The bedroom in Rome was dark and cold. Matteo moved with a scary, violent force.
He pushed into Isabella over and over, his hands gripping her hips so hard it left bruises.
Isabella arched her back against him. She moaned his name and tried to keep up with his speed. But Matteo didn't even see her. He wasn't in Rome.
In his mind, he was in that kitchen in Arizona.
How dare she? the thought burned in his brain.
He couldn't stop thinking about it. He saw the way Anastasia let that boy put hands on her waist. He saw the way she let him kiss her like she belonged to him.
To the world, she was just Dylan's wife. But to Matteo, she was his.
She was a part of him.
He was fucking Isabella with a terrible anger. Every thrust was full of the jealousy he felt for another woman. He wanted to break the man who had touched her. He wanted to burn the house down and take back what was his.
