Chapter 4 - The Art of Survival
For three days, the clock tower became Tessa’s world.
While Matteo ran his organization from an adjoining office filled with encrypted screens and quiet, urgent phone calls, Tessa refused to sit idle. She pacing the high-ceilinged room, studying the security monitors, and learning the layout of the building down to the millimeter.
On the fourth evening, she walked into Matteo’s office without knocking.
He was sitting behind his steel desk, his shirt sleeves rolled up, staring at a complex financial flow chart mapping Rossi’s international accounts. He looked exhausted; dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his jaw was covered in two days of dark stubble.
"You haven't slept in forty-eight hours," Tessa said, carrying a mug of hot coffee she had brewed in the kitchen.
Matteo looked up, surprised. He accepted the mug, his fingers briefly brushing against hers. The small point of contact sent a warm jolt straight up her arm.
"Rossi is moving his assets into offshore accounts in Panama," Matteo said, taking a sip of the coffee. "If he successfully transfers the money by Friday, he’ll have enough capital to hire local mercenaries to storm this building."
Tessa looked at the screen, her sharp eyes scanning the numbers and corporate names.
"That name," she said, pointing a finger at a holding company listed near the bottom of the chart. "Veloce Logistics."
Matteo leaned closer. "What about it?"
"Signor Rossi mentioned that name during dinner," Tessa recalled, her photographic memory for detail kicking in. "He said 'Veloce isn't a ship—it's the vault.' He was using it as a codename for a private bank in Zurich, not Panama."
Matteo’s eyes widened slightly. He quickly typed the name into his encrypted database. Within seconds, a new branch of financial data opened up on his screen, exposing Rossi’s true primary account holding over thirty million dollars.
"He created a dummy paper trail toward Panama to draw my attention away from Zurich," Matteo whispered, a look of fierce admiration spreading across his face as he looked up at her. "You just saved me three weeks of searching."
"Does that mean you can freeze his money?"
"It means I can destroy him by tomorrow morning," Matteo said.
He stood up from his desk, walking around to stand in front of her. The exhaustion seemed to melt away from him, replaced by a dark, intoxicating energy.
"You're remarkable, Tessa Hart," he said softly, his voice low and intimate.
Tessa looked up at him, her chest rising and falling softly. "I just listen when people speak."
"No," Matteo murmured, reaching out and gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. His touch was incredibly gentle, contrasting sharply with the raw power he commanded. "Others listen to hear what they want. You listen to find the truth."
Tessa felt her breath catch in her throat. She should have pulled away; she should have reminded him of her rules—no touching, no involvement, no intimacy. But standing there in the quiet room, looking into his dark, searching eyes, she realized her rules had completely crumbled.
"Matteo..." she whispered his name for the first time.
"Tell me to stop," he murmured, his face inches from hers. "Tell me to walk away, and I will."
Tessa didn't tell him to stop.
Instead, she reached up, her fingers sliding into his dark, soft hair, and pulled him down to her lips.
The kiss was intense, electric, and filled with three days of built-up tension. Matteo wrapped his strong arms around her waist, pulling her flush against his body as if trying to shield her from the entire world. For a long, breathless moment, there was no mob war, no stolen millions, and no danger—only the two of them suspended high above the city streets.
May you like
When they finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, Matteo rested his forehead against hers.
"I won't let them hurt you," he swore softly into the quiet room. "I will tear this city down before I let anyone take you from me."
