Page 15 of Twisted Knight

He rolled his eyes, taking the piece of paper from me. “I swear my wife has you wrapped around her little finger.”

I couldn’t help but smile brightly at that one. “Pot meet kettle.”

He chuckled. “That’s fair. I’ll go get her the food. See you tomorrow,fratello.”

I walked back toward Matteo once Luca was in the car.

“You two are adorable.”

“Uh-huh. It’s called friendship; you should try it one day.”

“Friendship?” He scrunched his nose in disgust. “That sounds dreadful.”

I shook my head. I couldn’t help but smile at Matteo’s barely veiled disgust.

“What do you want?” Matteo asked as soon as Luca’s car disappeared from view.

“What do you mean?”

Matteo rolled his eyes before reaching up for his tie, straightening it. “You jumped way too fast on the opportunity to stay here with me, and I know you don’t particularly enjoy my company… despite the fact that I'm an absolute delight.”

“You’re a sociopath.”

“So?” He shrugged. “Both are not mutually exclusive.”

“They are.”

“Agree to disagree.”

“So what do we do now?”

He shrugged. “The meeting ran longer than expected. Let's take the car and go to the city now, then you tell me what you want. Hopefully you won’t bore me too much.”

“Eager to collect your prize?” I asked, thinking about the poor bastard who was about to cross Matteo’s path.

“I’m bored these days. I’ll enjoy someone to play with.”

“And then you’re going to say you’re not a sociopath.”

“I never said I wasn’t.”

That shut me up. It was true. Matteo never said he wasn’t a sociopath. I remained silent until we reached the interstate, not even sure how I could approach my problem with him—and was it even a problem? It was just a note once…

I sighed as I leaned back on my seat.

Matteo eyed me curiously as he said, “Color me intrigued now. What’s gotten your panties in a bunch?”

“Maybe nothing.”

“I see.” He nodded, switching the gears of his BMW M3. As a true Italian man, he considered automatic transmissions an insult to cars. “I’m losing interest very fast.”

I shook my head. “It’s just… Who knows about me?”

Matteo’s hands tightened on the steering wheel before giving me a wary look. That was not a look I was used to coming from Matteo Genovese… He was not the wary type.

“Cosa vuol dire?”

I frowned. Matteo rarely reverted to Italian despite being a native speaker. “What I mean is who knows about my upbringing, what my father was. What he—” I winced as I swallowed past the ball of shame in my throat. “Made me do.”

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