The mansion's dim corridors seemed endless as Matteo dragged Natasha back to her room, his grip firm yet not painful. Her wrist tingled where his fingers touched, and despite her fear, she couldn't deny the electric pull between them.
Once inside, Matteo released her, his piercing gaze locking with hers. The room was silent except for the faint sound of their ragged breathing.
"You're suffocating me, Matteo," Natasha said, her voice trembling but defiant. "You claim this is justice, but it feels like revenge. And I don't even know who I am in this story you've written for me."
Matteo took a step closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over her. "You think this is easy for me?" he said, his voice low, almost breaking. "Do you think I want to feel this way? To look at you and see the daughter of the man who ruined my family and yet…"
He stopped, his jaw clenching as if he was physically restraining himself. Natasha's heart raced, her mind struggling to process his words. "And yet… what?" she whispered.
Matteo's eyes darkened with an emotion she couldn't quite name. "And yet, I can't stop wanting you," he admitted, his voice a husky confession.
Her breath caught. The tension between them was palpable, a fragile thread that could snap or bind them closer.
"You're lying," she said, her voice barely audible.
Matteo chuckled bitterly. "You think I'd admit something so dangerous if it weren't true? You're a distraction I can't afford, Natasha. But every time you look at me like that, I lose control."
Natasha took a step back, her heart pounding. "This isn't real," she said, shaking her head. "You're confusing obsession with love. You're keeping me here because you're scared of what I represent."
In two swift strides, Matteo closed the distance between them. His hands gripped her shoulders, firm but not unkind. "Do you know what scares me?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. "The idea of letting you go. The idea of someone else touching you, holding you, loving you."
Her eyes widened as his words sank in. She felt trapped, not just physically but emotionally. Her body betrayed her, leaning into his touch even as her mind screamed to resist.
"Let me go, Matteo," she pleaded, her voice cracking.
He shook his head, his lips so close she could feel his breath against her skin. "I can't," he said, his voice a mixture of regret and determination. "But maybe I can give you a reason to stay."
Before she could respond, his lips captured hers in a kiss that was both demanding and tender. It was a battle of wills, their anger, pain, and passion colliding in a single moment. Natasha tried to push him away, but her hands betrayed her, gripping his shirt as if he was her only anchor.
When they finally pulled apart, both were breathless. Matteo rested his forehead against hers, his eyes closed as if savoring the moment. "You drive me insane," he whispered.
Natasha didn't know what to say. Her emotions were a chaotic storm, and her body still tingled from his touch.
"Why are you doing this?" she asked softly.
Matteo opened his eyes, and for a brief moment, she saw vulnerability there. "Because I don't know how to stop," he admitted.
---
The next morning, Natasha woke to find a note on her bedside table.
Get dressed. Meet me in the dining room. No arguments.
Rolling her eyes, she reluctantly complied, curiosity getting the better of her. She found Matteo waiting, his usual stoic demeanor softened by the faintest smile. The dining table was set with an array of food, and for a moment, it almost felt normal.
"What's this?" she asked, gesturing to the spread.
"A truce," Matteo said simply.
She raised an eyebrow. "A truce?"
He nodded. "I've realized something. If you're going to stay here, we can't keep fighting like this. It's exhausting—for both of us."
Natasha sat down cautiously, her eyes never leaving his. "And this has nothing to do with last night?" she asked, her voice laced with skepticism.
Matteo's lips twitched, almost forming a smirk. "Maybe it does. Maybe it doesn't."
As they ate, the tension between them shifted, becoming something less hostile and more… intimate. Matteo surprised her with his dry wit, and Natasha found herself laughing despite the heaviness of their situation.
For a moment, they weren't enemies. They were just two people trying to navigate a world that seemed determined to tear them apart.
But Natasha knew better than to let her guard down completely. Because with Matteo, nothing was ever simple.
---
As the meal progressed, Natasha noticed Matteo's walls cracking, the faint glimpses of the man beneath the hardened exterior. Yet, her own resolve remained firm. She couldn't afford to be swept away by fleeting moments of connection, not when the stakes were so high.
After they finished, Matteo leaned back in his chair, studying her with an intensity that made her pulse quicken. "You don't trust me," he said, more a statement than a question.
Natasha set her fork down deliberately, meeting his gaze head-on. "Should I?"
For a moment, he didn't respond, his expression unreadable. Then, he stood, circling the table until he was beside her. He extended a hand, an unspoken challenge lingering in the air. "Come with me."
Her heart thudded in her chest. "Where?"
"Somewhere I think you'll want to see," he said cryptically, his tone softer than she expected.
Despite her better judgment, she slipped her hand into his. His grip was firm, steady—almost comforting. As he led her through the mansion, Natasha felt the weight of unspoken words hanging between them, a fragile truce she wasn't sure would last.
Finally, they arrived at a set of heavy oak doors. Matteo paused, his hand resting on the handle. "If I show you this, you have to promise not to use it against me," he said, his voice low, almost vulnerable.
Her brows furrowed. "What are you talking about?"
Without answering, he pushed the doors open, revealing a room bathed in sunlight. It was nothing like the rest of the cold, imposing mansion. Shelves lined the walls, filled with books and objects that seemed out of place in Matteo's world—pieces of art, old photographs, and an array of plants thriving in the light.
Natasha stepped inside, her breath catching. It was a sanctuary, a place of warmth and life. "What is this?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Matteo lingered in the doorway, his expression uncharacteristically soft. "It was my mother's. She loved this room. Said it was the one place where the world couldn't touch her."
Natasha turned to face him, her chest tightening at the raw emotion in his eyes. "Why are you showing me this?"
"Because I want you to understand," he said quietly. "This… us… none of it was supposed to happen. But if there's one thing my mother taught me, it's that sometimes, the things we don't plan for are the ones that matter the most."
For the first time, Natasha saw Matteo not as the man who had kidnapped her, not as the enemy she had been taught to fear, but as someone who was as lost as she was. And in that moment, she realized that maybe, just maybe, she wasn't entirely sure who her captor—or her savior—really was.