Chapter 4 It's All A Game

MATTEO He was seething with rage when he saw one of his men return-wasted, humiliated, and reeking of fear. The acrid stench of urine filled the air, adding to his disgust. Matteo's voice thundered across the room. "I sent one of my best men to the Lopez estate, and this is what I get?!" His eyes burned with fury as he took a step closer. "A weakling who pissed himself in fear? What sort of incompetent fools have I been saddled with?" His glare landed on the trembling man. He spat the name " Diego!!" like it was poison.

"I'm ashamed of you! What happened to the big cats I trained? I molded you into men who make waves-not cowards who crumble at a few words from another man!" The weight of his disappointment pressed down like a crushing force. Without another word, he dismissed them with a flick of his wrist. Turning away, he stalked toward his wine bar, his hands clenched into fists. He poured himself a drink, but it did little to drown the storm within him. Fear clawed at the edges of his mind, an emotion he rarely acknowledged-but one he couldn't ignore, all because of one young man, who he actually watched grow "Lorenzo" The name alone sent a cold shiver down his spine. Matteo knew he had landed himself in Lorenzo's bad books now. And there was no man more feared in all of Italy than him. He exhaled sharply, gripping the glass tighter. He wanted to believe this storm would pass. That he could weather it. But deep down, he knew- It was only just beginning Matteo His mind burned with fury and desperation. He wasn't just fighting for power-he was fighting for his family's place in the business. Once, they were the most powerful drug and wine conglomerate in all of Europe. Once. Now, he was watching it slip away-watching a boy he had known since birth rise up and threaten everything his family had bled and killed for. The thought was unbearable. With a roar of rage, Matteo threw a punch at the nearest object, sending wine bottles crashing to the floor. Glass shattered, and dark red liquid spilled across the marble tiles, the scent of aged wine mingling with his fury. He grabbed his glass, downed the last of his drink, and hurled it across the room. Another sharp crack, another explosion of shards. But none of it helped. Pain burned through his hand-sharp, searing. He looked down at his palm, now bloodied from the deep gash he'd inflicted on himself. But the pain in his flesh was nothing compared to the storm raging inside him. As he stood there, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths, he noticed movement. His wife. She stood at the staircase, one hand resting on the bannister, watching him with that same unreadable expression she always wore. Not shock. Not anger. Just quiet, piercing observation. He held her gaze for a moment, then looked away. Without a word, she descended the stairs, a small box of Kleenex in her hands. She knelt beside him, gently wiping away the tiny shards of glass embedded in his skin. Her touch was careful but firm, as though tending to a child who didn't know better than to hurt himself. When she finished, she looked him dead in the eye for a while Then, turning away, she called for the maid to clean up the destruction he had left in his wake. Matteo exhaled, watching her as she moved. There was something about her-something unshaken-that made him feel nostalgic. And for the first time that night, he wasn't sure if he was more furious at Lorenzo- Or at himself but allowed himself to godown memory lane Griselda was a Colombian beauty-striking, elegant, and dangerously untouchable. Matteo met her during a business negotiation with her father, one of the most powerful drug lords in all of South America. From the moment he laid eyes on her, something stirred inside him. But it wasn't love. It was an ambition. She was his gateway to power, to wealth, to an empire greater than any he had ever imagined. And so, he devised a plan-a meticulously crafted act of devotion. He pursued her relentlessly, whispering sweet words of undying love, spinning a web of passion and persistence. Her father, ever the skeptic, had dismissed the charade at first. He saw through Matteo, saw the hunger in his eyes. But as the months passed, as the courtship continued with unwavering determination, the old man chose to step back, watching from the shadows. Would his daughter fall for the performance? Or would she see the game for what it truly was? One fateful morning, Matteo received word that Griselda was in New York. Without a second thought, he boarded the next flight, the thrill of the chase igniting something primal within him. Like a cat toying with its prey before the final strike, he relished the pursuit. Upon arrival, he booked a suite in the same hotel where she was reportedly staying, discreetly monitoring her movements. Days passed, and just as impatience began to gnaw at him, a sharp knock echoed through his room. He glanced through the peephole-and there she was. Griselda. His lips curled into a smug smile. Swiftly, he checked his reflection, straightened