Chapter 40

**A L E X**

I let go, but only because I need answers. “What were you doing here, Rossi?”

He shrugs casually, like I didn’t just have my hands around his neck. “Came to see Grace.”

The name alone sets me off, and I relise how much I hate the way he calls her 'Grace'. He shouldn't be allowed to do that. I imagine pulling his tongue out just so he can never say her name like that again, rage bubbling over, but Matt takes a step back before I can react, laughing again. “I’m kidding. I came looking for you, only to find you’ve already abandoned your house and heart to another.” He clutches his chest in mock sadness.

I don’t laugh. “Why is your hand wet?” I ask, but I already know.

Matt looks at his hand, rubbing the moisture on his shirt. “Oh, that? I was by your pool. Grace was having a morning swim.”

My heart stops. It stops.

Grace Millers, swimming. My mind shoots back to that first morning on the island, the memory of her in the sea, skinny-dipping, so natural and unaware of what she was doing to me. And now—now, this. This again. Her love for swimming might be the death of me.

“Did you see her?” I know the answer, but I ask anyway.

Matt smirks. “Yes, I did. And I saw your shirt on her too, all wet and clinging to her skin. What the fuck’s going on between you two, Moretti?”

I don’t answer. My jaw tightens, and I force my hands to stay at my sides, even though every muscle in me wants to move. Hit him. Silence him.

But I don’t.

Because I know exactly what Matt saw. Grace Miller in my shirt. My shirt, clinging to her like a second skin, the fabric soaked through. The image burns through my mind like a slow, searing flame, and despite the heat of my rage, a wave of something else washes over me.

Relief.

It doesn’t make sense, but it’s there—a dark, twisted satisfaction. She was wearing my shirt. Mine, when this man—this enemy—saw her. Not something Matt gave her. Not that disgusting excuse for an outfit he dressed her in before.

She was wearing something that belonged to me.

The irrationality of it makes my chest tighten, but for a brief moment, the sharp edge of my anger dulls.

“That’s none of your business.”

Matt’s voice cuts through the haze, dragging me back. His tone shifts, darker now. "You know," he says with a shrug, I'm thinking about making it my business, actually," he adds, taking a step closer, his eyes locked on mine, daring me to react. "She's amusing to be around. And I think she'll benefit from my friendship."

The word friendship drips with mockery. There’s no friendship in Matt Rossi’s world—only manipulation, control, and destruction.

"She’s on an island with strangers, criminals," he continues, his lips curving into that infuriating smirk. "She at least needs one friend who's not *lying* to her."

Shit.

The moment the words leave his mouth, something cold snakes through my veins. It’s subtle at first, barely noticeable beneath the storm of emotions raging inside me. But then Matt’s eyes meet mine, and the full weight of what he’s just said sinks in.

He knows.

Fuck.

I don’t need him to say it outright. It’s there in the way he’s watching me, the gleam of understanding, of defiance, in his gaze. He knows Grace doesn’t know the truth. He knows she has no idea who I am—who any of us are.

And worse, he knows I’ve been lying to her.

The realization hits me like a punch to the gut, and suddenly, the irrational relief I felt moments ago vanishes, replaced by something far darker.

Weakness.

I’ve built an empire on being untouchable. Cold. Calculated. Unbreakable. I don’t let people in. I don’t let anyone get close enough to become a weakness. Not even Sophia, despite everything. No one has ever gotten past the walls I’ve spent years fortifying around myself.

Until now.

Until her.

Grace Miller, with her stubbornness, her fire, her damn unpredictability. She’s the one thing I never saw coming, the one variable I couldn’t control. And now, standing here with Matt grinning like he’s just uncovered the most valuable secret in the world, I realize that for the first time in my life, I’ve built a weakness.

And I’ve handed it to the one man who has sworn to destroy me.

The rage that surges up inside me is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. It’s not the same cold, calculated anger I usually carry. This is something deeper, more primal. It claws at my insides, urging me to tear Matt apart right here, right now. But I can’t. Not yet.

Not until I figure out how to fix this. How to protect her—Grace Miller—from the very world I’ve dragged her into.