Her Perfect Trap

"No way."

Jessica was the first to speak, her voice dripping with mockery.

"Viviana, stop kidding yourself," Sarah said, shaking her head. "A man on Matteo Falcone's level? Why would a man like that want a scholarship kid like you?"

"Seriously," Emma sneered. "You can't even afford a designer bag. What does he want from you?"

A flash of triumph lit up Bianca's eyes.

"Bella, I know what happened with Nico hurt you," she said, faking sympathy. "But you can't just make up crazy stories like this. Do you know the kind of women Matteo Falcone dates? Supermodels, socialites, heiresses."

"Yeah, you're on financial aid. You can barely pay tuition," Jessica scoffed. "Why would he want you?"

"Bianca's right. You're fantasizing," Sarah chimed in.

I looked at them and said nothing.

Explaining was weakness. I didn't need to.

I grabbed my bag and walked toward the library doors.

"Viviana!" Bianca called after me. "Don't be a fool! Is it that hard to face reality?"

I pushed open the heavy glass doors.

The sunlight was blinding.

Matteo was standing there, next to a black, bulletproof Cadillac, looking at his phone.

He looked up as I stepped out. The corner of his mouth ticked up in a private smile.

"There you are, baby."

He closed the distance, his arm sliding around my waist as he pressed a soft kiss to my forehead.

Behind me, I heard a collective gasp.

I deliberately looked back at the library's huge plate-glass windows.

Bianca and her vultures were plastered to the glass, their faces a perfect picture of shock.

Matteo opened the car door for me.

"Ladies first."

I slid gracefully into the car.

Leather seats. Crystal glasses. The faint scent of expensive cologne filled the air.

As the car pulled away, I took one last look out the window.

Bianca's face was a twisted mask of rage.

"There's a private dinner at The Met tonight," Matteo said, his hand gently stroking mine. "For an exhibition of art my family sponsored."

The museum was closed to the public, but the VIP section was lit up.

"Mr. Falcone, welcome," the museum director greeted us personally. "The sponsor's dinner is ready."

Matteo nodded, his hand never leaving my waist.

Champagne, caviar, priceless works of art.

This was a closed-door gathering for the city's true elite.

"See that painting?" Matteo leaned in, his voice a low, magnetic whisper.

His breath tickled my ear.

"Monet's Water Lilies, the 1919 original. Market value is eighty million dollars."

I put on a shocked expression.

"That's so expensive."

"It's nothing to me." His lips were almost touching my ear. "If you like it—"

My phone suddenly rang.

Bianca's name flashed on the screen.

I didn't even look. I just declined the call.

It immediately rang again.

I declined again.

The third time, I just turned my phone off.

Matteo raised an eyebrow. "Someone bothering you?"

"It's nothing. Just someone unimportant."

"Viviana!"

A fake, surprised voice called out from nearby.

My stomach dropped. I looked over and saw Bianca in a tight black dress, her arm linked with a fat, greasy-looking man.

He was a New York state assemblyman, famous for being greedy and a pervert.

Looks like Bianca traded the only currency she has for a ticket into this world.

She whispered something in the politician’s ear, then grabbed a glass of champagne and sashayed over to us, alone.

"What a coincidence! And this must be Don Matteo," Bianca beamed, completely ignoring me. Her eyes were locked on Matteo. "I was just in the neighborhood and heard Viviana was here with you. I just had to come say hello. After all, the Romano family and your family have... a history."

Matteo's expression turned to ice.

He didn't even turn to face her.

"Where's security?" he asked calmly.

Bianca’s smile froze. Then, in a last-ditch effort, she stumbled—a little too perfectly.

The champagne in her hand "accidentally" splashed all over Matteo's suit.

"Oh my god! I'm so sorry! So sorry!"

Bianca immediately bent down, pulling out a napkin to try and wipe it off.

Her dress was cut low. The angle showed off everything she had.

This was her signature move.

The men who used to chase me would always politely refuse her help, saying things like "It's fine, don't worry about it."

But you could always see the hunger in their eyes.

Too bad for her. This was Matteo. He didn't even glance at her.

"Get her out of here," he gestured to his bodyguards, his voice cold.

"No! Wait!" Bianca cried out. "I can explain—"

Two bodyguards in black suits moved in, grabbing her arms without a hint of gentleness.

"Matteo, I'm a Romano! You can't do this to me!"

"I don't care who you are," Matteo said, still not looking at her. "The next time I see you, it won't be a polite escort out the door. It will be the last time I see you."

The color drained from Bianca's face.

She looked at me in desperation, her eyes filled with disbelief and terror.

Matteo turned back to me, his voice soft again.

"Sorry, baby. I let trash like that interrupt our date."

He motioned to his assistant.

"Contact the auction house. Buy that Monet."

The assistant immediately pulled out his phone and started dialing.

"You're buying it now?" I asked, feigning surprise.

"Of course." Matteo stared into my eyes, reaching up to caress my cheek. "No one gets to ruin our time together. Think of this painting as an apology for the interruption."

The other guests stared, their faces a mix of shock and envy.

An eighty-million-dollar painting, bought just like that.

I smiled, looking triumphantly at Bianca being dragged away.

She just stood there, her face a pale, horrified mask.

Those other men, they'd turn Bianca down in front of me, too.

But you could always see the lust in their eyes.

They’d always secretly get her number later.

She thought all men were the same.

But that's her mistake. She ran into Matteo Falcone. A man who gets off on power, not pussy.