Chapter 77

Matteo didn’t catch what Genevieve had just asked him. His hands moved almost automatically, discarding the bandage wrappings, but his thoughts were still tangled up in the meeting he had just left. There was something about Luca Guerra that unsettled him deeply. Matteo had never been more certain about anything in his life. Guerra was young—probably in his early twenties—but that alone wasn’t unusual. He definitely looked Italian, but his accent felt exaggerated, like a mask. What really threw Matteo off was the way Luca’s eyes scanned the room, as if every glance was a calculated move in a game Matteo was supposed to be winning, something to be studied and filed away for future advantage.

A hand rested lightly on Matteo’s back, and he exhaled a long, weary breath. Turning around, he found Genevieve looking up at him, worry creasing her forehead. His gaze dropped to her knuckles, wrapped in bandages, and he suppressed a groan. The image of her in the fight with Mallory—fierce, untamed, relentless—was much more appealing. He smirked, recalling it was Frankie who had drawn his attention to the scuffle.

“Holy fucking shit, that’s hot,” Frankie had said, eyes wide with admiration.

Guerra had noticed too. “Isn’t that the girl you had with you, Accardi? I thought she was just your escort, but maybe she’s your bodyguard?”

“Matteo?” Genevieve repeated for what felt like the hundredth time, finally breaking through his distracted haze.

Blinking, he met her piercing ice-blue eyes. The tension in her brow eased slightly with his attention. “Sorry, what was that?”

“What happened in the meeting?” she pressed.