his shirt, and smoothed his hair before opening the door. But before he could utter a word, a sharp sting erupted across his cheek. The slap landed with a force that left him momentarily stunned. "You asshole!" she seethed, her eyes burning with fury, her face a deep crimson. "I warned you to leave me alone, but your stupid ego can't handle rejection, can it? You're stalking me! Do you have any idea how creepy that is?" She glared at him, waiting for an explanation. Matteo swallowed, composing himself. "Love makes us do foolish things," he said smoothly, forcing a smile. Griselda scoffed. "Love? Love? Matteo, are you even capable of that?" She shook her head, disgusted, then shoved past him, storming down the hall. Matteo remained in place, touching his burning cheek. Instead of deterring him, her fierceness only fueled his obsession. He had to make this right. Immediately, he called one of his men, instructing him to book a private dinner at the hotel's rooftop restaurant. He was determined to shift her impression of him-to win her over, one way or another. As he hung up, he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. Why was he sweating? Why was his heart pounding? He cursed under his breath, shaking his head. Falling in love isn't good for business. Meanwhile, in her suite, Griselda paced the room, wrestling with a whirlwind of emotions. Matteo wasn't a terrible option-aside from his manipulative nature. She could handle him. Couldn't she? She scoffed at herself. Why had she gone out of her way to confront him like that? Why did she care? Letting out a deep breath, she resigned herself to waiting-if he truly wanted her, he'd make his next move. And he did. A few hours later, a sharp knock startled her awake. Instinct kicked in. In a swift motion, she reached into the nightstand for her gun. Years of being a drug lord's daughter had conditioned her well. She moved toward the door, checked the peephole, and let out a sigh of relief. Matteo. Adjusting her expression to look irritated-still fuming, still not impressed-she opened the door. The moment their eyes met, something inside her shifted. For the first time, she saw sincerity in his gaze. She raised a brow, silently questioning his presence. Matteo cleared his throat, but before he could speak, she cut him off. "Meet me on the rooftop for dinner," she said coolly. "I don't know how you'll arrange it, but you're a man. Figure it out." And with that, she shut the door in his face. Matteo stood frozen for a moment, dumbfounded-then, realization hit him. He chuckled, shaking his head. Something inside him lurched. No. No, this wasn't love. It couldn't be. Shoving the thought away, he strode back to his room to prepare. Matteo waited at the rooftop restaurant, restless, checking his watch. An hour passed. No sign of her. He clenched his jaw. She's playing games. Then, just as he was about to leave, a flash of red caught his eye. Griselda She stepped out of the elevator, exuding effortless grace and power. Her silk dress clung to her in all the right places, her luminous skin glowing under the dim lighting. His breath hitched as he took in the delicate tattoo on her neck-Mandarin script, a secret he desperately wanted to decipher. He swore under his breath, shifting uncomfortably as desire pooled in his gut. He straightened his suit, masked his reaction, and stood to greet her. As she reached the table, she extended a hand for a handshake. Instead, Matteo pulled her in for a hug. His face brushed against her neck, inhaling the intoxicating scent of lilies. She tensed but didn't pull away. As they took their seats, silence settled between them. Then, Griselda smirked. "So... what do you do when you're not stalking me?" Matteo chuckled, swirling his wine glass. "You know what I do," he said smoothly. "I run my business-just like your father. And I have a winery back in Italy." She tilted her head, amused. "Mmm. Wine and crime. Such a poetic combination." He chuckled, but she wasn't done. "I, myself, am a lab scientist," she said, taking a sip of her drink. "Though, I'm not working at the moment. I prefer to paint and be left alone." She emphasized the last words with a pointed look. Matteo smirked. "I intend to respect that. But at least give me a chance to get to know you." She pretended to consider it, her lips quirking in amusement. "And what happens when the thrill of the chase wears off?" she asked, arching a brow. Matteo leaned forward, locking eyes with her. "I don't play games. I know what I want, and I go for it." Before he could stop himself, the words left his mouth. Will you marry me?" Silence. The air grew thick with tension. Matteo realized what he had just said and felt his body go cold. Damn it. Not now. Not tonight. Griselda studied him, her expression unreadable. "That was... impulsive," she mused, swirling her wine. Matteo exhaled, nodding. "I know. But it's the truth. I am going to marry you-just didn't plan to ask today." He flashed a lopsided grin. "Maybe the universe is trying to tell us something." She opened