Chapter 22 #2
To his credit, he does look like he regrets those words. Though, not enough to take them back. Instead, he leans back in his seat and crosses his arms over his chest.
“Answer the question, Raven.”
Mirroring him, I spit, “Why should I be the only one who has to give answers?” His one eye meets mine, gray on brown in a battle of wills.
After several long and awkward minutes that feel like hours, he lets out a sigh and lean closer. He reaches for my hands, but I stubbornly keep my arms crossed.
“I lost my left eye last year.” He says it so softly I almost miss it.
“What?” The word come out strangled.
I get up and walk to his side of the table. Matteo doesn’t flinch when I raise my hand and cup his left cheek. He just watches me with that steady, unnerving gaze—that single gray eye I’ve always found so captivating. The eye I never questioned was alone.
“I lost it in an explosion last year,” he continues, voice even. “I only wear the prosthetic when I have to.”
My brain scrambles to realign everything I thought I knew. Every conversation, every touch, every kiss—all of them happening without me noticing. Wait, didn’t Piper mention an explosion last year? And I’m pretty sure I read something about it online.
And… oh my fucking God. All those times I noticed his eye being slightly off. But I just chalked it up to lighting and, well, maybe a lazy eye. For once, I haven’t missed the truth because of my mental pins. I just… I never even gave it that much thought.
But… all this time, all these nights together, and I never saw. “I…” Trailing off, I swallow. “I never knew,” I murmur.
Matteo’s eye never drifts from mine, not even when he nuzzles into my hand in a rare moment of softness between us. The move makes tears burn in my eyes, causing me to sniffle. Poor Matteo. I can’t even imagine…
“What are you thinking?” he asks, uncertainty coating his words.
Before I can figure out what to say, the waitress appears with our plates. I let my hand fall away from his cheek and swipe at the few pesky tears that dared falling from my eyes.
“Thank you,” I say, shooting her what I hope is a smile and not an awkward grimace.
“Enjoy,” she replies as she leaves just as quickly as she arrived.
Though I’m tempted to dive into the pancakes, I know I need to answer him first. Just like I know he’s really asking if I’m disgusted by it, which I’m not.
Matteo might be beautiful, but that’s only part of his allure. He’s like… I don’t even know. Everything about him is perfection. His tone, his walk, even his personality and small mannerisms. A missing eye isn’t an issue for me.
Is it evil that a part of me likes seeing him squirming a little? If so, call me evil. Because I do take my sweet time before I answer him.
Licking my lips, I clear my throat. “I’m thinking that must have really hurt,” I reply honestly.
“And?”
“And what?” I grin.
He grabs my hand, lifting it to his cheek again. “Stop toying with me, Little Thief.”
I burst out laughing. “Oh, so it’s only okay when you do it?”
At that, he smiles, a real smile this time. “Touché.” Turning his head, he playfully bites the fleshy part of my hand. “I guess what I’m really asking is if it’s an issue for you.”
I quickly shake my head. “Not at all,” I reply. And to show him how much I mean it, I use my free hand to reach for the eyepatch, intending to remove it so I can see the damage beneath.
“No,” he growls.
Instead of pushing it, I lean closer and tilt my head upward. Then I press a kiss to his slightly parted lips. It’s not a sexy one, but not quite a peck either. It’s just… a kiss.
When I pull back, I swear his gaze has softened by approximately ten degrees. Small steps. With nothing more to say, we both turn to our food and I finally get to taste the pancakes.
I can’t help moaning at the first bite I take. Damn, these pancakes are delicious.
We finish our food in easy silence, his thigh and arm brushing mine every so often as if he’s not even aware he’s doing it.
“I wanted to say I heard you yesterday,” Matteo suddenly says when we’re almost done eating.
“Oh?”
He nods. “Vito will take you to the Leone Room tonight, and I’ll be working in my office.”
