His Tesoro: An Arranged Marriage Age Gap Mafia Romance (Empire of Royals Book 1)

“Did you say we’re going to a clinic?” I asked a silent Matteo as he wove in and out of traffic. The radio was off and I wasn’t brave enough to turn it on.

“Yes.”

I didn’t know whether to laugh or scream at his short response.

“Are you being charged by the word? Because I was under the impression you’d be able to afford some sort of unlimited speaking plan.”

Matteo glanced at me, brow furrowed. “What?”

“That probably cost you another ten cents,” I muttered.

I didn’t know why I was being so bratty, why I cared so much about talking to this man, about him liking me. I could blame it on the pain—the wheelchair assessment had pushed my already hurting body—but if I was honest, it was the thought of spending the rest of my life in a cold, loveless marriage that was too much to bear.

Matteo cleared his throat. “Last night, Romeo and I went to an Albanian safe house. We found two young women there, and we suspect they’ve been trafficked. But they don’t speak English. It sounded like they were speaking Russian, so I was wondering if you could see if you understand them.”

I stared at him, lips parted. Not only had he spoken multiple sentences in a row, he was letting me get involved in Mafia business. But the part I was most fixated on was the fact that last night, he was at a safe house, not with a mistress. The ugly, jealous monster that had been festering inside of me pumped its fist in victory.

“That paragraph probably cost me a dollar fifty,” Matteo said.

“Oh. My. God.” Did he just make a joke? I stared at my husband in befuddled awe, which only grew as his expression transformed into a smirk. It was almost a real smile.

“We’re here,” he said, pulling into an underground garage.

“Are we close to the apartment?”

He nodded. “Just around the block. The clinic used to be in my building until Dr. Amato insisted on a larger space.”

“Are the girls injured? Is that why you brought them here?”

“Stay there,” Matteo said, getting out of the car and rounding to my side. He opened the passenger door and leaned in toward me. His large frame caged me in, imposing but somehow comforting.

“They had some injuries, yes, but mainly, we needed a safe place for them.”

I stared up at him, this cold, hard Don who showed more kindness than I’d ever expected of a Made Man. My eyes traced over his strong, square jaw, his lips that looked impossibly soft, the little scar under his eye I’d never noticed. We seemed to both be taking the other in, and then our eyes met. Were we leaning in closer to each other? A little spark fluttered in my stomach, and I looked back at his lips. Would he kiss me? Our kiss at the ceremony had been too brief, and I wanted another.

Matteo straightened abruptly. “I’ll get your chair.”

My heart sank and I squeezed my eyes shut for a second before opening them again. I was being stupid.

I eased my way out of the car, forcing myself to breathe slowly as pain shot through me. Everything hurt. I wished I could lie down with a heating pad and my meds and sleep until the pain went away, but there were more important things to do right now.

And it’s not like the pain ever fully went away, anyway.

I sat down heavily, wishing I had my new cushioned chair already. And then a wave of resentment hit me all at once. Resentment that I needed a wheelchair at all. Why couldn’t I just be normal?

I went to push, but Matteo beat me to it, grabbing the wheelchair handles and propelling me forward.

“Oh, umm, wait,” I said, twisting around. “Can you not do that?”

“Do what?”

“Push my chair. I don’t really like people touching it.” I braced myself for his anger, or at least his frustration, but he just released the handles.

“But you’re tired,” he said.

I cocked my head. “How do you know that?”

He crossed his arms. “I know everything.” He sounded so grumpy I couldn’t stop myself from smiling.

“Right…”

“So, if you’re tired, why can’t I push you?”

I didn’t have much experience with anyone touching my chair when I was in it, but then, most of my wheelchair experience was puttering around Mila and mine’s little private island in the Pakhan’s mansion. I’d never had to push myself for any distance like I had the past few days, and my shoulders were paying for it.

I chewed my lip. As frustrated as I was about having a wheelchair, it was an extension of my body. Having someone else control my movements made me anxious, although it wasn’t like Matteo couldn’t overpower me in half a second anyway, if he wanted to.

“I guess it would be okay. If you ask first.” I must have had a death wish, but I did get some enjoyment at seeing Matteo’s eye twitch. Even if it was the last thing I ever saw.

He huffed and ran his hand through his hair. “And here I thought you were so meek and quiet. A Don doesn’t ask permission, Sofiya.”

I turned my chair to face him. “I didn’t realize there was a handbook for Dons. Is there a copy in your library?”

Just then, a car parked up beside us and Angelo got out. I met his gaze. “Did you know Dons have a handbook?”

He grinned. “What’s that?”

“Sofiya’s decided to be a nuisance,” Matteo said, but there was no bite in his voice.

“As she should be,” Angelo said. His expression immediately sobered when Matteo glared at him.

I rolled my eyes. “Oh come on, he’s not that scary.”

