Page 16 of His to Honor

I conjure up a regretful tone as I shake my head. “I couldn’t eat another bite.”

Though the entrée was filling, I do have a little space left in my stomach that would be filled nicely by the tiramisu I saw on the menu. Unfortunately for my salivating taste buds, I can’t bear another minute of the forced civility between Matteo and me.

“Let’s get out of here, then,” he suggests.

As we get up to leave, Matteo takes his wallet from his pocket and draws out several bills. I don’t know what the different denominations of euros look like yet, but I spot at least one hundred in the pile he drops on the table. Generosity has always been one of Matteo’s best attributes.

We meet the middle-aged waiter as we head for the exit. Matteo shakes his hand. “Thank everyone for coming in on their day off, Alberto.”

“It was our pleasure,SignoreVolante.”

I smell bullshit. Nobody would be pleased to be dragged into work on their day off to prepare a single course meal for two people. Creating those dishes wasn’t a simple case of slappinga few ingredients together. Time and effort went into it. Matteo probably doesn’t see that, though. As a Volante, he possesses a streak of arrogance that makes him think everyone around him is happy to bend over backward to do his bidding. It’s one of his least appealing qualities.

We walk along the riverside to where Matteo parked his car. Actually, it was more like he screeched to a halt and jumped out where he decided it was most convenient. It’s another manifestation of his cocky attitude. He believes in his absolute right to do whatever he pleases. In New York, he’d get away with simply dumping his car wherever he chose because nobody in their right mind would ticket a car belonging to one of the Volantes. Here, however, he isn’t being treated like the mafia princeling he is. Some brave soul has put a ticket on the windscreen of his Bugatti.

“What the fuck?” Matteo snatches the plastic-wrapped ticket off the window and throws it to the ground.

“Matteo!” I scold.

“What?” Anger pulses off him. “I am not paying that.”

“I don’t care if you refuse to pay it.” I purse my lips and try to channel his mother’s energy. Ava Volante is typically a sweet woman, but when she gets mad, even her sons tremble. “You cannot litter the streets of this beautiful city.”

He scowls at me, but picks up the ticket and shoves it in his pocket anyway. He opens the car door for me and waits until I’m settled before getting into the driver’s side. Something I’ve always liked about Matteo is his chivalry. Even when we were kids, he displayed excellent manners. In the school cafeteria, he always insisted on carrying my tray and Isabella’s. He clearedour plates away for us, too. He opened doors and protected us from harm. It was hard not to fall in love with him, just a little. I wish we could go back to those days.

As Matteo revs the engine and takes off as if the devil himself is on our tail, I grip the seat beneath me. I’m used to him driving like he’s on his own personal racetrack, but here in the narrow, unfamiliar streets of Florence, it feels more dangerous. The city flashes past too quickly for me to make out much of anything, but I get the impression this is a place I’d love to explore.

With Matteo apparently trying to break the sound barrier, it takes only minutes before we’re out in the countryside and heading toward the villa.

“The house we’re staying at. Whose is it?” I have no idea whether Matteo has rented it or if it belongs to his family.

“Gabriele’s.”

“Your cousin?” I glance over at Matteo, who grunts his affirmation. “He lives in Rome, right?”

“If you can call it living.”

I remember Matteo telling me about his cousin becoming a virtual recluse after he was disfigured in an ambush.

“He still doesn’t leave the house?”

“No.” Matteo flashes me a wry grin. “Perhaps I should send you to him. You’re good at getting people out of the house when all they want is to be left in peace.”

His dig at me is not exactly subtle. I thought he’d enjoyed spending time with me at the Uffizi and the Pitti Palace. He was happy to share snippets of information about both buildingswith me. He’s always been into history and he regaled me with tales of the Medici and other prominent families who fought for dominance in the city during the Renaissance. I guess he sees parallels with his own family and their rivals.

He didn’t utter a single complaint all day, and he certainly enjoyed the meal at the restaurant. The unexpected bonus of popping my cherry was surely worth leaving the house for, not that he’s mentioned it again. Perhaps I misread him today, and he hated every minute he spent with me.

“Sure, send me to Rome. I’ve always wanted to see the Colosseum.” My flippant tone is designed to show Matteo I’m not put out by the thought he might have preferred to stay at home. “Perhaps I can get Gabriele to fuck me too.”

The moment the words leave my mouth, I know I’ve waved a red rag at a bull. Matteo slams on the brakes so hard I’d have been propelled through the windshield if I wasn’t wearing a seatbelt.

“What the fuck, Giulia?” He slaps the steering wheel and I jump, even though I know he would never turn his rage on me.

I look back over my shoulder nervously as a car horn blares behind us. Matteo, of course, doesn’t give a damn if he’s holding up traffic. He turns fully in his seat to face me. His anger is more intense than I expected.

I swallow hard. “I was joking, Matty.”

“Well, it wasn’t fucking funny.”

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