Page 41 of Matched into the Mob

“Ranger, I had the cutest dream.”

Had he been dreaming about pink unicorns and tea parties?

“In my dream, you were naked.” He beckoned me closer. “Your cock is magnificent. I’ve never seen such a beautiful cock.”

“Okay.” That much was true.

“And you showed me a wolf.” He waggled a finger at me. “A really cute one with long shaggy hair.”

I am not cute. My beast wasn’t impressed at the description.

“You hide him inside you.” He poked my belly. “Where are you, wolfie? Come out, come out, wherever you are?” He giggled and flopped back on the pillow.

He was giddy, as though he’d been drinking, but he hadn’t. We didn’t have a wine cellar in this house and didn’t keep much alcohol here.

“You told me you were a shitter.” He tittered, and I bit back a response. “It was a weird dream, but you know the best thing? Dane wasn’t in it.”

I’d hoped the best part was me revealing my true self. We had a long way to go before Matt knew who I was.

My mate made a face. “I need to clean my teeth. Ewww!” He sat up and examined his purple coat. He picked a chip out of the pocket. “Weird. Does your dad keep a stash of chips in his clothes?” He ate the chip. “Ewww, it’s kinda damp.”

He sniffed. “Something smells good.”

“Breakfast is almost ready. Anyone not here will get leftovers,” Uncle Arnie shouted.

Matt peered over the back of the sofa. “Who is that? Do you have a chef?”

“My uncle.”

Flint thundered down the stairs. “My brother, Flint.”

Matt raised his chin, demonstrating the courage he must have shown when working for Dane. “The boss.” He wasn’t trembling but both hands clutched the couch.

“And my dad who you met at the speed-dating event.”

“Hello, Matt. Welcome to the family,” Dad said.

My mate glanced around at the new faces, his confused expression betraying his uncertainty. “Your family or the mafia family in general?”

SEVENTEEN

MATT

Four faces stared at me. Two were familiar, Ranger and his father. Another was his brother and an older man, but I couldn’t recall who he was.

“Arnie. Ranger’s uncle.”

He was wearing an apron and introduced himself while waving a spatula. I warmed to his genuine smile, and was tempted to rub his shiny bald scalp. He was much smaller and skinnier than the other men, especially Ranger and his brother who towered over their uncle.

“I’m the resident chef,” he added.

I hope they paid him well. The others chuckled, but I didn’t see anything funny in what he said. Mafia humor. But my head was a little fuzzy, images of Ranger and a wolf tumbling around in my brain. The stress of the last few days was intruding into my dreams and reality.

Ranger took my arm and led me to the large dining table.

“Wow! Someone’s been busy.”

A dark green runner ran the length of the table, with matching napkins beside each of the five place settings. A pot of coffee and a jug of orange juice were in the middle, along witha basket of rolls and a vase of dried flowers. White plates and silver cutlery completed the setting.

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