Anastasia froze at the sound above. Her eyes snapped to the ceiling as the whisper of movement grew closer to the vent. She stumbled backwards slowly, then quickly darted into the last stall at the end, locking it and holding her breath. If there was anything she learned from a life of needing to constantly be security conscious was that a little strange noise is big trouble, and if that was true, this little toilet stall wouldn't protect her.
She heard screws loosening, followed by heavy thuds of something dropping. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Too many people, she lost count. Men's voices in low but dangerous tones. They started kicking each stall open, one after the other, until hers slammed open with the powerful force of an armed hefty man staring back at her.
He grabbed her by her arm, shoved her forward so hard she landed at the feet of a man with slick hair, eyes like ice. Definitely the one in charge. He crouched and touched her face, his thumb brushing her jaw like she was something he had a right to lay his fingers on. She turned her head away, disgust twisting in her stomach.
"Pretty," he whispered. "Do you know a Matteo Ramirez?"
She stayed still, and her mind immediately began to race, but she remained silent.
He smirked and stood up. "He's still here. I heard he brought a woman with him... His wife they say." His voice dropped cold. "If you can't get a hold of him, take her, she will come in handy."
Her blood ran cold instantly. If they knew she was his wife... They can't find out. Please don't.
The man bent down to her again and yanked her up. She stumbled, but he kept pulling her as they stormed out of the restroom.
Her eyes scanned for Nico, but he was nowhere and for a fleeting moment she wished he was still hovering around her, watching her, rather than this equally terrifying men.
When they got to the lobby, chaos erupted. Gunfire. People screaming, seeking cover. Glass shattering. Her hands flew to cover her ears, her eyes closed as she silently prayed for Matteo to show up. As much she hated him, he was the only thing she could think of.
On cue, Matteo walked out of the haze. Black suit. Gun in hand. Terrifyingly calm, like he was immune to the bullets flying around. He walked right into the middle until his eyes met hers. His face was unreadable, but Anastasia's were almost pleading... To be saved.
The man yanked Anastasia closer, his arm locking her neck from behind, the gun in his other hand trailing her arm. "Tired of running?" He taunted.
Matteo wiped his gun with the hem of his sleeve, his eyes steady on her. "I need to go home and take a shower," he said quietly. "And I'm going home with her."
The man barked a mocking laugh. "You came with your wife, I heard. Now you want to leave with another woman?" he said, softly kissing her temple. She flinched in disgust.
Matteo's hands twitched, his anger slowly flaring, but his eyes didn't blink.
"Tell your boss to pay me a visit himself next time and to use the front door," he simply said. "Now let her go, you're wasting my time."
The shooting seized. Matteo's men spread behind him, Nico by his side.
One of the armed men whispered something in Spanish to the man in charge, and his grin widened. "Ohh" he said slowly. "She's the wife." He trailed his hand down her arm slowly, the cold metal sliding against her skin, and pressed a kiss on her bare shoulder. "To have a Ramirez in my hold..." He paused and looked at Matteo. "...bliss."
Matteo tried to walk to them.
"One more step and you'll pick up your gorgeous wife's brains on the floor."
Anastasia's heart thundered, she could barely keep up with breathing. In her lifetime, she never thought she would need Matteo to hold her. She wanted his rage, his protection, anything but this cold steel pressing on her head.
Matteo stopped. Nico and the men had their guns lifted, waiting for his order, but he just stared silently.
"Here's how this goes," the man sneered. "I will take her with me. You can come get her later... that's if you still have a wife by then."
Matteo's gaze flickered towards Anastasia. Silently she was hoping that though she didn't mean anything to him as a person, she was a possession he wouldn't be willing to let go.
"I don't think I will be able to spend the night without my lady," he said.
The next moment, gunshots cracked. The grip around her neck vanished, and she hit the floor. Dust, screams and bullets swallowed the room.
Then strong arms lifted her up and over a shoulder. Matteo. He walked hastily down the hall, until they reached the garage. A car was running and waiting. He flew the door open, practically threw her inside, and got in after her. Nico climbed into the passenger's seat and the car sped off.
Anastasia didn't speak or move, she just lay there, shaking uncomfortably, her tangled and in a mess like she wanted earlier. It was just not the turnout of event she was hoping for. She wanted to humiliate Matteo, but she couldn't feel more humiliated if she tried. Worse, she was also terrified along with it.
Matteo looked at her, wondering if that man touched her... ripped her clothes. He had shot him earlier, but even if he died, he'd find his body and punish it for laying his hands on his wife. He took off his jacket and covered her with it.
"You should always stay close to me," he said.
