“Mom, look!
What a beautiful couple!
It’s a prince and a princess from my book!” A little girl stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk, tugging insistently at her mother’s sleeve while pointing directly at Matteo and me.
It was far from the first time we’d drawn attention during our short walk.
People kept staring, some even turning back for a double take.
Just a few minutes earlier, a sweet elderly woman had approached us with a warm smile, remarking on how lovely we looked together, and how much Matteo reminded her of her late husband when they first met.
I’d thanked her, of course.
But if only she knew that the handsome guy standing beside me was a total monster—and that being with him was the absolute last thing I’d chosen for myself today.
Or ever.
“Why did you want to come here?” Matteo’s indifferent gaze swept over the promenade.
Because there are crowds here, so you won’t pull anything.
Probably, flashed through my mind.
“Because it’s nice,” I then said aloud, offering a careless shrug.
I kept my eyes glued to the row of buildings on our right, pretending to be fascinated by the architecture—anything to avoid looking at him.
Originally, he had suggested dinner at a fancy restaurant.
I’d refused.
I could have brought him along to the birthday party, but the thought of showing up among my classmates with Matteo made my stomach turn.
I didn’t want him learning anything about my life, let alone becoming a part of it.
The idea to come to the embankment had been purely spontaneous, but I didn’t regret it.
Surrounded by so many people, I could finally breathe a little.
I wasn’t completely at ease, but at least the constant, suffocating fear of being attacked or killed had receded to a quiet hum.
And that was something.
“Want one of those?” Matteo caught my eyes lingering on the display cooler of a small street stall we were passing.
It was filled with chilled sweets and cut fruit.
“No,” I lied, reluctantly.
My stomach was empty, and those pastries had tempted me every time I walked this strip.
Usually, though, I talked myself out of it.
You could walk a few blocks up and buy practically the same thing at a supermarket for a fraction of the price.
Well, maybe not quite the same, but my budget took priority.
Whether my rejection sounded fake or he just didn’t care, Matteo went ahead and bought the sfogliatella I’d been eyeing anyway.
Every instinct told me to reject it, but the craving won out.
“Thank you.” Catching the dark look in his eyes, I raised a questioning eyebrow.
“What?” “I still don’t get why you chose this dump over somewhere decent.” Was he calling the embankment a dump?
Whan an ass.
We kept walking in silence.
I nibbled on the flaky pastry, my gaze shifting between the path ahead, Mount Vesuvius in the distance, and Matteo.
My heart was pounding, but I forced the words out anyway: “I know practically nothing about you.” Matteo lazily pulled out a lighter.
Click.
A flame sparked, and he lit a cigarette.
“Maybe you could tell me a little about yourself?” I asked, nervous.
I had zero interest in getting to know Matteo for my own sake, but if I wanted to ask Nino about him later, I needed details.
I needed a picture.
“Like what?” “What do you usually do?” “Work.” How remarkably detailed.
“Care to elaborate?” “No.” I finished the last bite of my pastry and tossed the napkin into a trash can.
He was impossible.
Yet, a strange wave of relief washed over me.
I was being an idiot—asking about his work was playing with fire.
Matteo belonged to a clan, and the less I knew about their business, the better off I’d be.
“How old are you?” I asked, noticing another round of lingering stares from passersby.
We were definitely overdressed for a casual stroll—him in tailored trousers and a button-down, me in an evening dress.
“Nineteen.” “How old?” The question slipped out before I could stop it, my eyes widening in disbelief.
Matteo looked twenty-five, easily.
Back when he’d been wearing a hoodie and jeans, I might have pegged him for twenty or twenty-one.
But nineteen?
“What’s so surprising?” he asked.
“You’re… younger than I thought.” God, this giant is only a year older than me.
Matteo just shrugged.
I bit my tongue to keep from asking what on earth his parents had fed him to turn him into a human mountain.
Protein powder in his baby formula?
And if he was only nineteen, did that mean he was still growing?
I stared down at my shoes for a moment before looking up at the clear, starry sky.
What else could I ask?
I knew the real answers I was desperate for, but poking around directly was too dangerous.
I had to be smart about it.
Subtle.
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” I asked instead.
“Just cousins.” Another dry, dead-end response.
I frowned slightly, deciding to drop the interrogation for a moment and shift to safer ground.
Pointing at a grand building nearby, I mentioned that I’d once considered applying for a job there.
It was the most luxurious restaurant in the area.
“Yeah, I definitely need that—you working as a waitress.” Matteo’s expression darkened instantly.
“Every guy who walks through the door tries to sleep with those waitresses.” “That’s not true.
I work in a café and no one has ever…” I trailed off, unwilling to voice the rest.
“I’m not a waitress there, obviously, but you shouldn’t look down on the staff like that.
You make it sound like being a waitress is synonymous with being a whore.” “Your job pisses me off, but sure, it’s not the same thing.” I shrugged, ready to shut the conversation down entirely.
“Well, I ended up turning the offer down anyway.
Turns out the place is owned by the Camorra, and I’m not crazy enough to get mixed up with them.”