His Tesoro: An Arranged Marriage Age Gap Mafia Romance (Empire of Royals Book 1)
His Tesoro: Chapter 12

My cheeks were wet with tears when I woke, and nausea churned in my stomach. I took a deep breath and wiped my face. The room was completely dark—no sunlight streamed through the crack in the curtains—telling me it was the middle of the night.

I’d gone to bed early, unable to stand the oppressive loneliness of the apartment any longer. Matteo had escaped after our time together in the gym, and I hadn’t seen him for the rest of the day.

I hadn’t seen anyone.

I’d puttered around the apartment. Watched some TV. Tried and failed to replace an interesting book to read in Matteo’s library. Even my favorite romance—a well-worn book written in the eighties with a dramatic clinch cover—couldn’t keep my attention. Mila and I had found a stack of romance books in the attic a couple of years back in a box belonging to our baba—our maternal grandmother. I’d left most of them with Mila, but I couldn’t resist bringing this one with me. I’d tried reading some of my favorite scenes, but my attention kept wandering. Reading about love just made me feel empty right now.

By 8:30 p.m., I’d been so bored out of my mind I’d taken a long bath and then gone to sleep.

Until my nightmare woke me.

I pushed myself up to a seated position, cringing at the way my pajamas clung to my sweaty skin. There was no way I could fall back asleep now.

I was used to nightmares. I’d had them since I was a child, although they didn’t happen as often when Mila slept in my bed. I’d never admitted that to my sister because I didn’t want her to feel guilty if she chose to sleep in her own room. She shouldn’t have to take care of me. But she’d found her way to my bed most nights. Maybe we both needed each other.

Here, in the vast, silent apartment, it seemed like my nightmares were my only consistent visitor.

I pushed myself to my feet, leaving my rollator and wheelchair behind as I slipped out of my room. Soreness was sinking into my muscles after my morning workout, but I didn’t want to use a mobility aid and risk making noise.

I stood in the middle of the living room, unsure of what to do. I didn’t want to be in this apartment anymore. I needed space to breathe.

I headed to the window leading out to the fire escape and slid it open. A rush of chilly air hit me and I grabbed a blanket off the couch before returning. I eased my way out of the window, praying all my joints stayed in place, and then my butt landed on the cold metal.

I grinned.

The fire escape landing looked over the city. Lights twinkled below me, cars still filling the streets. It made me feel less alone to know I wasn’t the only one awake right now. Something about sitting on a fire escape seemed so freaking cool. If I had a phone, I would take a picture and send it to Mila.

After a while, curiosity got the best of me. We were on the top floor of the apartment, but metal fire escape stairs extended above me to the roof. A sense of adventure and maybe recklessness seized me. What was up there?

My knees creaked as I stood, but I ignored them. I would climb the stairs, consequences be damned. My body would just have to suck it up.

I walked slowly, careful not to trip on the blanket wrapped around me like a cloak. My smile widened when I reached the top. I could get on the roof. My wrists twinged as I pulled myself over a small ledge, scraping my palms against the rough concrete.

And then I was there. Standing tall above the city.

I’d expected something bare and industrial, maybe random pipes and utility equipment, but as I squinted into the darkness, I found something much more luxurious.

A few lights along the perimeter illuminated a large seating area to my left. A free-standing pergola covered a set of outdoor furniture that formed a circle around a metal firepit. To my right, there was a large, slightly raised slab. I couldn’t see it clearly in the dark, but I bet it was a helicopter landing pad. I recognized it from the medical shows Mila and I used to watch.

I headed towards the seating area, letting out a small squeak of excitement when I saw string lights wrapped around the pergola. I felt around until I found the outlet and plugged them in. The glowing light made the space feel cozy and highlighted a set of wooden planters lining this side of the roof. When I peered inside them, I didn’t replace any plants, just dirt. It was probably too early in the year for gardening, anyway, with the city only just now yielding to spring. I dragged my fingers through the dirt. Maybe I could plant some things. Herbs for baking and cooking. Flowers for the dining room table.

When I could no longer ignore the pain in my knees, I flopped down on one of the couches. I didn’t dare try to start a fire—I’d probably burn the entire building down—but as I snuggled deeper underneath my fleece blanket, I imagined being up here with Matteo with a fire going. We could make s’mores—it was one of the items on my Dream List.

I sighed, my eyes falling shut. Here, surrounded by the tall New York City buildings, the faint sounds of the street below, my list felt incredibly childish. I felt incredibly childish. Even though I’d grown up in the Pakhan’s home, I was so freaking sheltered. Women didn’t have agency in the Bratva, and my disability had made them treat me even more like a child.

Or a prisoner.

Mila’s words came back to me—you’re too sweet for your own good. I needed to grow a backbone. Be stronger. I hadn’t left this apartment yet, but I knew I would, eventually. Matteo wanted a queen, whatever that meant. He’d definitely picked the wrong bride if he wanted someone powerful by his side. I’d spent the past few years practicing being invisible and making myself small. It made me less of a target.

But maybe it also made me less of a person.

Like I’d slowly stripped myself of all humanity.

I only ever let myself be genuine with Mila and Dimi. Those were the only moments I felt real, felt strong.

When I teased Mila about her million TV crushes.

Taking care of her when she came back drunk after sneaking out to some party.

Forcing our bodyguard, Nikolai, to watch girly rom-coms with us.

Going out to the gun range with Dimi. Feeling powerful with a weapon in my hands as I hit the target.

These days, my primary emotion was fear, but I wanted to feel more. This new life with Matteo, this sham marriage, wasn’t what I would have chosen, but I needed to make the best of it. And that required taking inspiration from Mila’s bravery.

I was lost in thought when the sound of someone clearing their voice cut through the quiet. I jolted on the couch and let out a little shriek before I saw Matteo standing before me.

“Oh, hi,” I choked out. I wanted to smack myself for sounding so squeaky and breathy. Way to be strong, Sofiya.

The string lights illuminated Matteo’s hard jaw and the way his dark, long-sleeved tee stretched across his broad chest. His sweatpants sat low on his hips, and I quickly brought my eyes back to his.

He wasn’t saying anything. He just stood there, his piercing gaze fixed on me.

I fought against the urge to apologize for being up here. He had told me I was allowed to explore the apartment. He hadn’t said the roof was off-limits. If he wanted to be alone, he could leave. The petty part of me said I was here first.

“How did you get up here?” he asked.

“I levitated.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. I held my breath as I waited for his response to my sarcasm, but his face remained blank. I tried to match his expression, staring him down without blinking, but I quickly caved. “I took the stairs.”

“Hmm,” was his only response before he sat down across from me.

My chest was bursting with relief and excitement. I was starved for company, and he was choosing to be here with me.

“No walker, then?”

I cocked my head. “It would be a bit hard to use on the stairs.”

Matteo nodded, gazing out at the city, ice clinking in his drink in his hand. He looked deep in thought, but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. I wrapped my blanket tighter around myself and watched as he rubbed his thumb across his lips. Something sparked low in my stomach.

I didn’t look away.

“Why are you up so late?” he finally asked, sipping his drink.

I chewed my lip, wondering what to tell him. “A nightmare,” I finally admitted.

“Something we have in common.”

I blinked, shocked that he had revealed something personal about himself. The way his fingers clenched around his drink told me he was just as surprised as I was.

“I’m sorry you have nightmares,” I said, my voice almost a whisper.

He took another sip of his drink. “What are yours about?”

My mind flitted to my most recent dream. They were always the same—me, helpless and unable to move while the people I loved were harmed. I’d watched Dimi get shot, Mila sliced to pieces more times than my heart could take. No matter what I did to save them, I could never move. I was always stuck, trapped inside a frozen body that couldn’t even crawl to them.

Tonight’s nightmare had been the same, except this time, it was Matteo in front of me. A masked figure had dragged a knife across his bare chest as I screamed. I’d woken with his name on my lips.

“The people I care about getting hurt,” I finally said. “What about you?”

I was sure he wouldn’t answer, but after a few long moments, his words came, so soft I almost couldn’t believe I hadn’t imagined them. “The same.”

We held each other’s gaze and something shifted in the air between us.

The darkness wrapped around us like a blanket, cloaking us in a secret cocoon. This moment between us had an air of un-realness, as if the rays of the rising sun would wash it all away. But I wouldn’t forget it—his intent gaze, the electricity between us. I would treasure this memory as the first time I didn’t feel alone in my new life.

We would never be lovers. He had made that clear. But maybe we could be friends.

I shivered, and it broke the spell between us.

Matteo cleared his throat. “It’s cold. You should go inside.”

What would it be like for him to join me on the couch, to wrap his arms around me and warm me with his body? To feel the press of his lips against mine, but this time without an audience?

A pang of sadness squeezed my heart at the thought of what I’d never have. “We should probably both try to get some sleep.”

He stood, glancing back over his shoulder at the fire escape. “I’ll carry you down.”

“I can manage it.” I didn’t know what I wanted more—to assert my ability to handle a flight of stairs or to be pressed tight against my husband’s chest again.

I pushed to my feet. An icy breeze whipped across the rooftop and chills wracked my body.

“I won’t have you injure yourself,” Matteo said.

“I won’t.” I tightened my hold on the blanket and walked to the stairs. My knees ached, but I kept going.

I would show him I was capable.

I would show myself.

He didn’t rush me, didn’t comment on how slowly I moved. When we got to the window, he pushed it open for me. His hand brushed against my back as I clumsily crawled inside. Matteo followed, somehow looking graceful as he went through the window.

I caught a hint of his scent—leather and rain—and I fought the urge to press my face into his chest. I must be more tired than I thought.

My blanket slipped, and Matteo moved it back up my shoulder. His touch lingered, and then he inhaled sharply and turned away, heading back to his room.