Emily's Pov
I stepped out into the late afternoon light, my purse swinging lightly over my shoulder as I raised my hand for a cab. Milan buzzed around me, alive and restless. Scooters zipped past, tourists clustered on sidewalks, locals moved with purpose. The city never paused, never softened, yet my thoughts were nowhere near the present.
The past few days had drained me in ways I did not have words for. Matteo's house. Sophia's constant need for reassurance. Stacy's shadow lingering even when she was nowhere to be seen. My nerves felt stretched thin, like one wrong move would snap them completely. As the cab pulled into traffic, I leaned back and let myself breathe, letting the sounds of the city fade into a distant hum.
I had not seen Andrew in almost a week.
That alone felt wrong. Andrew had always been my anchor, my constant. Before the live in nanny job. Before the mansion. Before Matteo Rinaldi and the complicated gravity of his world. I needed him. I needed a conversation that did not come with rules, threats, or unspoken tension.
The cab stopped in front of Andrew's building, a small modern structure wedged between a bookstore and a cafe. The air smelled faintly of coffee and fresh bread. I paid the driver and stepped out, taking in a deep breath before heading inside.
Andrew was already waiting at the door.
"Emily! Finally," he said, pulling me into a hug the second he saw me. "I was starting to think you abandoned me for billionaire luxury."
I laughed softly. "I've been busy. New job. New house. High society chaos."
He grinned as he led me inside. "I prefer chaos when you are around. My life alone is painfully boring."
I dropped onto his couch and felt my shoulders relax almost instantly. His apartment smelled like lavender and clean laundry, calm in a way Matteo's mansion never was. That house was beautiful, but it was heavy. Andrew's place felt human.
"It feels good to sit somewhere normal," I admitted, glancing around.
Andrew flopped down beside me. "Normal is overrated, but I get what you mean." He grabbed a bottle of sparkling water. "So. Tell me everything. How is life with the tiny princess? Still alive?"
"Barely," I said, laughing. "Sophia is wonderful, but she is exhausting. And Matteo is… complicated."
Andrew's brow lifted. "Complicated how? Dangerous complicated? Emotionally unavailable complicated? Secretly soft but pretending not to be complicated?"
I rolled my eyes. "Dangerous in that billionaire way. Controlled. Intense. Protective. Sometimes he scares me." I hesitated, then added quietly, "And yet…"
"And yet," Andrew echoed knowingly.
I sighed. "Anyway. I am there for Sophia. That is what matters."
"Of course," he said, nudging me. "But do not pretend you do not notice him. Your eyes give you away."
I groaned and covered my face. "Please do not start."
"Oh, I am starting," he said, laughing. "You are glowing."
"I am not glowing. I am being professional."
"Sure," he teased. "Professional while clearly thinking about him."
I dropped my hands and smiled despite myself. "Maybe a little."
The word sat between us, heavier than it should have been.
"Enough about your billionaire drama," Andrew said, leaning back. "What about your life? Anyone interesting outside the mansion walls?"
I shook my head. "I do not have time for that. I barely have time to sleep."
"There has to be someone," he insisted.
"Not really," I said honestly. "There is… something. But it is complicated."
He smirked. "Complicated again. You are allergic to simple men."
I laughed and turned the question back on him. "What about you?"
His grin softened. "There is a guy at work."
My interest sharpened immediately. "Tell me."
"He is handsome. Annoyingly so. And he keeps giving me mixed signals. Touching my arm. Holding eye contact too long. Complimenting me in ways that feel intentional. But I do not know if he is gay."
"That sounds like flirting," I said gently.
"Or confusion," Andrew groaned. "I do not want to misread it and embarrass myself."
"You deserve someone brave enough to meet you halfway," I told him.
He smiled. "So do you."
The room went quiet.
I checked my phone without thinking.
I wish I had not.
A message from an unknown number. No text. Just an image.
My stomach dropped.
It was me.
Standing at Matteo's front door. Hand lifted mid knock. The angle was close. Recent. Taken today.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
"Emily?" Andrew's voice sounded far away.