Matteo just gave me an exasperated look. “I will warn you before I touch your chair. That’s the best I can do.” Then he turned to my bodyguard. “You’re not to push her in the wheelchair without asking her permission.”

Angelo looked down at me and nodded seriously. A warm fuzziness filled my chest.

“Let’s fucking get going. I’m going to push you now.”

I snorted but sat back as my husband moved me to the elevator. Having him at my back was strangely comforting.

The elevator took us up two floors and opened onto a large lobby. I had expected it to be white and sterile with fluorescent lights, but instead, there were warm wood floors and soft, glowing lamps.

A beautiful woman who looked to be in her forties with dark brown hair, olive skin, and a stern expression walked quickly to meet us. “About time, Boss,” she said, crossing her arms. Then she looked down at me. “I’m Dr. Aria Amato, and you must be Sofiya. You are far too lovely to be stuck with this one.”

“I thought you were in a hurry,” Matteo huffed.

I raised my eyebrows, looking between the two of them with a grin. “You two sound like siblings.”

“I’ve known him all my life. Haven’t been able to get rid of him yet,” Dr. Amato said, but a smile teased at her mouth.

“I buy you a whole fucking clinic and then have to listen to this?”

“That’s right,” she responded. Her eyes were warm when she looked at me. “I appreciate you coming, Sofiya. I’m not entirely sure the girls speak Russian. I’ve tried to use a translation app, but they’ve been pretty unresponsive. That could be due to the trauma, though. I’ve gathered their names are Anastasia and Kateryna. I examined them when they arrived. They had some cuts and bruises, but the worst was the sexual trauma.”

My heart lurched and I blinked quickly to keep from crying. I felt so inadequate. What could I do to help these girls? But this wasn’t about me or my sadness. They deserved someone to listen to them, so I would do whatever I could.

“They’re obviously scared and untrusting,” she continued. “So I really hope you can understand them and that they’ll speak to you. If they have a home to go back to, we’ll get them there. If not, we’ll get them somewhere safe.”

“And get information about who took them and what they saw,” Matteo added gruffly.

Dr. Amato shot him a disapproving look before turning back to me. “I’ll go see if they’re alright with seeing you.”

I waited outside the door while Dr. Amato went in.

Matteo moved close to my side. “You alright to do this?” he asked.

I looked up at him with a frown. “Yes, I’m fine. Are you okay?”

He scoffed. “I’m always okay.”

I just hummed. He seemed tense, but I had no idea why.

Dr. Amato came out of the room. “I think they understood enough to agree for you to talk with them. Why don’t we give it a try?”

I gave her a smile as she opened the door for me. The room had a large window and two beds, but both girls were huddled together on one of them. They looked to be close to mine and Mila’s ages, and just like the two of us, one was blonde and the other had brown hair. Their eyes were wide and haunted as they took me in.

“Hello, my name is Sofiya,” I said softly in Russian. “Can you understand me?”

The girls held each other closer but said nothing.

“I’m sure it doesn’t feel that way, but I promise you’re safe here. I will make sure of it.” It wasn’t really in my power to make that promise, but I trusted Dr. Amato.

I awkwardly looked around the room, unsure of what to do. I moved over to a small bookcase and picked up a romance book I recognized.

“This is a really good one,” I said, feeling stupid as I held it up to them. “I don’t know if there’s a Russian translation, but I can look into it if you want. That is, if you like reading romance. My sister and I got pretty hooked on it.” I put the book back on the shelf. “Or maybe Russian isn’t the right language?”

“We understand you,” the brown-haired girl whispered. She cleared her throat and then repeated it, her voice stronger this time.

My heart sped up. “It’s so nice to meet you,” I said. “Are you sisters?”

They both nodded. “I’m Katya and this is Stasya,” the brown-haired girl said. Her sister curled into her side, resting her head on her shoulder. My chest clenched as I thought of Mila and me doing the same.

“Did someone hurt you?” Stasya asked, speaking for the first time.

I cocked my head to the side. “What do you mean?”

She gestured to my wheelchair.

“Oh no. I was born with…” I trailed off, realizing I didn’t know how to translate Ehlers-Danlos. “Well, a medical condition that makes it hard for me to walk sometimes.”

She nodded, her shoulders relaxing slightly at my answer. “Do you know the men who brought us here?” she asked.

I nodded. “One of them is my husband, Matteo.” Saying husband out loud made it feel more real.

“He gave us candy because I said I liked chocolate,” she said softly. She pulled out a large paper bag from behind her and tipped it to show me—it was absolutely bulging with candy bars. “Do you want one?”

I was about to refuse, but then my stomach growled. Breakfast felt like ages ago. “I’d love one, thank you.” I wheeled forward so I could grab my favorite chocolate caramel bar.

I hummed as I took a bite. “How old are you two?”

“I’m nineteen,” Katya said. “Stasya is seventeen.”

