Page 91 of Mafia King: Matteo
Very well, Alena. Good luck.
It is still dark when I hear someone bump into our bedroom door, and Matteo tumbles in. Immediately, I hop out of bed to help him. I hold his arm and steer him to the bench at the end of the bed. I take his shoes off. He stands, and I help him undress. He reeks of alcohol. I hope Gio isn’t driving home tonight.
“Are you okay?”
“Fine,” he mumbles as his words are slurred.
“Right,” I reply as I pull the bedcovers back, and he tumbles into the bed. He doesn’t speak words I understand, even though they are English. He gives up and waves a hand through the air as if it doesn’t matter.
I pull the covers around him and return to bed.
When I leave for work in the morning, he is still sleeping. I’m even more perplexed when Sophia isn’t in the office. She’s always here before us, and we all look at each other, wondering where she is. Penny gives us an order to continue working amid the confusion.
We need to schedule the installation of floating cabinets in the bathrooms, and we’re seriously behind on the tile work. I scheduled the crews to install the carpet and hope they won’t take over a week to finish the job.
I eat the panini Federico packed for me. It’s prosciutto and cheese. I pull out a to-go container with slices of melon.
I texted Izzy to see if she was ready for the big weekend event, and after that, I called Federico to inquire about Matteo.
“He’s rough. I gave him a shot glass of alcohol to help his hangover.”
“Do we know anything?”
“No.”
Shit. What the hell is going on? He can’t keep me in the dark forever.
I haven’t heard from Matteo all day, which is odd. He always knows where I am, and he never seems to be far. Today, I’m feeling the frostbite of Siberia. I don’t know if he’s alive or dead. He hasn’t reached out to me. I won’t chase him. I assume he’ll come to me in his own time.
Men are like that. They like distance, especially when they are in a bad mood. I wish he trusted me enough to confide in me.
Does he love me?
I might have read too much into the fact that he always knows where I am. I can’t decide if it’s his need for control or his way of showing affection.
Vito drives me home after work. I’m exhausted from worrying about Matteo.
By the time we reach the house, I find Matteo dressed casually, and for him not to be in a suit is peculiar. I assume his hangover kept him home.
He greets me with a kiss on my forehead and helps me out of my coat. We sit down to a roasted chicken and vegetable dinner that smells delicious.
“How was your day?” he asks, breaking the silence.
“Sophia wasn’t at work.”
“Ah. Well, she won’t be. I’ve transferred her to our London office. Who will run the project? We’re behind as it is.”
“I’ve given it some thought, and you enjoy decorating. I want to see your plans. If they meet my expectations, I want you to complete the project.”
“I appreciate your vote of confidence, but I’m new. No one will listen to me. I’m too young, and it’s too much responsibility.”
“Are you trying to talk me out of this?” His eyes question me.
“Not exactly. I’m looking at the situation realistically, and that’s my opinion.”
“I thought you would tire of the commute when you moved in with me. Instead, I worry over the long days you work, and you don’t complain,” he replies.
“It’s what normal people do, Matteo. It’s what I would be doing if we hadn’t met. Things snowballed between us. And the wedding is in March—I never agreed to that.”
