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Matteo's mansion stood like a fortress, its high walls a silent guard against the world outside. But inside, there was no peace—just the tension of secrets, the weight of decisions made in the shadows.
It had been weeks since Natasha's arrival, and Matteo had kept her confined to the mansion, surrounded by his trusted men, while the outside world remained oblivious to her presence.
But tonight, the air felt different. The danger that had been hanging over them like a storm cloud was beginning to stir. And Matteo knew it was only a matter of time before it would break.
In his private study, Matteo sat at his desk, the soft glow of a lamp illuminating the cold steel of his desk. His fingers traced the edge of a photograph—one of Natasha, taken from a distance when she had been out in the garden, unaware of the watchful eyes. He let out a breath, the weight of the decision he had made pressing down on him. He was doing this to protect her, but it didn't make it any easier.
"She's becoming restless," Luca's voice cut through the tension as he entered the room. His tone was laced with concern, but there was an edge to it that was unmistakably mafia-like.
Matteo didn't look up, his eyes fixed on the photograph. "She doesn't understand. She will, eventually."
Luca took a step closer, his gaze cold and calculating. "Eventually won't be soon enough, Matteo. You know how this works. We're not in the business of giving people time. People like us... we don't let secrets fester. If we do, they'll bite us back."
Matteo's eyes flickered up, the steel in his gaze reflecting the years of violence and control that had shaped him. "She doesn't need to know the truth. Not yet. The less she knows, the safer she'll be."
Luca's lips curled into a smirk. "The safe approach, huh? Keeping her in a gilded cage. You might be a king in this mansion, but she's still a pawn in a game you don't control, Matteo."
Matteo slammed his fist on the desk, the sound sharp and final. "I didn't ask for your opinion, Luca. You're not the one who's responsible for keeping her alive."
Luca took a step back, hands raised in mock surrender. "You're right. You're the one keeping her safe... for now. But don't forget, Matteo, the world we live in doesn't care about your morals. It doesn't care about her innocence. If the wrong people find out she's the one who filed that report..." He trailed off, the threat hanging in the air like a heavy mist.
Matteo's jaw tightened. He had seen the brutality of the world firsthand, and he had made his choice: protect her, no matter the cost.
Just then, one of Matteo's men, a grizzled veteran of the underworld, entered the room without knocking. His face was grim, a look of urgency in his eyes.
"Boss," he said, his voice low, "the shipment's been delayed. Someone tipped off the opposition. They're getting closer. We need to move her again."
Matteo's hand clenched around the photo of Natasha, his knuckles turning white. "No. We stay here. We're not moving her until we know for sure she's safe. If they want to find her, they'll have to go through me first."
Luca chuckled darkly, the sound rich with the knowledge of their dangerous world. "You're acting like this is just another business deal. Like we can control every move. You've got a target on her back, Matteo, and you're letting her sit here like a sitting duck. You can't protect her forever."
Matteo's eyes narrowed, the fire in them burning hotter with each passing moment. "I didn't ask for your help. If you want to leave, go. But I'm keeping her here, and no one's going to touch her while I'm breathing."
Luca raised his hands, his smirk widening. "Fine. But just remember, when the storm hits, it won't be pretty. And it won't be just the enemies you'll have to deal with. It's the ghosts from your past that you should be worried about."
Matteo's gaze hardened. "The ghosts from my past are already dead."
---
As the conversation ended, Matteo stood up, walking over to the window and staring out into the night. The world outside seemed calm, but he knew better. It was only a matter of time before everything fell apart.
His mind raced, going over the details of the plan again. There could be no mistakes, no chances taken. He would keep Natasha safe, even if it meant sacrificing his own peace.
He looked over at the CCTV monitors again, his eyes flickering to the live feed of Natasha. She was sitting on the balcony, staring out into the darkness. For a brief moment, a soft smile tugged at his lips, the flicker of something tender in his heart. He hated this, hated the fact that he had to do this to her. But it was the only way.
"She's not a prisoner," Matteo muttered under his breath, though even he didn't fully believe it.
---
Later that evening, Natasha had wandered into the garden, her steps uncertain as she traced her fingers along the cold stone walls. Matteo had been watching her from the security cameras, but something compelled him to step out of his study.
He found her sitting on the swing beneath the large oak tree. She looked so fragile, so different from the woman who had walked into this mansion weeks ago—strong, determined, unshakable. Now, she looked lost.
Matteo's steps were quiet, the night air thick with tension. He didn't plan to join her, didn't plan to interrupt her solitude. But something in him couldn't stay away.
When she looked up and saw him standing there, a faint smile appeared on her lips, one that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I didn't expect you to be out here," she said, her voice low, carrying a hint of sadness.
Matteo leaned against the tree, his arms crossed over his chest. "I thought I'd give you some space."
She raised an eyebrow. "Space? In a cage?"
His gaze softened, and for a moment, the mafia boss disappeared, replaced by something more vulnerable. "I never meant for you to feel like a prisoner. You're not one."
She smiled faintly, but it was a smile of someone who had been hurt, someone who had learned not to trust so easily. "It's hard not to when I don't know what's happening."
For a moment, Matteo stayed silent. Then, his voice came out softer than he intended. "I'm trying to keep you safe."
She tilted her head, studying him, as if seeing him for the first time. "From what? What am I really safe from, Matteo?"
He hesitated, his mind battling with the urge to tell her everything. But he couldn't. Not yet. "From a world that doesn't care about your safety."
A long silence stretched between them before Natasha spoke again, her voice quieter this time. "Do you ever wonder, Matteo... if maybe we're both just trapped in our own worlds?"
His heart clenched at the question, but he didn't answer right away. Instead, he moved closer, sitting beside her on the swing. The motion was slow, deliberate, and Natasha didn't pull away.
"Maybe we are," he said quietly. "But sometimes, the world's rules don't apply to us."
She turned to him then, her eyes searching his, as if trying to unravel the mystery of the man sitting beside her. The tension between them was palpable, but there was something more—something tender in the way he looked at her.
And in that moment, Matteo wasn't just a mafia boss. He was a man who had started to care, in a way he had never allowed himself to before.
---
Meanwhile, deep in the heart of the city, an old adversary of Matteo's—one who had ties to the very people Natasha had exposed—was making his move.
Inside a dark, smoky room, a man in a tailored suit held a phone to his ear, speaking in a low, controlled voice.
"It's time. We know who she is now. The girl who filed the report... she's a threat to everything we've built. We need to find her, and we need to make sure she can't testify."
A voice on the other end of the line responded in a cold whisper, "Leave her to us. We'll take care of her... permanently."
The man hung up the phone and turned to the others in the room. "No one touches her until we say so. Matteo's got her hidden, but that won't stop us. We're going to make sure she regrets ever crossing us."
---
Back at the mansion, Matteo was unaware of the storm brewing just outside his gates. But he would be ready, as always. After all, in the world he lived in, the enemy was always watching—and they would stop at nothing to get what they wanted.
And neither would he.
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