I don’t argue. If anything, I just… blink at him. I didn’t actually expect him to listen to what I said yesterday. Something warm and stupid unfurls in my chest, and I immediately pin it. Hard.
Once we’re done, he pays the bill and tosses a tip big enough to impress the waitress into momentary speechlessness. The walk to the office from here is only about ten minutes, but Matteo still insists on not leaving me until I’m inside.
The days that follow don’t feel like days at all—more like pieces of a week melting together. Matteo keeps his word without argument, which is somehow more disarming than if he’d fought me on it.
By the time the weekend rolls back around, people at the Leone Room are more used to seeing me by myself. Twice, I’ve even arrived after Matteo, and once left without him. Well, that’s the public story, at least.
Truthfully, he still took me home but made his men act like he was still at the club. Even though spending more time apart here was my idea, I’m not completely sold on it. I mean, yes, it’s good for spying or whatever. But it’s weird to be there without him around.
I… oh hell, I miss him.
Yep, I’m not proud of it. But a girl doesn’t need long to get used to someone like him. At least not this girl. There’s a reason I went home with him the night we met.
Reaching the bar, I eye Kayla and Gia. Both wave enthusiastically. Gia gets up on stage after giving me a quick hug, but seeing as Kayla’s busy serving drinks, I don’t think she’s going anywhere.
“Raven.” She beams, striding over to me when she’s done with her customers.
“Hi Kayla,” I greet.
She cocks her head to the side. “It’s Friday,” she grins. “You promised to try one of my cocktails when you didn’t have work the next day.”
The woman loves making cocktails. But from what I’ve seen, she’s overly generous with the alcohol, which is why I told her I had to wait. She’s right, though. It’s Friday, and I have nothing to do tomorrow.
“Hit me,” I demand.
I arch my eyebrow and laugh when she picks up bottle after bottle, artfully spinning and tossing each one. Finally, she’s done, and after adding two wedges of lime and some garnish, she slides the glass over to me.
“Enjoy.”
The drink is pure perfection, and there’s no stopping the appreciative moan I let out. “God, this is good,” I say.
“Yeah?” Kayla sounds nervous.
“Very,” I confirm, eagerly taking another sip.
The clientele seem different tonight. Sure, there are some of the usual people I’ve seen. But there are entire groups I haven’t seen before.
When I ask Kayla about it, she just says, “It’s Freaky Friday. We get all sorts of people on those nights.”
I laugh at that, guess you could say every Friday here is freaky. I mean, considering Matteo called this his den of sins, I haven’t seen anything truly outrageous. People openly groping and making out, sure. Naked women on stage, absolutely.
Hell, I’ve seen more nipples and buttocks than in my twenty-eight years of living. But nothing that’s gasp-worthy. Which I guess I’d kind of expected.
While living in Paris, I learned I’m a bit of a voyeur. Near where I lived, there was this sex club that was all about the peep show experience. And Christ on a cracker, that shit was hot.
“Here you go.”
Kayla hands me another drink. “So, tell me about you and Matteo. Are you living together yet?” she asks curiously.
I damn near choke on my drink. “Say what now?”
She just shrugs. “With the way you two look at each other, I thought for sure you were already living together and that he’d just kept you hidden from us.”
I shake my head and empty the drink. Living together with Matteo? Yeah… that’s a no. It’s almost ironic how much my mind rebels at the idea.
In high school, I was voted most likely to run off to Vegas and marry someone I’d known for less than twenty-four hours. Living with Matteo wouldn’t even be the most reckless or stupid thing I’ve ever done.
“Not yet,” I say, hoping it comes across like something I might want one day.
Gia speaks up from beside me, almost making me jump. I hadn’t noticed her joining us. “Huh,” she smirks. “Maybe you’re not as serious as we thought. Or not as… permanent.”
Before I can come up with a retort, the lights dim until the room is almost blanketed in darkness.
A single spotlight points at the center stage. “Welcome,” the announcer booms. “To Freaky Friday at the Leone Room.”