One
Matteo
The neon sign of "The Velvet Red" buzzed with a rhythmic, dying-wasp hum that felt like a personal insult. I was wedged into a leather booth, nursing a bourbon that cost more than a decent pair of shoes, watching my family dismantle their dignity in real time.
I am on babysitting duty.
As the Underboss, I usually spent my nights juggling high-stakes logistics and keeping the family’s more complicated issues from imploding. Tonight, however, I had been demoted to the babysitter-in-chief for a traveling circus of nurses. Rafael, my best friend, sat to my right, watching the carnage with the detached amusement of a man eating popcorn at a gladiator match. Federico and Giuseppe looked like they were serving a life sentence without the possibility of parole.
"You’re staring again," Rafael drawled, nudging me. "You’ve got that look. The one that says you’re debating between a tactical retreat and just setting the club on fire to save them the public humiliation."
"I’m calculating the social cost of claiming they aren't related to me," I muttered.
Ten feet away, the "My pain in the asses"—my niece Emma, my sister-in-law Virelle, and their new friend, Emery—were reaching a peak of absolute, unmitigated insanity. Emma was at the bar, waving a piece of plastic at the bartender.
"It’s a chip card, you moron!" Emma shouted, slamming her hospital ID badge onto the marble counter. "It’s a medical device! It’s for a nurse! Can’t you see the security clearance? Just swipe it!"
The bartender stared at the ID with the hollow eyes of a man who had seen too many idiots in his career. He looked around for help, like he was on his own, and I wish the poor soul luck.
"She’s been in that profession for five years," I said, rubbing my temples, "and still hasn't realized that a lanyard doesn't grant you immunity from the laws of commerce."
"It’s a bold strategy," Raf laughed.
The bartender knows who they are, goes along wit it at this point he has no choice, and he gives them the shots, they slam them down, and then they head watching as the three of them decided they would initiate an impromptu cheerleading routine.
They stood in a line, arms linked, trying to kick in unison. It lasted exactly three seconds. Virelle’s foot got tangled in her own hem; she knocked into Emma, who flailed wildly, and they all went down in a heap of limbs and suppressed giggles.
"I’m going to go collect our stray liabilities before they accidentally start a riot," I sighed, standing up.
I hit the floor with what I liked to call ‘The Desperate Man’s Jig.’ It was a series of twitchy, uncoordinated, and utterly ridiculous moves that looked like I was being electrocuted. It cleared a path of people who were terrified to be near a man who danced like a malfunctioning robot.
I shimmied up to them, smoothing my jacket as they scrambled on the floor.
"Uncle Teo!" Emma shrieked when she spotted me, her face bright red. "Finally! The bartender realized my ID is valid. He’s being incredibly rude to a healthcare professional."
"Emma," I said, deadpan, "if you try to use your ID to buy a shot one more time, I am going to leave you here to explain to the police why you’re impersonating a government official with a library card."
"It's a nurse ID, you jerk!" she snapped. She tried to stand up, only to catch her heel on the edge of a floor mat, going down like a sack of flour and twisting her ankle with a yelp.
"And there goes the structural integrity of the group," I muttered.
Virelle tripped over her own feet trying to help, crashed into a waiter, and set off a domino effect of drinks and angry patrons. A group of girls nearby, annoyed by the splashing, decided to take a swing at Virelle. She got up, punching one of the girls and hitting her hard, while Embery punched another.
"Oh, look, a bar fight," Giuseppe drawled, finally standing up and walking over with Federico. "I thought this was a club, not a playground."
The next few minutes blurred by. Virelle was currently trying to yank a woman’s hair extension while Fed stepped in, looking profoundly tired. "Virelle, for the love of everything, release the hair. We are leaving."
"She started it!" Virelle yelled.
I signaled to Fed and Giuseppe. They moved in with the efficiency of men who just wanted to go home. Fed scooped up Virelle, who was currently slapping his chest, while Giuseppe hoisted a protesting Emma into his arms.
"Dario and Luca are going to have a fun night when we drop these two off," Giuseppe muttered, dodging Virelle's slap.
"Teo, you better tell them we're fine!" Emma yelled. "We aren't done yet!"
