Page 24 of The Mobster's Nanny

The thought makes my heart heavy, and I clear my throat, keeping my eyes on the road. “You don’t have to.”

There’s a clear pause before Liss asks with confusion in her voice, “What do you mean?”

“I mean that we still can go out.”

“Without Romeo?”

I hum in confirmation, holding the wheel tightly and feeling my heart beating in my throat. I’m surprised at how calm my voice still is, but I guess it’s all from the determination burning in my heart. I’m tired of playing and pretending like I’m not interested in her. If Liss rejects me, then so be it, but at least I’ll have a clear answer.

“So would it be…a date?” Liss asks rather carefully, and I almost want to avoid a clear answer—but that would bring me to the same point where I want to have her but can’t.

So I simply say, “Yes.”

She doesn’t say anything for a moment, and I can’t help myself. I glance at her, and I see her staring at the road with unfocused eyes, looking hesitant. She probably catches my movement from the corner of my eye because as soon as I look at her, Liss turns to me.

Our eyes meet, and the same intimacy, the same tension, charges the air between us—when Liss finally breathes out and smiles at me. God, she's so beautiful.

“Well, where do you want to go?’

Chapter 8 - Liss

To be honest, I didn’t expect Matteo to choose an art museum for our first date, but I guess it’s just another surprise on this bizarre day. I mean, I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that we are on a date. Who would’ve thought, huh?

Although I can’t say I didn’t plan to lure Matteo into spending more time together...but I definitely didn’t expect it to look like this.

“Do you like it?” Matteo steps a little closer to me, pulling my attention away from the painting I’ve been studying for the last few minutes.

The mingling of florid lines and bright colors left me completely lost in thought, and it takes me a moment to blink out of it and glance at Matteo. He seems to be genuinely curious, tilting his head and studying the painting with obvious attention, his gaze tracing the intricate patterns left on the canvas by a student’s brush.

The painting is part of an annual student exhibition, and if only I remained in my art studies, my work could’ve been here as well—but, alas.

“I do,” I say after a moment with a mindless smile on my lips, raising my head to look at the painting up and down. “I think she has a lot of potential.”

“She? Do you know her?”

“Oh, no. I just read it.” I chuckle and point at the plate with the artist’s name, major, and the name of the painting.Flowers of the City.Isn’t it beautiful?

“Ah, of course.” Matteo huffs, smiling with a hint of self-reprimand, and shakes his head. “I didn’t think about that. But don’t you know some of these artists? They must’ve been studying with you or teaching some of your courses.”

I blink in surprise and glance at him despite myself. Does he remember that I used to study art? I mentioned it only a couple of times, but I guess he remembered. Wait, is that why he chose this museum in the first place? The thought makes my heart bloom with pleasant warmth, bringing an unwanted blush to my cheeks, and I can’t help but smile to myself, looking away from Matteo to hide it.

“I know some of the names,” I admit after a second, walking to the next installation. It presents some kind of a sea creature made of clay resting on the bottom of a plastic water container.Deep see. Creative. “But I don’t know them in person.”

Matteo hums, following me, and I feel oddly satisfied to see that he’s genuinely listening to me. “Have you ever had any of your works in an exhibition like this?”

“Ah, I wish.” I chuckle, glancing at him and catching his gaze for a moment. God, why do I feel so delighted all of a sudden? “But I changed my major before I got a chance to present my paintings.”

“Paintings?” Matteo repeats with a note of surprise and wonder. “I’ve never heard you talk about your paintings.”

Ah, yes, I don’t really talk about them a lot. Why would I? That part of my life is in the past.

When I turn to look at Matteo, I catch a glint of adoration in his eyes that immediately makes my heart beat faster. But maybe it’s just the glare of lights in the room, right? I mean, the lamps here are quite extraordinary.

“Yeah,” I murmur, unable to hold back a shy smile, and look away to the next installation. “I used to do a lot of painting in high school—which was why I chose to study it in the first place.”

It’s been a while since I talked to someone about my life and my interests, but with Matteo the words slip out of my mouth naturally. I can see that he’s listening to me, and whenever I ask him something, I enjoy his calm and detailed answers as well.

I don’t even notice the passage of time as we walk from one exhibit to another, telling each other stories of the past. I tell Matteo about my interest in expressionism, the death of my desire to be an artist, and my decision to focus on teaching children instead. It’s hard to explain it without mentioning, you know, my determination to kill him, but I think the story of doing volunteer work in an orphanage makes it believable enough.

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