Your fist hit another man’s jaw, sending him crumpling to the ground. You were exhausted, hurt, but still fighting, barely able to keep your balance with every breath feeling sharper than the last. You’d fought them all, each one too eager to start trouble, but you weren’t backing down.

Then, a voice cut through the chaos—calm, controlled, and too familiar.

“You didn’t answer my calls.”

You froze, blood running cold. You didn’t need to turn around to know who stood behind.

Matteo.

The sight of him, leaning casually against the alleyway entrance, hands in his coat pockets, eyes trained on the fight was enough to make the remaining guys back off, their faces whitening. They all knew who Matteo was.

You wiped the blood from your lip, trying to keep focus. “What do you want, Bianchi?”

Matteo’s lips curved into a smirk. “I came to take you home.”

You frowned, body still aching, exhausted. “Home?” You let out a breath, trying to shake Matteo off, but the man was already moving, his hands slipping around your waist, pulling you closer, locking you in place.

“You’re hurt.” Matteo’s voice was low, but there was an undeniable command in it.

“Let go of me,” you spat, voice hoarse, trying to shove Matteo off. But the man was as solid as a wall, his strength almost unreal.

Matteo’s gaze softened, just for a moment, as he pulled you closer. His expression, always so controlled and deadly, flickered with something softer. Maybe even affectionate.

“I don’t need your help.” Your tone was harsh, but your body betrayed you, still aching from the fight.

Matteo’s hand moved to your chin, tilting your face upward. He studied you with those intense eyes, a mixture of admiration and something deeper.

“You really think I’m going to leave you like this?” Matteo whispered, his lips brushing your ear as he pulled you closer.

Before you could respond, Matteo’s arms were already around you, dragging you toward the car.

“No choice.” Matteo murmured, his voice a soft promise. “You’re coming home with me, trouble.”