Hunted By The Mafia Prince

Chapter 7: True Love

Emma’s POV:

It’s possible I’ve made a mistake.

When Matteo had insisted on bringing me to his house, I’d thought that, at best, he just wanted to talk in a place where I would be intimidated, or at worst, he was going to kill me. I was confident in my ability to handle the situation, since predicting the possible outcomes of it made it easier to plan for them.

But then he went and locked me up in a bedroom with his minions stationed at the door, and now, I am not so f*****g sure. I have zero clue on what’s going on in his head, or why he would turn this into a hostage situation.

Idly, I’m reminded of a few years ago, when I’d first met Matteo and he’d kidnapped me for seeing something I shouldn’t have seen. Back then, he’d wanted to make a deal with me. Could he want the same now?

Sighing, I take a good long look at the distance between the window I’m standing at and the ground beneath it. I’m quick to realize that I am way too high up. The fall would lead to at least one or two broken bones, and I would have accomplished nothing.

I step away from the window and go plop down on the bed. I look around the room curiously. I assume it’s some sort of guest bedroom, based on the simple and impersonal decor. It’s got the same modern and lavish vibe to it as the rest of the house, too.

Actually, the word ‘house’ probably doesn’t do this place justice; it’s a whole ass villa. I kinda wish I could steal a few pictures. One of my little sisters does interior design, so I know she’d be obsessed with this place.

Alas, my captor has denied me the luxury of having my phone.

I’m distracted from my thoughts when I hear voices at the door. One of them is feminine, sweet, familiar, while the other is the deep, masculine voice of one of the men standing guard. I move closer to eavesdrop, but it turns out I don’t need to. The door swings open in the next second.

Aria comes in with a plate of cake in her hands.

I gasp.

My savior.

“Hello,” she says, a tad bit awkward as the guard shuts the door behind her.

I hear the tell-tale click of the lock, but I don’t even care. It’s been hours since I’ve last eaten. I feel like I could die at any moment, and that cake looks so goddamn good.

“I brought this for you,” she continues with a nod towards the plate. “I figured you might be hungry.”

“Your assumption is correct. I am hungry, both for food and for company.” I pat the space across from me on the bed. “Come, sit.”

She obliges.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” I tell her. “For the whole ‘crashing your wedding and putting a gun to your head’ thing. I was never actually going to hurt you. I hope you know that.”

“Oh no, it’s okay,” she reassures me. “I wasn’t scared of you, I was scared for you. And I kinda figured there would be some drama at my wedding when I sent you the invite.”

“How did you do that, by the way? Find my address?”

She averts her gaze. “I saw your friend Milena at the bakery she works at, and I… Well, I may have followed her home.”

“Wow,” I say, more amused than anything. “You should’ve just come in and had some cookies while you were there.”

Slim fingers pluck at the thread on the bed’s duvet. “I was worried you’d think it was a trick or something. I didn’t wanna scare you off, so I figured the wedding was the best idea. I have to admit, I had doubts that you’d come. I was really happy when you did.”

“Why would you be happy?” I ask, bluntly. “Don’t you hate me?”

“No, Emma, I don’t hate you. I never hated you.”

At my dubious look, she insists, “I’m serious. I mean, I was devastated when Matt, Luca, and Nico went to jail, but I never blamed you for it. With the lifestyle that we live, and the work that they do, I’ve always known that the ones I love could be taken away from me at any moment. It’s a risk I have to live with.”

“That must be scary,” I murmur.

Aria nods. “For me, for everyone in the Famiglia, the police feel like the bad guys, but that’s because we’re the bad guys. So, I guess what I’m trying to say is, I understand why you felt like you had to do what you did. I get it. You were just being a good person, and it sucks that doing the right thing makes you a traitor to us.”

Now I’m the one who looks away.

There is so much sincerity in her light brown eyes, so much understanding. My brain tells me that everything she’s saying is true, that it makes sense, but there is an all too familiar tightness in my chest that reminds me I don’t deserve her sympathy. Not after everything I’ve done to her.

As if sensing my thoughts, she reaches out and grasps my hand. I look up at her again with a smile.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re, like, really great?” I inquire. “‘Cause you are. And I’m not just saying that because you brought me cake.”

She flushes. “I’m just being honest.”

“I know,” I assure her. “That’s what makes you great. I totally get why Matteo’s nickname for you is ‘angel.’ You really are one.”

Her flush deepens, and she pulls her hand back to tug at a strand of her hair. “My intentions weren’t entirely unselfish when I invited you to the wedding, though. I actually had a plan in mind.”

Curious, I ask, “What was your plan?”

“Well, I was kinda hoping you and Matt would make up. My plan was for you two to see each other, realize you’ve been madly in love all this whole time, and get back together.” She frowns slightly. “I don’t think it really worked out.”

I choke back a laugh. “What was your first clue?”

Aria sighs sadly. “I wish you both weren’t so stubborn. That’s the only thing standing in the way of your happiness.”

“There is also the fact that I have a boyfriend,” I inform her. “And your brother just so happens to hate my guts.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” she dismisses.

“The number of times he’s threatened to kill me tonight says otherwise.”

She points her finger at me. “Exactly. Threatened. If he really hated you, he would’ve done it the second he saw you. My brother’s not the negotiating type.”

“Punch first, talk later?”

She snorts. “More like kill first, talk never.”

“So, let me get this straight, your evidence of his feelings for me is the fact that he hasn’t put a bullet through my head yet?” I whistle, pretending to be impressed. “Damn, I can see why you’re so invested in this relationship. It sounds like true love.”

“It is true love,” she states. “He’s different without you. He’s not the same anymore. It’s like a whole new Matteo. Remember how he used to paint? How he had that studio in the attic of his old house— the one he never let anyone see?” She sighs again. “He burned the place down when he got out of jail. He hasn’t painted a thing since.”

A knot gets lodged in my throat.

With a wistful look on her face, she tells me, “I miss the old Matteo. I miss the way you made him smile.”

I can’t think of anything to say, but she doesn’t seem to expect me to. She just smiles sadly and does what good friends do— she hands me the piece of cake.

After the enlightening conversation with Aria, I stay up all night, my brain buzzing with thoughts. I stare at the ceiling, watching it shift from darkness to light as the sun rises to mark yet another day. I’m exhausted physically, but my mind can’t seem to get the memo and shut the hell up already.

When I finally begin to doze off, I hear the door unlock, and I sit upright in bed, fully alert again. Two men enter, dressed in identical black suits, wearing the same scowls on their faces. I’m reminded so strongly of the oompa loompas in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory that I half expect them to burst into a song about my impending doom.

Instead, one of them, who looks vaguely familiar, says, “The boss is expecting you for breakfast.”