The Hitman's Mark

22. Control

MATTEO

Matteo left the fitting room quickly after that.

He needed a moment to clear his head. At least, as much as he could when surrounded by gaudy ballgowns and the sound of a string-quartet butchering its rendition of The House of the Rising Sun over the speakers.

He avoided the fitting rooms and their waiting area, preferring to wander the rows of colorful tulle and silk around the boutique. Hands tucked in his front pockets, his fingers curled and uncurled into fists while he mourned the loss of his control.

For several years, he'd felt an overwhelming sense of duty toward Leonardo and his daughter. This devotion stemmed from the traumatic events of Val's eighteenth birthday, when Matteo had been moments away from ignoring his don's command and abandoning her. The guilt tore at him, especially in the time that he spent holding Val's trembling, sobbing body in his arms. When he finally relinquished the girl to Leonardo once more, Matteo swore he'd never hesitate to protect her again.

Of course, when Leonardo sent Val across the Atlantic, it didn't take long for Matteo to clear his conscience of all thoughts of her. In truth, he never thought she'd be allowed to return to New York. But then, he stormed into Leonardo's office and found her there, seated amongst the most dangerous men in their disturbed world, and that familiar sense of duty–of devotion– flooded back to him.

Then, Leonardo ordered Matteo to personally watch over his troublesome heir, and, somewhere between their long days spent collecting business records from Romano endeavors across the city, quiet dinners over takeout, long rides in the Alfa Romeo, and demonstrating self-defense moves for their classes at the townhouse... Matteo lost sight of his control.

He lost sight of his ability to clearly discern the lines between duty and desire. To ignore his emotions and act purely on professional responsibilities. Push his own wants aside and solely serve the Romano famiglia. He lost the cold, disconnected parts of himself that allowed him to rise as the Hollowman's favored executioner.

It was why he'd always refused to allow himself to form emotional attachments to others. Refused to visit his mother's house more than their decided-upon bi-monthly dinners. Refused to kiss a woman that he brought to bed. Emotions made him weak. Skewed his perspective. Made him hesitate when he needed to pull the trigger on a man who was also someone's husband and son and father.

And now, despite his best efforts, Val had managed to dig beneath his skin. Even though she claimed that the feeling was simply carnal, Matteo could no longer be sure if he could say the same.

"Ready?" Val's familiar voice ventured from behind him, and Matteo turned to find her redressed in her daily clothes, a ruby-colored garment bag tossed over her shoulder.

She wore the same, detached and cold expression that she'd brandished that morning, regarding Matteo like he was little more than a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of her favorite pumps. He knew it was a defensive mechanism. A tactic wielded by the princess to feign nonchalance, but Matteo saw through her mask. She might've been able to fool the rest of the world, but not him.

The truth was buried deep, hidden in the hues of green and gold in those hazel eyes. He affected her– almost as much as she affected him.

Matteo nodded once, reaching out to take the garment bag from Val. The weight of the gown surprised him, but he situated it over his own shoulder with enough ease before leading the way toward the register.

Val trailed behind him. "Have you seen Annika? I wanted to say good-bye before we left."

"Last I saw, she went into the back rooms to search their inventory for a bigger size," he answered, stepping around a life-size mannequin in a dress that resembled spider-web more than fabric. He supposed he should've been grateful that Val chose not to try that number on.