"I'm sorry, Matteo," Nico said from the front. "I just went to use the male restroom next door to... "
Matteo didn't respond, wasn't even fully listening. He focused on wiping the blood on his bruised knuckles.
When they got home, Anastasia still hadn't spoken nor moved. Matteo got out, circled the car, and carried her in his arms to the bedroom.
He set her down on the bed gently, and when her feet hit the floor she didn't expect the feeling of safety that crept into her. The feeling that she was home and safe, only that she would never accept this to be home. At the same time, her definition of home was not far from her experience this far. Being locked up. Being deterred for.
She finally looked up, anger cutting through the fear.
"A week as your wife, and my life is being used as bait," she said.
He didn't say anything. He knew she was right, he had to do much more in order to protect her. Now they'd try to get to me with her, play his own game on him.
He walked to the table, picked up the pack of cigarettes, lit one, took a drag, poured whiskey into a glass and gulped down.
"Take me home." She whispered.
A small smirk curved on his lips. He didn't say anything. Home was wherever he was. He set the cigarette in the ashtray and headed for the door.
"You need that shower more than I do," he said by the door before disappearing.
Anastasia buried her face in her palm, and cried. Matteo's world wasn't just dangerous because of the guns, it was dangerous because of him. She was married to a man with a trail of enemies longer than a train.
She got up and walked into the bathroom. She looked at herself in the mirror, bruised, eyes hollow from all the chaos.
He protected her. But that's what husbands do, right? Not the part where he dragged her across the floor and locked her up for days.
She let go of Matteo's jacket, and it slid to the floor. Peeled off what was left of her torn dress and stepped into the shower cubicle. The hot water rushed over her, washing away the dirt, the fear, the memory of a strange man's hands on her like that. Yet, it couldn't wash away the ache in her chest, the realization that though she hated Matteo and this marriage, he was all she had here in this unfamiliar country. And with his name tag on her now, she was bound to encounter danger outside his cage. She belonged to a man whose world would never let her breath freely.
She opened her eyes when she heard a noise. Door shutting, metal dropping on the marble floor, clothes rustling... it was Matteo undressing. He didn't hesitate, didn't even glance her way, he just stood there stripping off his clothes like she wasn't standing opposite him. Naked.
Her breath caught as her eyes met the sight of his size and length. Her thoughts scattered. She shouldn't be looking, but her eyes betrayed her. He turned and began going to the other end of the room, to the bathtub. Every movement of his body reminded her how dangerous he was and how much that danger was drawing her in.
"You should leave before I stop being patient." His voice jolted her out of her thoughts. She blinked, turned the water off, stepped out, wrapped herself in a robe. As she headed for the door, she risked one more look at him... eyes closed, silent, soaked in bubbles that covered the body she was deniably yearning to see. She shut the door behind her.
"What's wrong with me?" She muttered to herself, gliding her hand into her chest to caress the skin there. Her body had begun to heat up. Her eyes closed involuntarily and the vision of him from earlier overwhelmed her senses.
A knock came and pulled her out of that little moment of surrender.
"Come in," she said. It was one of Matteo's men with a tray of food.
"Boss said to bring you something to eat," he said, dropped it on the table and turned back to leave.
She exhaled softly. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe confusion. Maybe it was all the energy from being celibate for such a long time. Whatever it was, it unsettled her, but nothing changed. She still hated him.
~~
"Urhm," she moaned softly as his mouth covered the sensitive spot of her breast. Her hand found his head, curling her fingers into the silk. He moved from her breasts and slowly kissed her ribs down to her belly button, gently, slowly, like he was memorizing every piece of her.
Then he softly bit the tender skin on her pelvic bone, having her whimper like she was pleading. When he raised his head, he saw her eyes closed, her teeth biting her lower lip, the sight completely beautiful.
"Look at me, Anastasia," he commanded. She did. And the world around her dissolved into heat and confusion. That tone had her soaking.
As they held their gaze, Matteo settled in between her legs and slowly covered her with his tongue, his eyes not leaving hers, but she couldn't steady herself.
"Oh, Matteo," she whispered, her head tilting back, losing control.
Then his voice changed into something colder. "Didn't take much to break you."
Her eyes snapped open. Matteo stood by the bed, dressed in cargo shorts and shirt, hands in his pockets, watching her.
She sat up too fast, heart pounding, the dream still alive beneath her skin. But the humiliation covered her like goosebumps, and her subconscious slapped her for allowing herself get carried away.
"Meet me outside in five," he said plainly, and walked out of the room.
When the door shut behind him, she buried her head into the pillow and let out a muffled scream. Then, her hand found her upper thighs, the dream flashing in her mind again like a bad and good memory.
"I hate him."
Even as she said it, she could still feel her body aching.