice rough. "Let's work on your form for hand-to-hand combat."

He demonstrated a series of moves, his body moving with a fluid grace that had Enzo's mouth going dry. When it was Enzo's turn to try, he deliberately fumbled the stance.

"Like this?" he asked, knowing full well he was doing it wrong.

Matteo sighed, moving behind Enzo. "No, like this," he said, his hands coming to rest on Enzo's hips.

The touch, even through the fabric of Enzo's shorts, sent sparks skittering across his skin. Enzo leaned back slightly, pressing his body against Matteo's solid warmth.

"Oh," he breathed, tilting his head to look up at Matteo. "I see."

Matteo's eyes darkened, his grip on Enzo's hips tightening. For a moment, they stood frozen, the air between them charged with tension.

Then Matteo stepped back abruptly, clearing his throat. "Good. Now, let's try that combination again."

The rest of the training session passed in a blur of taut muscles and lingering touches. Every time Matteo's hands were on him, adjusting his form or demonstrating a move, Enzo felt like he was being slowly set on fire.

By the time they finished, Enzo was drenched in sweat and achingly hard. He could see the evidence of Matteo's arousal too, straining against the fabric of his track pants.

"I'm gonna hit the shower," Enzo said, his voice husky. He stretched deliberately, making sure his shirt rode up to expose a strip of toned stomach. "Unless you want to join me?"

Matteo's eyes blazed, his hands clenching at his sides. For a wild moment, Enzo thought he might actually take him up on the offer. But then Matteo shook his head, taking a step back.

"Go," he said, his voice rough. "We'll continue your studies after lunch."

Enzo nodded, trying to hide his disappointment. As he headed inside, he could feel Matteo's eyes on him, burning a hole in his back.

In the shower, Enzo let his mind wander, imagining what might have happened if Matteo had joined him. He pictured strong hands on his body, Matteo pressing him against the tile, taking him hard and fast under the spray of hot water.

With a groan, Enzo wrapped a hand around his aching cock, stroking himself to completion with Matteo's name on his lips.

When he finally emerged, clean and slightly more relaxed, Enzo found Matteo in the living room, surrounded by stacks of papers and folders.

"Time for more family business lessons?" Enzo asked, dropping onto the couch beside Matteo.

Matteo nodded, not looking up from the document he was reading. "We'll be focusing on the financial side of things today. Your father wants you to start attending board meetings soon."

Enzo's eyebrows shot up. "Seriously? Since when does Dad care about my involvement in the business?"

"Since always," Matteo replied, finally meeting Enzo's gaze. "You're his heir, Enzo. It's time you started acting like it."

The weight of expectation in Matteo's words made Enzo's chest tighten. He'd spent so long running from his family's legacy, and now it seemed to be catching up to him all at once.

"Right," Enzo muttered, reaching for one of the folders. "Let's get this over with, then."

For the next few hours, they pored over financial reports and business strategies. To Enzo's surprise, he found himself genuinely interested in the intricate workings of his family's empire. It was like a giant, high-stakes chess game, and Enzo had always been good at strategy.

As the afternoon wore on, Enzo became increasingly aware of Matteo's proximity. Every time the older man leaned in to explain something, Enzo could feel the heat radiating off his body, could smell the tantalizing mix of cologne and clean sweat that was uniquely Matteo.

"You're picking this up quickly," Matteo said, a note of approval in his voice that made Enzo's heart skip. "Your father will be impressed."

Enzo snorted, ignoring the warmth that bloomed in his chest at the praise. "Yeah, well, don't get used to it. I'm still not sold on this whole 'heir to the empire' thing."

Matteo's eyes narrowed. "This isn't a game, Enzo. Your family's legacy?—"

"My family's legacy," Enzo cut in, frustration bubbling up, "is built on blood money and broken lives. Excuse me if I'm not jumping at the chance to continue that tradition."

For a moment, Matteo just stared at him, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. Then he sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"It's not that simple," he said, his voice softer than Enzo had ever heard it. "The world isn't black and white, Enzo. Your family does a lot of good too – provides jobs, supports charities, keeps the peace in neighborhoods the cops have abandoned."