"I need to go," I said, standing so fast my chair scraped loudly against the floor.
"What? Why? What happened?"
"I will explain later," I said, already grabbing my bag. "I promise."
I left before he could ask anything else.
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The cab ride back felt endless. Every reflection in the window felt like eyes watching me. By the time I pulled up to Matteo's estate, my hands were trembling. I could see the imposing gates, the manicured gardens, the mansion looming above me like a fortress. I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself before ringing the doorbell.
The door opened almost immediately.
Matteo.
He was sitting at the bar, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. The faint smell of alcohol mixed with his cologne hit me like a punch. His posture was slumped, his eyes darkened with something I could not read. Panic flared through me, but I forced myself to stay calm.
"Matteo," I said softly, stepping inside.
He looked up slowly, his gaze heavy and unfocused. "Emily," he said, voice low and rough. "You're back."
I hesitated, glancing at the glass in his hand. "You've been drinking?"
He shrugged, the movement minimal, as if it didn't matter. "It's been a long day." His words were flat, but the tension radiating off him was palpable.
I set my bag down and approached carefully. "Matteo… are you okay? Do you want to talk?"
He looked at me then, really looked at me, and I felt the weight of his gaze like a physical force. "Do you want the truth?" he asked, voice almost breaking. "It's the anniversary. The day she….died I drink because it helps me not remember because it hurts less when I don't remember. But it still hurts."
My chest tightened, and my hand went to his arm instinctively. "I… I'm so sorry," I whispered. "I didn't know. I didn't mean to..."
Before I could finish, his hand was on my cheek, tilting my head up toward him. His lips met mine with a force I hadn't expected, deep and consuming. My heart leapt, a mix of shock and longing surging through me.
He pulled back just slightly, enough to press our foreheads together, his breath warm against my skin. His eyes searched mine, intense and desperate.
"You don't understand," he said, voice low and ragged. "I would give anything to have her back. But I can't. I can't. And yet… you're here. You're alive. And I…" His voice faltered, then he kissed me again, harder this time, cradling my head in his hands as if he could protect both of us from everything, from Stacy, from grief, from the weight of the past.
I melted into him, my hands resting on his chest, feeling the heat and the strength I had tried so hard to resist. The kiss was full of pain, desire, and something dangerously intimate. I could feel him trembling slightly against me, the alcohol loosening the walls he had kept up for so long.
The world outside the room ceased to exist. It was just him, me, and the tension between past and present, grief and longing, fear and desire.
Finally, he pulled back just enough to whisper against my lips. "I can't… not like this. Not for you. Not for me."
My heart raced. "Matteo…"
"I know what you're thinking," he said, his hands still cradling my head. "Don't. You don't know the half of it. But you… you've changed everything already."
I swallowed, my voice barely audible. "I just want to help. I just… I care about you and Sophia. That's all."
He looked at me, the weight of grief and longing evident in his green eyes, the faint redness around them from drinking and sleepless nights. Then he kissed me again, slower this time, as if memorizing every detail, every nuance. His hands tangled in my hair, cradling me like I was the only thing holding him together.
I felt my pulse spike, every nerve in my body on fire. Fear, desire, worry, and longing collided, making my head spin. His lips moved against mine with a dangerous urgency that left me breathless.
And then, just as quickly, he pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against mine again. He whispered one word, rough and intimate, carrying a weight I could not ignore.
"Stay."
I nodded without thinking, pressed against him, feeling the tremor in his body as he tried to hold himself together. Outside, the world continued, but here, in this room, it was just him and me, a fragile connection forming amid grief, desire, and danger.
The door to the mansion clicked somewhere in the distance. The shadows of the past were still there, waiting, watching, and stalking in silence.
But for now, Matteo held me, and I held onto him. And the thought that Stacy was out there, knowing our every move, made the moment even more urgent, more raw, more real.
I didn't know what tomorrow would bring. I didn't know what threats awaited us, what traps Stacy had set. But in that second, as Matteo pressed me against him and kissed me with an intensity that stole my breath, nothing else mattered.
And yet, the danger lingered, whispered in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike.