Page 92 of Twisted Knight

“Che?”

“Remember where your wife comes from Sergio. You talk, we talk.”

His eyes widened, understanding what Matteo was saying. “What? I…” He shook his head. “That’s not a part of my life I ever want to get out.” He threw me a quick glance. “No offense.”

I looked away. Why would I take offense? I had been just a boy at the time; he was the one who ‘broke’ one of the girls and decided to keep her.

He was the grown man who kept a sixteen-year-old girl as a gift from my father. The fact that they were still married two decades later didn't matter.

He looked at us, his pupils a little dilated—the drugs were finally working. He would wake up in the morning with a hazy brain as if he had a hangover and not many memories of what we discussed.

“I regret some things… I left because of all that. To start fresh. It is not to talk about it now. As far as I’m concerned it never happened.”

Matteo threw me an exasperated look. It was clear that he was not lying, and it was also clear we wasted our time here.

“Bene, that’s the way it should be,” Matteo replied, taking a drink now.

After a few minutes of idle chatter, Matteo tapped his hand on the table. “It was nice catching up with you, Sergio, but I need to go now. I’ve got dinner with Sebastiano.”

“Ah, si.” The older man wiped some sweat from his forehead with the back of his shirt sleeve. “We are good, si?”

He was nervous; of course, he was, because no matter what rumor may be rampant in the famiglia ranks, everyone knew that Matteo was a heartless sociopath, and everyone knew what his basement was all about.

Matteo stood up and adjusted the cuffs of his shirt. “We are and as long as you keep your mouth shut, we will be.”

“Siempre.”

Matteo looked at me. “Andiamo.”

“I’m not coming to dinner with you,” I muttered as we exited the bar. “I’ve got plans.”

He rolled his eyes, lighting a cigar as soon as we stepped outside. “Calm your tits. You're not invited. It’s a capo dinner. You're barely a consigliere.”

Did he think he was insulting me? I couldn’t care less about ranks. I took the position to be close to my best friend and make sure he was safe; the rest didn’t matter.

“A consigliere with royal blood, no?” I replied just to piss him off.

He blew the smoke right in my face. “Go to your woman, Domenico. Let the actual men deal with things.”

Once again if he was trying to rail me, it was an epic fail. Going to my woman was all that mattered, and if it made me less of a man in his eyes, I couldn't care less.

My phone vibrated multiple times in my pocket, announcing an inflow of messages that had been waiting for some reception.

I got it out of my pocket and noticed seven texts from India plus a voicemail. I was truly fucked.

Matteo started to say something, but I ignored him, twirling around and going up the strip to our hotel as fast as I could while reading the texts India sent.

Where are you? Couple massage is in ten. Love you.

Dom, are you okay? We missed our appointment.

Domenico Romano, you better be dead.

No, don't be dead. I don’t mean that. Love you.

I smiled at the screen despite the anxiety. Even angry she couldn't properly be mean.

Five more minutes and I’m going to see male strippers. Your fault.

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