Bound To My Mafia Stepuncles novel Chapter 25

Chapter 25

Aria’s POV

I swallow hard, glaring up at him even as my body betrays me with its reaction to his closeness. The warmth of his fingers around my wrist burns through my skin, and I hate the way my pulse picks up speed–because I know he feels it.

Matteo doesn’t just hold on. He lingers.

His thumb brushes over the inside of my wrist, slow, deliberate. His smirk deepens when he catches the way my breath hitches.

“Careful, piccola,” he murmurs, his voice all silk and sin. “You’re shaking.”

I snap back into myself, yanking my wrist free with more force than necessary. “Go to hell.”

Matteo chuckles, stepping back like he’s indulging me. “Already there, sweetheart.”

I take a steadying breath and cross my arms, scowling. “I’m not going to dinner.”

His smirk fades slightly, but his amusement doesn’t. If anything, he looks intrigued.

“See, that’s where you’re wrong.” He gestures toward the door with a lazy flick of his hand. “You’re coming, one way or another. I don’t mind carrying you.”

I scoff. “You wouldn’t dare.”

His brows lift. “Wouldn’t I?”

He takes a step forward, and I bolt.

Or at least, I try to.

Matteo moves fast–too fast. Before I can even reach the other side of the bed, his arms loop around my waist, lifting me

off the floor like I weigh nothing.

“Matteo!” I shriek, kicking out as he throws me over his shoulder.

His grip tightens, and he laughs–actually laughs–as if he’s enjoying this far too much.

“Damn, you really are small,” he muses, his hand pressing against the back of my bare thigh, pinning me in place. “I was expecting more of a fight.”

“I will kill you!” I growl, pounding my fists against his back.

“Later,” he replies smoothly, already striding toward the door. “Dinner first.”

I don’t stop fighting, but it’s useless. He’s all solid muscle, his grip firm, his body warm and infuriatingly steady.

And worse?

I can feel every inch of him.

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Chapter 25

The strength In his arms, the sheer dominance in the way he carries me like I weigh nothing. Like lan ba to handle however he pleases.

It should piss me off,

It does.

But it also does something else.

Something I don’t want to name.

By the time we reach the dining room, I’m out of breath from struggling, and Matteo is grinning like he just won a damn prize.

The Dinner Table Standoff

The second we enter, all eyes turn to us.

Dante is already seated beside Enzo at the long table, his fingers steepled beneath his chin, his gaze cool and unreadable.

Enzo, sitting at the head of the table, tilts his head slightly, his sharp blue eyes flicking between me and Matteo’s still smug expression.

Neither of them look surprised.

Just annoyed.

Matteo finally sets me down, his hands lingering a second too long before releasing me completely.

I immediately step back, brushing my damp hair from my face as I glare at him. “You’re insane.”

Matteo winks. “You’re welcome.”

I turn my glare on Enzo and Dante. “This is kidnapping, you know.”

Dante doesn’t even blink. “You were invited.”

“Yeah?” I snap. “And what if I say no?”

Enzo takes a slow sip of his wine, gaze never leaving mine. “Then Matteo will just keep carrying you back here every night.”

I open my mouth–then shut it, seething.

They wouldn’t.

…Would they?

Dante gestures to the empty chair beside him. “Sit.”

His voice is calm. Controlled.

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But beneath it, there’s something deeper. A command that isn’t up for discussion.

I hesitate for half a second too long.

Dante shifts slightly. “We’re not asking.”

A shiver runs down my spine.

The tension in the room thickens, pressing against my skin.

I force my shoulders back and lift my chin, not letting them see the effect they have on me. Without a word, I walk over

and sit.

It’s a small victory, but I’ll take it.

Matteo, of course, leans back in his chair like he’s enjoying the whole thing. “See? Was that so hard?”

I don’t dignify him with a response.

They Start Digging

The dinner starts off silent.

Too silent.

I focus on the food in front of me, but I can feel their eyes on me, watching. Assessing.

I last all of five minutes before I snap. “What?”

Enzo is the first to speak. “Your father died when you were sixteen.”

I freeze.

The room stills.

I grip my fork tightly. “Excuse me?”

Dante’s voice is quieter but no less powerful. “You were close to him.”

Matteo, for once, isn’t smirking. His tone is casual, but his eyes are too sharp. “And your mother? She doesn’t even look at you, does she?”

My stomach twists.

How do they know this?

I exhale slowly, forcing my expression into something unreadable. “You’ve been digging into my life.”

Enzo doesn’t blink. “We needed to understand you.”

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