Page 8 of His to Honor

“No, I’ve been to Rome. It’s my first time in Tuscany, though. I can’t wait to explore.”

“There are lots of wonderful places for you to see.” Rosalia sets down the knife she’s been brandishing so casually. “Can I get you some breakfast?”

“Sure. What do you usually eat?”

“SignoreVolante prefers coffee and pastries.” She points toward a basket on the table that contains croissants,pain au chocolat, and some sort of cake with what appears to be an apricot glaze.

“Pastries and coffee would be great.” I don’t want to put her to any trouble. Besides, I am practically salivating just from looking at those.

“Help yourself.” Rosalia says. “You want cappuccino?”

“Please.”

I take one of the little cakes and place it on the plate Rosalia hands to me. As she makes my coffee using a very complicated-looking machine, I take a bite of the cake. It’s dense and not too sweet, with a delicious burst of apricot.

“Do you live here?” I finish the cake and grab a croissant.

“No, in the village with my parents.”

“That’s nice.”

Rosalia makes a face that tells me exactly how she feels about that as she sets my cappuccino down in front of me. “They are overprotective, but hopefully my friend Carlotta and I will move into an apartment soon. We are waiting for my birthday. When I’m eighteen, I can do as I wish.”

Fuck, this girl isn’t even eighteen yet. She’s young to be running a house this size, but I guess that’s not my business.

“When’s your birthday?”

“Tomorrow. Carlotta and I are going to La Stanza Rosso on Friday to celebrate.” Her excitement is palpable.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what La Stanza Rosso is.”

She stares at me with a look of incredulity, as if I should somehow have heard about this place even though I live halfway across the globe.

“It’s a nightclub in Firenze, very exclusive.SignoreVolante’s cousin owns it. We didn’t think we’d get in, but Carlotta bribed a doorman and got us on the list.”

I don’t say anything, but I can’t imagine Damiano Volante being happy that an employee is selling access to his club.

“It sounds great. Why didn’t you ask Matteo to get you on the list?”

Rosalia grimaces. “I couldn’t take advantage.”

My suspicion that she was too intimidated by Matteo to ask is confirmed when he saunters into the room a moment later. Rosalia immediately scurries off to the other side of the kitchen and busies herself preparing a cappuccino for him.

Matteo looks rough his morning, like he hasn’t slept, but he’s still insanely hot. Wearing nothing but a pair of black sweatpants, he displays his muscular physique. His arms and torso are covered in tattoos. Skulls and roses are the dominant images. There’s also an old-fashioned clock face on his left arm that has blood dripping from it. The number of drips is constantly increasing, with each representing a life he’s taken.

I’ve never asked him why he chose that particular design to mark his grim tally. I guess he’s trying to convey something about the march of time and the inevitability of death. Perhaps it’s not that deep. Matteo isn’t known for his philosophical musings, after all.

“You’re still here.” He flashes me a glare as he pulls out a chair and sits at the head of the table. Rosalia sets his coffee down infront of him and hurries from the room. She definitely doesn’t enjoy being around him.

“She’s a nice girl. What did you do to her?”

“Not a fucking thing.” Matteo reaches across the table to grab one of the incredibly buttery croissants. It would have been easier to ask me to pass him one, but Matteo’s a stubborn asshole when he wants to be. “We need to talk about last night.”

“Oh, that’s okay.” I try to make it sound as if what happened was no big deal. “There’s no need to apologize.”

Matteo scowls. “I wasn’t going to. I was going to remind you how reckless your actions were.”

“My actions?”

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