Enzo blinked, thrown by this unexpected glimpse of vulnerability from the usually stoic Matteo. "Is that how you justify it to yourself?" he asked, genuinely curious. "The violence, the illegal activities – it's all for the greater good?"

Matteo's jaw clenched. "I don't have to justify anything. I know who I am and what I do. The question is, do you?"

The words hit Enzo like a physical blow. He opened his mouth to retort, but found he had no answer. Who was he, really? The spoiled party boy? The reluctant heir? Or something else entirely?

Before he could formulate a response, Matteo was standing, gathering the papers spread across the coffee table. "That's enough for today," he said, his voice back to its usual controlled tone. "Go get cleaned up for dinner."

As Enzo watched Matteo retreat to the kitchen, he felt a pang of something that might have been regret. He'd pushed too hard, touched a nerve he hadn't even known was there.

Dinner was a tense affair, the silence broken only by the clink of cutlery on plates. Enzo kept sneaking glances at Matteo, trying to gauge the older man's mood. But Matteo's face was an impassive mask, giving nothing away.

Finally, unable to bear the tension any longer, Enzo spoke. "I'm sorry," he said, the words feeling foreign on his tongue. "About what I said earlier. I didn't mean to... I don't know, offend you or whatever."

Matteo looked up, surprise flickering across his face before it settled back into its usual stoic expression. "You didn't offend me, Enzo. You're entitled to your opinions, even if they're naive and short-sighted."

Enzo bristled at that. "Naive? I'm not the one pretending that what we do is some noble cause."

"No," Matteo agreed, his voice dangerously calm. "You're the one pretending it has nothing to do with you. That you can just walk away and wash your hands of it all."

Enzo felt his temper flare. "Maybe I can. Maybe I don't want any part of this fucked up world."

Matteo's eyes flashed. "And go where? Do what? This world, as you put it, is all you've ever known. It's in your blood, Enzo. Whether you like it or not."

"Fuck you," Enzo spat, shoving back from the table. "You don't know me. You don't know what I'm capable of."

He stormed out of the dining room, his heart pounding with a mixture of anger and something else – something that felt dangerously close to fear. Because deep down, Enzo knew Matteo was right. This life, this world... it was all he had.

Enzo found himself in the backyard, the cool night air a welcome relief against his flushed skin. He paced back and forth, trying to calm the storm of emotions raging inside him.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't hear Matteo approach until the older man spoke.

"Enzo."

Enzo whirled, startled. Matteo stood a few feet away, his expression unreadable in the dim light.

"What do you want?" Enzo asked, hating how petulant he sounded.

Matteo took a step closer. "I want you to understand something. This life... it's not easy. It's not pretty. But it's ours. And running from it won't change that."

Enzo swallowed hard, suddenly very aware of Matteo's proximity. "So what, I'm just supposed to accept it? Become the perfect little mafia prince?"

"No," Matteo said, his voice low and intense. "You're supposed to make it your own. To take what your father built and make it better. To use your power to do some good in this fucked up world."

The passion in Matteo's words, the fire in his eyes – it was mesmerizing. Enzo found himself moving closer, drawn in like a moth to a flame.

"And you'll be there?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "To show me how?"

Matteo's eyes darkened, his gaze dropping to Enzo's lips. "I'll be there," he murmured. "For as long as you need me."

The air between them crackled with tension, thick with unspoken desire and forbidden possibilities. Enzo swayed forward, his body moving of its own accord.

For a moment, it seemed like Matteo might close the distance between them, might finally give in to the hunger that had been simmering between them for weeks.

But then Matteo stepped back, the spell broken. "Get some rest," he said, his voice rough. "We've got an early start tomorrow."

As Matteo retreated into the house, Enzo was left standing alone in the moonlit yard, his heart racing and his body thrumming with frustrated desire.

Whatever game they were playing, whatever this thing was between them, it was reaching a boiling point. And Enzo had a feeling that when it finally exploded, the fallout would be spectacular.

With a sigh, he headed back inside. Tomorrow was another day, another chance to push Matteo's buttons and test the limits of his control.

And Enzo was nothing if not persistent. One way or another, he'd break through Matteo's defenses. He just hoped he'd be ready for what he found on the other side.