---
The next morning, Natasha awoke to the sound of the door unlocking. She sat up quickly, her muscles tensing as Matteo entered, his usual smirk absent. He carried a tray of food—eggs, toast, and a steaming cup of coffee.
"Thought you might be hungry," he said, setting the tray on the small table by the window.
Natasha crossed her arms, her glare unwavering. "What's the matter? No guards to handcuff me to the chair while I eat?"
Matteo raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. "I could arrange that if it makes you feel more comfortable."
She rolled her eyes and ignored the tray. "I don't need your charity, Moretti. Let me go, or tell me what you want."
Matteo sighed, dragging a hand through his dark hair. "You don't listen, do you? You're not going anywhere until I'm sure you're safe."
"Safe from what? Your enemies? Or you?" Natasha shot back, her voice sharp.
He stepped closer, his gray eyes softening slightly. "Both."
Natasha's breath hitched, but she quickly masked it with a derisive laugh. "Spare me the protective act. If you were so concerned, you'd let me disappear. Instead, you keep me locked up in your mansion like some kind of trophy."
Matteo crouched in front of her, his intense gaze locking onto hers. "You're not a trophy, Natasha. And I'm not keeping you here for fun. If you'd just stop trying to run for five minutes, I could explain."
Natasha leaned back slightly, narrowing her eyes. "Then explain."
For a moment, Matteo seemed to hesitate, his lips pressing into a thin line. Finally, he spoke. "You've seen too much. The moment you filed that report, you painted a target on your back—not just from my enemies, but from people much worse. Letting you go now would be signing your death warrant."
Her heart sank at the sincerity in his tone, but she refused to let herself believe him entirely. "So what? I'm supposed to live in a cage forever? Forget about my life, my career?"
"No," Matteo said firmly. "You'll have your life back. But not yet."
Natasha shook her head, frustration bubbling to the surface. "I don't believe you. You're just using this as an excuse to control me."
Matteo straightened, his jaw tightening. "Think what you want, but you'll thank me when you're alive to curse me for it."
He turned and left the room, locking the door behind him. Natasha stared at the tray of food, her appetite nonexistent. She couldn't stay here. Not like this.
---
Later that night, Natasha formulated another plan. The guards were more alert now, but she noticed that one of them—a younger man—seemed distracted during his shift. He kept checking his phone, laughing at something on the screen.
She decided to use it to her advantage.
When he walked past her door, she banged on it loudly. "Hey! I need help! Please, it's an emergency!"
The guard hesitated, his footsteps pausing outside. "What is it?" he called.
"My chest—it hurts," Natasha said, feigning short breaths. "I think I'm having a heart attack."
There was a long pause before the door opened slightly. The guard peeked in, his face skeptical. "You don't look like you're having a heart attack."
Natasha clutched her chest, leaning against the wall. "Please… I can't breathe."
The guard stepped inside cautiously. That was all she needed. Natasha grabbed the vase from the bedside table and swung it at his head. The vase shattered on impact, and the guard crumpled to the ground, unconscious.
Her heart pounding, Natasha grabbed his keycard and slipped out of the room. She moved quickly, her bare feet silent against the cold marble floor. This time, she knew better than to head for the front door. Instead, she searched for a side exit, somewhere less guarded.
As she rounded a corner, she collided with something solid—someone. Strong hands steadied her, and she looked up, her heart sinking as Matteo's cold gray eyes bore into hers.
"Going somewhere, bella?" he asked, his voice dangerously calm.
Natasha tried to bolt, but Matteo was too fast. He caught her wrist, his grip firm but not painful. "I warned you, Natasha. Running is a bad idea."
"Let me go," she snarled, struggling against him.
Matteo didn't budge. Instead, he pulled her closer, his expression unreadable. "You don't get it, do you? Every time you run, you make things worse for yourself. I'm the only one standing between you and people who'd kill you without a second thought."
"I'd rather take my chances," she snapped.
His jaw tightened, his eyes darkening. "You're infuriating," he muttered.
Natasha glared at him, her defiance unwavering. "Good."
Matteo shook his head, his grip loosening slightly. "You think this is a game, but it's not. You're playing with fire, and I'm trying to keep you from getting burned."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The tension between them crackled like a live wire, and Natasha was acutely aware of the warmth of his hand on her wrist. Her breath hitched as his gaze flickered to her lips before snapping back to her eyes.
"Stop looking at me like that," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
"Like what?" Matteo asked, his voice low and rough.
"Like… like you care," she said, her heart pounding.
Matteo's lips curved into a faint, almost sad smile. "Maybe I do."
Before Natasha could respond, he released her wrist and stepped back. "Come on," he said, his tone softer now. "Let's get you back to your room."
