Chapter 34: Pulling Threads

The night draped itself over the city like a velvet curtain, the streets glittering with the reflections of passing cars and neon lights. But inside Matteo's penthouse, the storm between him and Emilio was just starting to brew into something far more dangerous.

"You've been avoiding me," Matteo said quietly, leaning against the marble kitchen counter, swirling the whiskey in his glass like he had all the time in the world to pick Emilio apart.

Emilio crossed his arms defensively, refusing to meet Matteo's eyes. "Not avoiding. Just... giving you space."

Matteo laughed under his breath a rich, rough sound that made Emilio's insides clench traitorously. "Space," Matteo repeated mockingly. "Is that what you call running away every time I walk into a room?"

Emilio bit the inside of his cheek, trying to hold on to his temper but it was slipping fast. The past few days had been a minefield of tension, each encounter with Matteo winding him tighter, pulling at the seams of the fragile self-control he clung to.

"You're not my keeper," Emilio snapped.

"No," Matteo said, setting down his glass with a soft clink. "I'm something much worse, aren't I?"

Before Emilio could react, Matteo closed the distance between them in three long, deliberate strides. His hand came up, brushing a stray lock of Emilio's hair behind his ear with a tenderness that belied the sharpness of his next words.

"I'm the man you can't stop thinking about."

Emilio flinched like he'd been slapped, his mouth opening maybe to deny it, maybe to scream, he didn't even know. But Matteo didn't give him the chance. His fingers trailed along the edge of Emilio's jaw, tracing the fine trembling line of it, before tipping his chin up with two knuckles.

"You dream about me, don't you, tesoro?" Matteo murmured. "Even when you hate me... even when you tell yourself you won't fall."

Emilio's heart thundered against his ribs. He hated how Matteo's voice curled around him like a noose, how easily it slipped under his skin, sank its hooks into the parts of him he didn't dare admit were starving for this attention. For him.

"You're wrong," Emilio whispered, but the words fell flat between them.

Matteo smiled slow, patient, like a predator savoring the last few seconds before the pounce. His thumb brushed over Emilio's lower lip, a featherlight touch that sent shivers racing down his spine.

"You say no," Matteo said, so low it was almost a growl, "but your body says please."

Emilio squeezed his eyes shut, cursing his own weakness, cursing the way his breathing hitched, the way his fists clenched at his sides instead of shoving Matteo away.

"And one day, bello," Matteo said, dipping his head so their foreheads almost touched, "you'll beg me to give you what we both know you crave."

A crackling silence bloomed between them thick, stifling.

For one insane second, Emilio almost leaned into him. Almost surrendered.

But he pulled away sharply, his chest heaving, his cheeks burning with humiliation and fury.

"I'll never beg," he spat, shoving Matteo backward.

Matteo only grinned, all white teeth and wicked, wicked patience.

"Not yet," he said simply, letting him go. "But you will."

Emilio turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, his own heartbeat a thunder in his ears. He could still feel Matteo's touch on his skin ghostly, searing and no matter how far he ran, he knew it was already too late.

Matteo had started unraveling him.

And there was no stopping it now.