her mouth to respond, but just then, their meals arrived. Her eyes lit up in surprise. "Oh my God... Arepas?!" She looked genuinely delighted. "So thoughtful of you-and the chef, of course." She winked playfully. Matteo laughed, savoring the moment. For the first time since they met, Griselda looked comfortable. Relaxed. And he'd be damned if he let this moment slip away. "I know it sounds crazy, but I meant what I said," he murmured, watching her closely. "I'll keep trying until I make you swoon." She chuckled, twirling a strand of hair. "I wouldn't call it crazy... yet." A teasing glint sparkled in her eyes. "Let's see how far you're willing to go." Matteo smirked. Challenge accepted. Dinner stretched long into the night, their conversation flowing effortlessly. By the time the clock struck one in the morning, Matteo noticed the way Griselda's eyelids drooped slightly You look tired," he said, watching her closely. "Why don't I walk you to your room so you can get some rest? It's late." She arched a brow, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips. "Why do I feel like you're the one who needs sleep but don't want to admit it? You think it'll make you look less masculine? That's pretty stupid." Matteo chuckled, shaking his head. "Griselda, we're all human. And while I appreciate the observation, I still think you should get some sleep. I function better at these hours, but that doesn't make me any more or less of a man." He smiled at her in that patient, doting way one would at a stubborn child, then stood and extended a hand. She pointedly ignored it. "Alright, Mr. Logic, I'll go back to my room and get my beauty sleep-because, you know, that's what females do," she quipped. "Ciao." With that, she strutted toward the elevator. As the doors slid open, she turned to face him, holding his gaze with a smug expression that lingered until the doors finally closed. Matteo exhaled, running a hand through his hair. This girl is a psycho... but I guess that's what I like these days. He grabbed his jacket, ready to retire for the night when something caught his eye-a single hairpin glinting under the soft restaurant lights. A slow smirk played on his lips. Oh, Griselda Martinez, I'll definitely be seeing you later today. Later that night, as Griselda lay in bed, her mind replayed every moment of the evening. No missteps. No visible cracks in her composure Yet, somehow, Matteo always seemed steps ahead of her. It was both unsettling and... oddly comforting. She smiled, finally allowing sleep to claim her. As the first rays of morning sunlight filtered through her window, birds chirped loudly outside, determined to pull her from slumber. She groaned, shooting a half-hearted glare at the window. Dragging herself up, she wandered to the dressing table, her fingers trailing over the dark mahogany mirror frame. She had seen it before, of course, but for the first time, she truly noticed it-from a collector's perspective. The craftsmanship was exquisite. Who made this? She made a mental note to ask the hotel if they could connect her with the artisan. Shaking the thought aside, she turned to her reflection. Smudged mascara, faint traces of lipstick, and a slightly wild mane of curls greeted her. Her dark brown eyes held the same sultry quality they always did-a look often misinterpreted. But that was just her resting face. She let out a small laugh, then began wiping away the remnants of last night's makeup. Soon after, she filled the bathtub, letting the warm water soothe away any lingering exhaustion. Freshly dressed, she reached for her phone, hesitating. Should I call Matteo? She chewed her lip. No-she wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Let him call first. As if on cue, her phone vibrated in her hand. Her heart did a small, involuntary flip when she saw his name. Pull it together, Griselda. She let it ring once. Twice. Then, on the second ring, she picked up, her voice deliberately slow and casual. "Hey... umm, good morning." "Good morning, warrior princess," Matteo's deep voice came through the line, laced with amusement. She rolled her eyes, fighting a smile. He had meant to tell her about the hairpin. But instead, the words that came out of his mouth were entirely different. "Let's get married, Griselda." Silence. Griselda's breath hitched. For a moment, she just nodded, as if he were standing in front of her, watching her reaction. Then, finally, she found her voice. "Seems like a wedding's not far from happening, then," she murmured. On the other end of the line, Matteo smirked. Challenge accepted. Present day.... He shook his head as he reminisces on his past with his wife, he feels an ache in his heart and blames the situation at hand as his line of work kept keeping himself and his wife apart, he missed her terribly but now it felt like it was just a ghost of her that he saw everyday and not his full of life Griselda , she had lost her spark and it troubled him and overwhelmed him with guilt but there was nothing to be done but wait and hope they get a chance to talk .