Reluctantly, she followed him, her mind racing. Matteo Moretti was an enigma—dangerous, infuriating, and maddeningly intriguing. And for the first time, Natasha wasn't sure if she hated him… or if she was beginning to understand him.
---
The sun had barely risen when Natasha was startled awake by a loud knock on her door. A maid entered, balancing a tray laden with food. Unlike the day before, there was no room for conversation. The woman's face was stony, her eyes avoiding Natasha's as she set the tray on the bedside table and retreated without a word.
Natasha's gaze followed her out, noting the increased presence of guards outside her door. Their movements were brisk, and their alertness had doubled. Something had changed.
It wasn't long before she realized what it was—Matteo Moretti was nowhere to be found.
Natasha chewed on a piece of bread, her mind racing. If Matteo wasn't here, this was her chance. But every time she glanced at the guards or tried to imagine sneaking past them, the risk felt insurmountable. The added security was no coincidence; they knew she would notice Matteo's absence and might attempt to escape.
Hours dragged by with nothing to do but pace the room. Noon arrived, bringing an eerie silence. She peered through the heavy curtains, hoping for a glimpse of the outside world, but all she saw were tall gates and an endless expanse of manicured gardens.
And then, chaos erupted.
Raised voices echoed through the halls, accompanied by the hurried thuds of footsteps. Natasha pressed her ear to the door, straining to make out the commotion. Moments later, the door burst open, and two guards barged in.
"You're needed downstairs," one of them barked.
Natasha's stomach twisted. "What's going on?"
"Now!" he snapped, grabbing her arm and dragging her out before she could resist.
She was ushered down the grand staircase into a parlor that had been hastily converted into a medical station. Matteo Moretti lay on a makeshift bed, his shirt soaked in blood, his complexion pale.
"He was ambushed," one of the guards explained. "You're a doctor. Fix him."
Natasha froze, her pulse quickening. "Why me? You must have someone else—"
"You're all we've got right now," the guard interrupted, shoving a medical kit into her hands.
Her eyes darted to Matteo's face. He was semi-conscious, his gray eyes glazed but still holding that familiar intensity.
"Natasha," he murmured, his voice weak yet commanding.
She set her jaw. "Fine. But don't expect me to be gentle."
---
Natasha moved quickly, inspecting the gunshot wound on Matteo's shoulder. It wasn't life-threatening, but the bullet needed to come out. The room buzzed with tension as the guards and staff watched her every move.
"I need hot water and clean towels," she ordered, snapping her fingers at the maid. "And clear the room. I need space to work."
The guards hesitated.
"Do you want him to live or not?" Natasha snapped, glaring at them.
Reluctantly, they filed out, leaving only two guards by the door.
Natasha turned her attention back to Matteo. "This is going to hurt."
"Do your worst," he muttered, a faint smirk tugging at his lips despite his pain.
Her lips thinned. "Don't tempt me."
With deliberate precision, she sterilized the tools and began the extraction. Matteo's breathing quickened as she worked, his body tense beneath her touch. When her tweezers found the bullet, she pressed harder than necessary, earning a sharp intake of breath from him.
"Careful," he hissed through gritted teeth.
"I am careful," she replied coolly. "This is me being careful."
As the bullet came free, Natasha didn't ease her grip. Instead, she cleaned the wound with an antiseptic that she knew would sting like fire. Matteo flinched, his face contorting in pain, but he didn't cry out.
"Hurts, doesn't it?" she asked, her tone almost mocking.
His eyes met hers, dark and defiant. "I've felt worse."
"Good," she said, applying the bandage with perhaps a little too much force.
When she was done, she stood back, wiping her hands on a towel. "You'll live. Unfortunately."
Matteo chuckled weakly, his smirk returning. "I knew you'd take good care of me."
Natasha glared at him, resisting the urge to throw the bloody towel in his face. "Don't mistake my skills for kindness. If it were up to me, you'd still have that bullet lodged in your shoulder."
The guards re-entered, ready to escort her back to her room, but Matteo raised a hand to stop them.
"Wait," he said, his voice steadier now. "Leave us."
The guards exchanged a look but obeyed, leaving Natasha alone with Matteo.
"What do you want now?" she demanded, crossing her arms.
He tilted his head, studying her with a curious intensity. "You hate me," he said matter-of-factly.
"Congratulations on figuring that out," she retorted.
"And yet, you saved my life."
Natasha leaned closer, her voice low and venomous. "Don't mistake necessity for loyalty. I saved you because I had no choice."
His smirk faded, replaced by something more somber. "You always have a choice, Natasha. Remember that."
Before she could respond, the guards returned, pulling her away despite Matteo's weak protests.
As she was shoved back into her room, Natasha's mind raced. Matteo Moretti was many things—dangerous, manipulative, infuriating—but he wasn't invincible. And if today had proven anything, it was that even devils could bleed.
---