The heavy double doors slammed open, crashing against the marble walls with a thunderous echo. Matteo De Luca stepped inside with deadly purpose, flanked by his men—each armed, sharp-eyed, and moving with synchronized precision. The estate was already crawling with security. The distant crackle of gunfire had faded minutes ago, but the tension still hung in the air like smoke.
"They've escaped," Enzo muttered at Matteo's side. "But not without losing a few."
"Controllate i corpi. Voglio sapere chi diavolo sono." Matteo's voice was sharp. (Check the bodies,I want to know who the hell they are). He wasn't shouting, but his tone made the entire team spring into motion.
Gunmetal boots echoed against the marble floors as his men began examining the lifeless bodies left on the estate grounds. Some were unfamiliar, some bore faint insignias—clues. Clues Matteo would pull apart with his bare hands if he had to.
But he had one priority before anything else.
Angela.
He stormed past the blood-stained halls, his shoes making wet prints against the floor. The moment he opened the parlor doors, he found her, curled tightly against the wall, knees drawn to her chest, hands trembling. Her eyes were wide, glassy with tears, a stark contrast to the usual fire she carried. A small cut traced her cheekbone, and blood dotted her sleeve.
Matteo's heart clenched painfully, something dark and ancient twisting in his chest.
"Mia cara moglie…" (My dear wife…)
The words were a low whisper, tender in ways Matteo rarely allowed himself to be. He dropped to one knee and pulled her frozen form into a strong embrace. Angela tensed against him, not yet able to process the shock.
He pressed his face into her hair, breathing her in, murmuring in Italian, not caring if she understood. "Ti ho quasi perso. Sei salva ora. Nessuno ti toccherà mai. Giuro su tutto ciò che ho."
(I almost lost you. You're safe now. No one will ever touch you. I swear on everything I have.)
She blinked, the sound of his voice anchoring her slowly back to the present. His warmth surrounded her, but her heart still thudded like a war drum.
He leaned back slightly, cupping her jaw, his thumb gently brushing away the tear that had spilled down her cheek.
"Are you hurt?" he asked softly in English.
She shook her head slowly. "No. Just… scared."
Matteo exhaled. His jaw flexed. "Good."
Angela swallowed. "Who were they? Who would attack us like this?"
Matteo's eyes darkened.
"There's a spy," he said flatly. "Among us. Feeding our enemies everything."
Her body went rigid in his hold. The air around her turned ice-cold. The thrum of fear beat louder in her ears. She was the spy. The person he now hunted with vengeance in his voice.
"A… spy?" she echoed, feigning confusion. "Do you know who?"
His eyes narrowed as he studied her face, but Matteo only smirked, his gaze glinting with cold promise.
"Not yet," he said slowly. "But when I do… I'll make them bleed for it. Inch by inch. I'll start with their fingers, then move to their tongue. I want to hear them scream before they die."
Angela's breath caught. The words sliced through her like glass. Matteo's voice was calm, almost bored—like he was describing dinner plans rather than torture. A chill ran down her spine.
He noticed her fear. Of course, he did.
He chuckled darkly and brushed a strand of hair from her face. "Relax, tesoro. Why are you so shaken? You're safe. Protected."
She looked away. "I'm just… trying to process everything."
Matteo's eyes lingered on her face, as if searching for something deeper. But after a moment, he nodded, and stood.
"Come," he said, offering his hand. "Join me for dinner. You need food. You're shaking."
"I don't think I can eat," she whispered.
"I wasn't asking."
His voice was soft, but firm. He pulled her to her feet gently but with an unrelenting grip, like a man who never let go of what was his.
As he led her down the hall, flanked by guards on both sides, Angela's heart pounded harder than ever. The luxurious walls around her felt like a prison. The man at her side, the one who spoke sweetly to her in one moment and promised death in the next—was her husband.
And he was hunting her.