Page 38 of Twisted Knight

“I guess it’s fitting for a ghost,” I added, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

Matteo turned to me, his blue eyes shining with his murderous rage. “Let’s finish this.”

I followed him into the building and the piss smell almost made me gag. I looked at the overused, holey floorboard, the flaking walls, the exposed electrical wires.

“Charming… I can almost smell the asbestos,” I whispered as Matteo walked down the narrow corridor. I was grateful we didn't have to take the stairs as, based on how they looked, there was no way they could support men of our height and weight.

Matteo stopped in front of the door of what used to be apartment two if I believed the discoloration on the door.

Matteo retrieved his gun from his holster and cocked it before jerking his head toward the door, his silent command for me to take it down; I was the muscles after all.

I rolled my eyes and gestured him to move out of the way. Matteo was not a small man; he could have easily done it himself, but I was sure he didn’t want to wrinkle his designer suit.

I took a step back and kicked the door open in just one half-assed try.

As soon as the door hit the floor, Matteo walked in, his gun up. That was reckless of him to walk in first but he was on a warpath.

I followed close behind him and what I saw I didn't expect.

A man, who I suspected was the ‘living ghost’ was dead—very, very dead. He was sitting, or rather slouching, on a chair, a clean shot in the middle of his forehead, the dark drying blood cacking his blond hair.

I let my eyes trail down his arm and his hand, still holding his fully burned cigarette which left burns on his fingers.

My eyes went back up to the note taped to his chest on his white wifebeater.

‘Too late.’

“Figlio di puttana!” Matteo roared in furor, reaching for the camping table the man was sitting at, throwing it at the other side of the roomwhere it fell, legs up.

He turned to me, his face, usually so stoic, was beet red, the veins on his neck bulging to a point it looked like they were about to burst.

“How?” he shouted at me. “Fanculo! I found out two hours ago!” He turned around and kicked the chair, making the body fall to the floor.

I was speechless, watching him pace the length of the room, rambling in Italian.

I’d never seen Matteo lose his cool like that. He had never slipped. I had seen glimpses of the man behind the cool, collected veneer but never anything close to this.

“This is impossible!” he shouted again, running his hand in his hair, messing up his usually perfect style.

“Maybe we should ask for help.”

He turned around briskly. “Sei pazzo?”

“No, I’m not crazy. The rat is clearly much better than we thought.” I pointed at the body lying on the floor. “That guy made money being a ghost his whole life, and yet he didn’t even get to fight; he trusted his attacker. The traitor is good. We might need to ask for help fr—”

Matteo shook his head. “No!”

I frowned. “Matteo, listen.”

“I said no, Domenico.” His cold voice lashed like a whip. “How do you think it will look to have a rat in our ranks?” He shook his head again, his dark hair falling on his forehead. “I’m the youngest capo dei capi; you’re one of the first made men to become consigliere, and Gianluca is probably the most progressive capo there is. How do you think it will reflect on you? On me?”

I pursed my lips. Fuck, I hated to admit he was right. Some more traditional members had not welcomed Matteo’s arrival, and it was also true that some of Luca’s decisions were received with high skepticism.

I sighed. “So what do we do?”

Matteo went eerily still, looking down at the body on the floor. He put his gun back in his holster and rearranged his hair, his face back to the stoic placid facade I’d always known.

It had been unsettling to see him flip the switch from placid sociopath to angry psycho and back to placid sociopath in less than ten minutes.

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