I swallowed hard and pinched my thigh to keep from crying. “Could you tell me what happened to you?” When the two of them stayed silent, I added, “Please, I only want to help.”

Katya stroked her sister’s hair. I was sure they would refuse to talk to me. I was a stranger. They had no reason to trust me. But then Katya started speaking.

“There was a man back home.” She blinked quickly, and Stasya clenched her hand tight. “He said he could get us jobs in America. Our parents died a few years ago, and we didn’t have a lot of opportunities in our town. So we said yes. He brought us to Boston.”

I cocked my head. Her Russian sounded accented. “You’re not from Russia, are you?”

Katya shook her head. “Ukraine.”

I smiled and switched languages. “My grandmother on my mother’s side was Ukrainian.” My baba had lived with us when I was little. She’d died before I turned six, but I only had happy memories of her.

The girls relaxed at hearing their native language, and I even got a little smile from Stasya.

“What happened when you got to Boston?” I asked.

“We were put in a cramped apartment with three other women, and all our documents were taken. We worked cleaning homes at night. I’m not sure how long we were there… a few weeks? A month? And then one night, as we were getting ready to leave for our cleaning job, a group of masked men came into the apartment. They put us in the back of a van. We spent a few days going to different warehouses and homes until… until three men took us to a house.”

I couldn’t stop my tears from coming as she told me what they’d endured in that house for two days before Matteo found them.

All three of us were crying now, but the tears felt right. How else could we express the suffering they’d been through?

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” My words weren’t enough, but then, nothing would ever be enough.

The three of us sat in silence for a while. “Do you want to go back to Ukraine?” I finally asked. “Or we could try to find you another place to stay?”

“There’s nothing back there for us,” Stasya whispered. “But there’s nothing here for us either.”

I leaned forward and grasped each of their hands. “We’ll find a place where you belong, I promise. In the meantime, you can stay here. And I’ll come visit.”

We lapsed into silence again. Katya offered me another candy bar and I took it. We ate quietly, all lost in our own thoughts. The girls looked exhausted, so after a few minutes, I put the empty candy wrappers in my pocket, said my goodbyes, and slipped out into the hall. Matteo, Angelo, and Dr. Amato were all waiting. To my horror, a sob slipped through my lips.

Dr. Amato put a hand on my shoulder. “Let’s go to my office and talk.” Once we were situated in her large office, she handed me a box of tissues and I told them what I’d learned.

“They didn’t see who took them from the apartment in Boston?” Matteo asked.

I shook my head. “They just said masked men. They didn’t see anyone’s faces until they were in the house where you found them. And those men…” I broke off with a sob. “Sorry, sorry,” I mumbled, wiping my tears.

“You’ve done a wonderful job, Sofiya,” Dr. Amato said kindly. “And we’ll find a safe place for them. Don’t worry.”

I sniffled and gave her a shaky smile. I stole a glance at Matteo, wondering if he was angry I was crying. But his expression was unreadable.

“We need to find who took them,” Matteo said.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Dr. Amato responded. “But don’t jump to conclusions yet.”

I didn’t know what she meant, but he just grunted.

She turned her gaze to me. “Matteo said it’s been a long time since you’ve seen a doctor for your EDS. Why don’t you come in tomorrow? I can examine you and you can talk with the girls again if you want.”

“Tomorrow won’t work,” Matteo said. “Sienna’s insisted on coming over.”

“Day after, then. I’ll be sure to have plenty of embarrassing stories prepared,” she said with a wink.

“No fucking respect,” Matteo muttered.

Angelo held out a small trash can for me to throw my used tissues into. I kept a few clean ones for the tears that might still come. I felt so fragile. Seeing Katya and Stasya clinging to each other made my heart ache for Mila. I’d texted her throughout the day, but she hadn’t answered.

“Come on, let’s go home,” Matteo said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “And I will push you.”

I was too tired to argue. I sat tensely in my chair as we returned to the car, every bone and muscle in my body screaming in pain, and my heart along with it.

“What did Dr. Amato mean when she said she knew what you were thinking?” I asked once we were back in the apartment.

Matteo’s jaw clenched and he stared out the living room window. “The Irish are in Boston.”

I didn’t know much about the Irish Mob. Occasionally they would be mentioned at some Bratva dinner party, but not often.

“You think they’re involved with sex trafficking?”

Matteo sighed and scrubbed his hand down his face. “I don’t know. Their boss, Ronan Finnegan, and I have always had a sort of unspoken agreement. But if he’s teaming up with the Albanians…” He trailed off. “I need to get to the office. You should get some rest.”

“Okay,” I murmured.

He headed to the door, but turned back before leaving. “You did well today, Sofiya. Thank you.”

A smile tugged at my lips as he shut the door behind him. I let out a deep breath, and the pervasive knot in my stomach loosened.