CHAPTER 146: CHAPTER-146. (GOD...OR DEVIL?).

He didn’t even have to raise his voice. His mere presence was enough.

I felt her grip loosen on my arm, but before I could pull away, she shoved me lightly in frustration.

My balance gave way, as I stumbled right into Matteo.

His arm moved instantly, catching me before I could fall.

For a brief, uncomfortable second, I was pressed against him, and his scent, that mix of expensive cologne and something darker, hit me.

He steadied me and guided me to sit beside him on the couch as he maintained a decent pace between us.

My mother’s eyes widened at the sight.

She snapped, her voice rising again. "Elena! Don’t tell me this is your new lover? What’s wrong with you?" My eyes widened as I stared at her with disbelief.

Did she think that Matteo is my...God. I have to tell her now.

"Mom, please, it’s not what you..." I tried to explain how she had misinterpreted the idea of us when she again shouted.

"I will call the police! I swear, I will have both of you thrown out of here! This is trespassing!" she shouted, her hands trembling now.

At that, Matteo finally reacted. He leaned back slightly, one arm resting casually on the couch, and let out a quiet, amused scoff.

It wasn’t a laugh; instead, it was something that made her words sound almost foolish.

When he spoke, his voice was calm, deep, and dangerously smooth. "And what exactly will you tell the police, Mrs. Kingsley?"

"That you’re trespassing in my house! You...scum!" she spat back.

He tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk ghosting his lips. "Who told you it was yours?" he asked softly, which sent a warning to my mind.

The question landed like a blow.

For a second, she looked confused, utterly thrown off.

Then, her face twisted into disbelief. "What kind of nonsense is that? This is my house!" she barked.

"My husband and I have lived here for over thirty years! Who are you to question that?"

Matteo chuckled under his breath, hearing her banter. It was not warm or kind. It was sharp... almost cruel.

A dangerous glint flickered in his eyes as he looked at her, "You might want to wait before saying that again," he murmured.

Her jaw tightened. "What are you implying?"

Before anyone could answer, a loud sound tore through the moment, the sharp screech of tires outside, followed by the echoing slam of car doors.

I froze as my mother went completely still. Then, within seconds, the door burst open.

Two familiar figures stepped inside, their faces pale with shock and anger.

My father. Kamal Kingsley.

And my brother. Gregory Kingsley.

For a moment, my body forgot how to move. My chest tightened as the heavy oak doors slammed shut behind them, echoing through the marble hall like a distant warning.

I expected fury from both my father and Gregory about what mess I brought with me.

The same tone that once made me hide under my bed when I was little, but what I saw next was not anger.

It was fear.

The kind that made even the loudest person go silent.

As soon as their eyes landed on Matteo, everything changed.

My father’s proud shoulders drooped as his lips parted, but no sound came out.

His eyes darted around like a trapped animal looking for a way out. Gregory, who always stood tall and smug beside him, suddenly looked smaller, almost pale.

And then, before I could even blink, they both moved straight toward Matteo.

My first instinct was to intervene between them to prevent any fights. And I also was about to step forward, but my feet staggered as my father’s voice fell into my ear.

"Please... please, Mr. Romano," my father’s voice trembled.

It was a sound I had never heard before in my life.

"We didn’t mean to offend you. Whatever mistake was made, I will fix it. I will do anything you order me to do, but please... forgive us." He kept repeating those words like he was praying to God...or Devil?

My mind blanked.

I stood frozen near the couch, staring at him.

My father, the same man who built the Kingsley name from the ground up, who demanded respect from every business partner, who made people bow when he entered the room, was now begging.

Not to anyone, but he was begging Matteo.

I glanced at my mother.

She was who always remained composed, certain, and always the one who controlled every single word in a conversation.

But now she was as still as marble, her eyes wide, her lips trembling. Her hand gripped the edge of the table beside her so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

And then, something inside me shifted as realization hit me.

I had always thought of Matteo as someone dangerous, yes.

Ruthless, even.

A man who did not just live in the shadows but ruled them, but watching my father, The Kamal Kingsley, tremble before him, made that belief feel horrifyingly real.

Matteo hadn’t said a single word yet.

He just sat there.

Calm.

Silent.

Observing.

His fingers were laced together in front of him as though this entire scene was a meeting he had expected all along.

His eyes were dark and unreadable, which followed my father’s every move, every stutter, every desperate attempt to please him.

He didn’t have to raise his voice. His silence was enough to crush a man like Kamal Kingsley.

"Dad..." I whispered under my breath, but my voice got lost in the chaos of my thoughts.

Matilda finally snapped out of her trance and staggered forward, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor.

"Kamal! What the hell are you doing?!" She hissed.

My father froze mid-plea, glancing back at her with the expression of someone caught between terror and shame.

She continued, her voice rising with each word, "Why are you begging this...this scum bag?"

And just like that, the air shifted again.

It was like watching a storm freeze mid-air.

Matteo did not even move, but I saw it.

The faint twitch of his jaw, the tiny shift of his lips forming the barest hint of a smirk.

Not wide, not arrogant...just cold. Deadly.

Matteo’s gaze slowly turned to my father.

It was almost lazy, but the weight of it made my skin crawl.

"Interesting. Scum bag, hmm?" he murmured, his tone as calm as if they were discussing the weather.

That one, hmm, carried more threat than any shout could.

My father’s expression changed as if he understood what that sound meant.

"Matilda!" he barked, his voice shaking. And before I could process what was happening, his hand raised, and then came the sound.

SLAP!

The crack echoed through the mansion walls. The entire world seemed to pause.

My mother’s head snapped to the side, her hand flying up to her cheek as she gasped in disbelief. Tears welled in her eyes, not just from the pain, but from the humiliation.

"Say sorry! Now! Say sorry to him!" My father shouted hoarsely, his voice breaking halfway through.

For the first time in my life, I saw my mother speechless.

She stared at the person in front of her...her husband. With whom she took the oath to love him in any condition was now seeing the same in another light.

She stared at him with wide, horrified eyes, and then turned toward Matteo. Her lips quivered; the apology caught in her throat.

She couldn’t do it.

Not out of pride, not out of dignity, but because she truly did not understand what kind of man could make Kamal Kingsley raise his hand against his own wife.

I wanted to scream.

My hands trembled as I stepped back. My entire body felt cold, my heart pounding in my chest.

And yet, Matteo didn’t move.

He didn’t say a word.

He just leaned back slightly, eyes glinting with something unreadable, as if he was watching a chess game he already knew the outcome of.

The men in black suits stood still behind him, perfectly disciplined, their presence radiating silent menace.

Then, my father did something I never imagined he could do.

He dropped to his knees.

Matilda gasped, covering her mouth as Gregory followed suit beside him, his face pale and glistening with sweat. They both bent their heads low to Matteo.

"Please, sir," my father’s voice cracked. "Forgive us. Whatever damage we have done...any property, any name, any business deal..I will return it double. Triple. Just don’t.."

He stopped mid-sentence, as if even finishing the thought would seal his fate.

I stared at them...people who were my family were now kneeling before Matteo.

The man my mother called filth. The man whom I underestimated very wrongly.

And yet, now they were the ones at his mercy.

My throat tightened painfully.

When I was younger, I used to see men kneeling like this in front of my father...businessmen who made small mistakes, workers who couldn’t deliver, people who couldn’t pay their debts.

My father used to sit on the very same couch, his posture identical to Matteo’s now.

Cold. Detached. Deciding who deserved to walk away and who didn’t.