The Hitman's Mark

25. Soldier

MATTEO

Matteo thought he might be dreaming when he saw Valentina standing across his mother's kitchen, clad in a simple sundress and stirring his mother's homemade pomodoro sauce. Then, when she crossed the tiled floors and threw herself in his arms, he was certain that he'd awakened in a dream.

And yet, the sensation of Val's body did not fade, and he didn't slip back into a pain-killer induced state of unconsciousness. He felt her, soft and supple, pressed against his front, with her thin arms wrapped around his neck like she might fall to her death without him. The scent of her filled his nostrils for the first time in three days – hints of vanilla and warmth tantalizing his senses.

She was here. She was hugging him.

Subtle pain twinged in his shoulder and chest, but he ignored his body's complaints and, at last, slipped an arm around Val's waist, drawing her nearer. He could count on one hand the number of times he'd gotten to hold Val so close against him, but they fit together like they'd been molded from the same body. He wanted to close his eyes and bury his nose in the crook of her neck and inhale until she filled every part of him, but felt several eyes watching their actions carefully.

Over Val's shoulder, Matteo noticed his mother's wide eyes. A small smile tugged on Allison's lips, but Luca stared with brows furrowed. Confusion and something else – concern – clouded his gaze. The concern of a man who watched his don's precious daughter and heir throw herself in the arms of a man that had no right to hold her.

If anyone else in the Cosa Nostra saw their embrace, Matteo would likely lose the hand that snaked around her waist. Or, something that he valued much, much more.

He abruptly released Val from his hold, stepping back to force her to drop her arms from his neck. Every fiber in Matteo's body protested at the sudden absence of her, and a small sound escaped her lips when he first pulled away. He warned himself that distance was good and necessary.

"Care to explain why you're all in my kitchen?" Matteo finally croaked, his voice a bit hoarse from lack of use. He looked from Val to Luca and Allison, a brow raised.

"Agh, Matteo!" his mother chastised, waving her spatula like a weapon. "You're speaking to the Romano's daughter, mio Dio! Show a bit of gratitude to the poor girl. She came all this way to check on you."

Poor girl? Matteo leveled an incredulous gaze to Val once more, who wore a soft blush on her cheeks. He didn't think anyone in their right mind would regard the Romano principessa as a poor anything, but his mother had always held a soft spot in her heart for girls. Matteo often thought she would've enjoyed a daughter more than a son.

"Ah, come to beg me to return to your service already?" he challenged, hoping to reconstruct the boundaries between bodyguard and mafia princess with their familiar banter. "Have you tired of Luca, already?"

Something in Val's eyes flashed, and the smile that graced her lips morphed into a smirk. "I don't beg," she cooed, crossing her arms against her chest.

That's not what I remember. Matteo bit the words back, even as his traitorous mind conjured memories of their night beneath the oak tree. She'd never explicitly said the word 'please,' but he'd seen the desperation in her eyes. Her soft little mewls that begged him to touch her and offer sweet release...

Blood started to rush to Matteo's cock, and he forced his attention back to his mother. The arousal faded as quickly as it came, thank fuck.

"That still doesn't explain why you've put the Romano heir to work in our kitchen," Matteo addressed his mother, a small reprimand lacing his words.