Matteo shakes his head and clears his throat. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”
My eyebrows draw in. “Why did you say it?”
“I just…you look even prettier than you did at the wedding,” he blurts out awkwardly. “I mean, you looked beautiful, of course. I’m just surprised that you look like a princess sitting in your bedroom in a sweater too. No dress and no makeup needed.”
I blink in disbelief.
“I’m sorry, I’mnotbeing very chill right now. Please ignore me.”
Truly at a loss for words, I do the only thing my brain can think of. Change the subject.
“So, dinner wasn’t what you expected it to be?”
“Right,” he agrees eagerly, seeming thankful for the prompting question. “I said I wanted a fight but I didnotthink it would be like it was.”
For the next ten minutes, Matteo goes into detail about his family’s evening. It’s like a reality TV show or a soap opera the way he describes every intense twist and turn that took placeonly minutes ago for him. Secrets unveiled, betrayal accusations, and at the center of it all, one girl trapped in a horrible situation.
My stomach begins to ache as he tells me about Rayna Todorov’s best friend. He doesn’t say her name, and by the way his story seems to skip around a bit, I can tell that he’s redacting some details. Whether it’s for the girl’s sake or for mine, I appreciate it. From what he does say, I can tell that it would be upsetting information to hear.
Just knowing that there’s some poor mafia princess out there, likely around my age, being forced into plastic surgery by her parents…it’s enough to make me feel nauseous. The only thing that quells the discomfort is knowing that Matteo’s family isn’t going to let the situation continue.
“But your brother—Elie…”
“Elio,” Matteo fills in, hearing my struggle to remember one of his eight brother’s names.
“Elio,” I agree, continuing, “Elio is going to be able to get her out, right?”
I watch as he bobs his head, the side of his mouth tipping up into a half-grin. “Yeah, definitely. Elio won’t come home without her. He’s pissed. We all are, honestly.”
“You don’t seem angry,” I admit, worrying my hands in my lap.
“I’ve gotten very good at smothering my emotions externally,” he replies with a half shrug. “It doesn’t do anyone any good if I’m going around huffing and puffing—spitting mad. I’m much more useful being the guy who makes everyone feel better, I think.”
“I—”
“Besides,” he interrupts before I can fully form my reply. “I have a feeling it would be pretty difficult for me to look mad when I’m talking to such a beautiful girl.”
What?
My brain short circuits, lips popping open in shock.
The sound of my door banging open completely cuts off whatever reply I was about to squeak out.
Matteo
A loud thud comes over the video call and Anya’s head snaps to the side toward the noise. Her hair swishes so fast that it blurs with movement.
“Dad?” She almost gasps. “You didn’t knock.”
“I heard you talking,” Anton replies in a rough voice—as if that excuses his barged entry. “You didn’t tell me you would be calling him.”
Anya gapes at him. Even though she isn’t facing me, I can see her jaw become practically unhinged. “I didn’t call him.”
“You’re speaking.”
I mean, semantics.
“It’s a FaceTime,” Anya informs him defensively. “And he called me. He’s telling me about dinner tonight. Something happened.”