"You're done, Emma," I said, shutting the car door. "Go home and ice your ego."
Once the sedan pulled away, I turned back to Emery. She was standing there, looking down at the wreckage of the night with a mixture of amusement and pity, entirely unbothered.
"Your friends are a tactical nightmare," I said, stepping into her space.
Emery looked up, her expression unimpressed. "They’re human, Matteo. Something you might want to look into. Though, watching you sit in that booth like a grumpy statue was certainly a choice."
"A statue, huh?" I chuckled, stepping closer. "At least I’m not the one who just watched her friends try to pay for booze with a hospital ID card."
"I was cheering," she countered, her eyes flashing with that sharp, dry sarcasm. "It’s not my fault your niece has the grace of a newborn giraffe."
"She’s a handful," I said, leaning in. "Grace isn't in her bloodline. Chaos is."
"Clearly," she said, her voice dropping. "But don't think your 'grumpy protector' act works on me. You’re just a man with a nice suit and a very loud ego. You’re definitely not the type of man I’d ever want to get tangled up with. You’re too much of a project."
I took her arm and led her back to a quieter corner of the bar. We ordered drinks, and as the bourbon hit our systems, the banter sharpened. She was testing me, pushing buttons I didn't even know I had.
"You’re an ego with a nice suit, at best," she said, swirling her glass. "I like men who don't feel the need to dance like a malfunctioning appliance to get attention."
"You find my moves offensive?" I grinned.
"I find them a health hazard," she shot back. "It’s like watching a spider try to walk through a wall. Why do you even do it?"
"To keep people away," I murmured, my voice dropping an octave and losing its humor. I reached out, my hand wrapping firmly around her throat—not to hurt, but to anchor her. The air left her lungs in a sharp, sudden hiss. I pulled her until her lips were inches from mine, my pulse hammering against her skin.
"You don't know how dark I can be, *bambola*," I whispered, my voice a jagged, low tremor. "You think this is a game? You think I’m just a man in a suit?"
She didn't pull away. She leaned into the touch, her eyes wide, breathless, and entirely unafraid. "Oh, yeah? Show me. How dark are you?"
I leaned in, kissing her deeply, a kiss that tasted of bourbon and danger. "I’ll take you to my place, and you’ll learn exactly how cold, dark, and worthless I can be."
She smirked against my lips, her hands finding my lapels. "Do your best, Underboss. I want to burn."
I didn't turn on the lights when we arrived at my place. I pushed her against the foyer wall, my body pinning her there, the sheer power of our collision leaving us both breathless.
"Now," I growled, my mouth descending to her neck, my teeth grazing the sensitive skin, feeling the sudden, sharp shudder that ripped through her body. "Let’s see if you can keep that sharp tongue of yours when I’m finished with you."
She gasped, her fingers digging into my shoulders, her eyes dilating. She didn't pull away. She arched into me, her body humming with a kind of dark, sexual promise.
"Matteo," she whispered, her voice a plea disguised as a challenge.
"Don't worry," I growled, pulling her flush against me, my hand sliding down to her hip, holding her there, claiming her in the absolute silence of the house. "We’re just getting started."
And as I pressed her further into the wall, the only thing that mattered was the heat of her, the smell of her, and the absolute, terrifying realization that I had found the one person on this earth who wouldn't break. She would only burn brighter.
The night was young, and I had a lifetime of discipline to instill. And by the end of it, Emery wasn't going to be thinking about hospital drama. She was going to be thinking only of me.
I lifted her, her legs wrapping around my waist, my hands moving to support her as I carried her deeper into the house, into the dark, into the only place I knew how to live—where the rules were mine, and the consequences were hers.
"You ready to be ruined, *bambola*?" I whispered, my mouth finding hers again, the kiss hungry, desperate, and filled with a raw, primal intensity that left no room for doubt.
"Take me," she breathed, her voice a surrender that turned my blood to ice and fire all at once. "Just take me."
And I did. I took everything. I took her breath, her focus, and her resistance, piece by piece, until nothing was left but the two of us, spiraling into the dark together.
I was a man who took what he wanted. And tonight, I had taken the only thing that actually mattered.
