Chapter 3 The Devil's Offer

• Bella’s POV
• I didn’t sleep.
• Even after he disappeared into the shadows, even after I finally made it home and locked every window twice, I couldn’t close my eyes without seeing him again. Matteo Romano. The way he said his name like it didn’t belong on paper. Like it was heavier than the air between us. Like it was dangerous just to speak it.
• And it was.
• I showered, but I still felt cold. I wrapped myself in my biggest sweater and sat on the floor with my back against the couch, knees drawn up to my chest. My fingers fidgeted with the loose threads of my jeans as the early morning light bled slowly through the blinds.
• I should have been afraid. I should have packed a bag and booked the first train out of Naples. I should have reported him. But instead, I sat there, rooted to the same spot, heart aching like I’d walked straight into some trap and didn’t want to escape it.
• Instead, I replayed everything; his voice, his words, his eyes.
• “You’re going to work for me now.”
• Work for him? Doing what? Taking pictures of more dead men?
• My hands shook again. I didn’t want this. I didn’t ask for this. But now that I was in it, God, part of me didn’t want to leave it either.
• Because he saw me. Not just in that cold, calculating way most men did, but in a way that made me feel… known. Like he’d already taken me apart and put me back together in his head. Like I wasn’t invisible anymore.
• I hated that.
• And I craved it.
• I stared at my phone for hours. Tried to sleep. Paced the apartment. Played a voicemail from my sister just to hear something human. Then his message came.
• Meet me at the coffee bar on Via Benedetto Croce. Noon. Don’t be late. – M
• No name. Just an initial. Like a brand.
• I stared at the screen for a full minute. Then I deleted the message.
• Then I got dressed.
• Because of course I did.
• I changed outfits three times, telling myself it didn’t matter. But I settled on black jeans and a fitted shirt, and I spent too long debating if I should wear lipstick. I didn’t. But I almost did.
• The bar wasn’t anything fancy. Tucked between a bookstore and a shop that sold cheap leather boots, it smelled like espresso and old secrets. Narrow, dim, crowded with locals arguing about football and politics over tiny cups of coffee and half-eaten cornetti.
• I stepped in and looked around. I didn’t see him.
• Then again, I wouldn’t, not until he wanted me to.
• I was about to walk to the counter when I felt a hand at my lower back. It wasn’t rough. It wasn’t firm. But it was there. I turned quickly.
• Matteo.
• Dark shirt again. No tie. No jacket. Just the same unnerving calm. Like chaos didn’t exist in his world—it answered to him.
• He didn’t say hello. Just one word, low and direct.
• “Seguimi.” Follow me.
• His hand slid from my back, but the heat lingered. I followed without asking where we were going. I didn’t even think. I just… moved.
• The hallway behind the espresso bar was narrow and dark, lined with crates and cleaning supplies. The light flickered above us, casting uneven shadows that made it feel like we were disappearing into another world.
• At the end of it was a door. He opened it with a key I hadn’t seen him pull out.
• It was a private room. Clean, minimalist. A single wooden table in the middle with two chairs. A thick curtain over the window, blocking out the noise of the street.
• I stepped inside, uncertain, but he didn’t ask me to sit. He just sat first and waited.
• I followed.
• “You’re brave,” he said, finally looking at me again. “Or stupid.”
• “Maybe both,” I answered.
• He almost smiled. Almost.
• “You didn’t have to come,” he said.
• “No,” I said. “But you knew I would.”
• He leaned back in his chair. “So tell me, Bella. What do you want?”
• The question hit harder than it should have. What did I want?
• “I want to understand,” I said quietly. “Why me?”
• He looked at me for a long time, those grey eyes searching my face like he was reading something I didn’t even know was written there.
• “You saw me,” he said. “Not many people do. Not clearly.”
• “And now I’m a liability,” I whispered.
• “Sì.” He didn’t hesitate. “But I don’t believe in wasting potential.”
• I crossed my arms. “So what, you hire all your threats?”
• He shrugged. “Only the useful ones.”
• I laughed bitterly. “You really think I’ll help you? Take pictures for your little mafia projects?”
• His voice dropped. “You think this is a game?”
• I froze.
• “You think I’m asking for headshots? Glamour portraits of men in suits? No, Bella. I want you because you’re invisible. Because you’re smart. Because you can go where others can’t and see what others miss. I want eyes that don’t blink.”
• “And if I say no?”
• He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.
• “You already said yes, cara mia.” My dear. “The moment you came to that theater. The moment you didn’t run. The moment you handed me that SD card instead of trying to run with it.”
• He was right.
• And it scared the hell out of me.
• “What would I even be doing?” I asked.
• “Observing. Documenting. Gathering shadows, when needed. Capturing things people don’t want seen.”
• “You want a spy.”
• “I want you,” he said.
• And something about the way he said it made my heart jump, even though I told myself it was only fear.
• He stood and walked to the small cabinet near the wall, opening a drawer and pulling out a thick envelope. He tossed it onto the table. It landed with a soft thud.
• “Your first assignment,” he said. “A drop tonight. Nothing dangerous. Just pictures. You’ll go, you’ll watch, you’ll shoot. Then you leave. That’s it.”
• I stared at the envelope like it might bite.
• “What if I mess up?”
• “You won’t,” he said simply. “Because you’re not stupid.”
• “And if I am?”
• He walked toward me, slow and quiet, until he stood just behind my chair. I didn’t turn. I couldn’t.
• His breath was warm against my ear.
• “If you fail,” he said, voice low and sharp, “others will find you. People who don’t know your name. People who don’t care that you’re innocent.”
• I closed my eyes.
• “You’re not giving me a choice,” I whispered.
• “You already made it.”
• His hand brushed lightly against my braid as he walked past me again.
• I hated how that small touch made every nerve in my body ache.
• Matteo’s POV
• She showed up.
• Of course she did.
• I had no doubt. I know her type. Quiet girls with sharp eyes. Girls who spend more time watching than speaking. The ones who people overlook until it’s too late.
• Bella wasn’t just a bystander. She was a magnet. She didn’t even know it yet.
• And that made her dangerous.
• She walked into that bar like she didn’t belong. But her eyes gave her away. They were already searching the room. Clocking exits. Counting shadows.
• Smart. Scared. Intrigued.
• She didn’t understand what she’d gotten herself into, and yet she still came.
• Le brave non vivono per sempre. Le caute non vivono affatto.
• The brave don’t live forever. The cautious don’t live at all.
• In the back room, she sat like she wanted to challenge me but also wanted me to win. That contradiction was delicious.
• She thought I was giving her a choice. But I wasn’t.
• The truth? I had a file on her before she even stepped into that theater. I knew where she lived. Knew she had no close family nearby. Knew she was a photographer with a taste for shadows and unspoken things.
• I chose her.
• But not just because she was useful.
• Because she was mine before she even realized it.
• When I told her she wasn’t stupid, I meant it. But intelligence alone doesn’t guarantee survival. Obedience does. Loyalty does. And something in her; something fractured looked hungry for both.
• She didn't know it yet, but I was going to teach her how to survive.
• And if she broke along the way?
• Then I’d rebuild her piece by obedient piece.
• Watching her stare at that envelope was like watching a cat stare down a flame. I saw it in her, the fight between fear and thrill. She was terrified. And turned on.
• She didn’t know the difference anymore.
• Benvenuta nel mio mondo, Bella. Welcome to my world, Bella.