She doesn’t hate that night. I can see the ray of happiness in her eyes and the flush in her cheeks as she recounts the events. I’m glad to see that she doesn’t regret it.
It fills with a little bit of hope. That maybe things aren’t as fucked up between us as I think they are.
“So you’re saying this is only the second time you’ve met our brother?” Matteo questions curiously.
“Yes. It doesn’t feel like it though,” she murmurs, avoiding my gaze.
I know exactly what she means by that.
When I look away from her, my eyes slide over to Matteo’s. There’s a slight frown on his face as he inclines his head towards the door, beckoning me outside. He stands in the next breath, leaving the dining room. With a sigh, I push my chair back aswell, remembering my manners even if my asshole of a brother doesn’t.
“Be right back, Liliana,” I say to the woman currently spreading peanut butter over toast. She offers me a small nod. “Be nice, Elly.”
“I’m always nice,” my younger brother grunts as I leave the room as well.
I find Matteo leaning against the wall a couple feet from the door. I join him on the other side, staring him down and waiting for him to voice his disapproval.
“What’s your plan here, Rafaelle?” he asks in Italian.
I shoot him a dry look, “You know me, fratello, I’m not really one to plan. I prefer to leave that to you.”
“I know you can be impulsive and violent and reckless. But even you have to understand how delicate this situation is.”
My gaze hardens, “I’m not an idiot, Matteo.”
“Do you have feelings for her?”
“What?” I ask, surprised by the question.
“Answer the question, Raf. I’m not going to ask it again.”
Darkness flares in my chest. My hands tighten into fists as I consider it. Mostly because I don’t have an answer. How the fuck would I know? What do I feel for Liliana?
It feels like a cold obsession. A longing made potent because she disappeared without my permission. I might not want to hurt her or see her hurt, but I’m not sure I have feelings for her. I don’t even know what the fuck I’m supposed to feel.
Eventually, I meet Matteo’s eyes, “No. I don’t.”
The words leave my throat dry. They feel like a lie. Matteo doesn’t look so convinced.
“She’s a Navarro, Rafaelle. You know exactly the kind of man her father is.”
“She is nothing like her father,” I growl.
That bastard has no honor, no loyalty. He’s a sick, selfish, sadistic bastard who’s more likely to stab his men in the back than protect them. I’ve seen him do it time and time again.
“You don’t know that. You don’t know her at all, fratello.”
He’s right. I fucking don’t. She might feel like a scab beneath my skin, one that refuses to heal or leave me alone. But at the end of the day, I barely know her.
Matteo continues speaking, “When we make the trade, I need you assurance that you won’t do anything to ruin it.”
“I won’t.”
“I’m sure you can understand why I’m finding it so hard to believe you. You’re acting very unlike yourself. It’s confusing. To me, to her, hell probably even to yourself. You need to figure out a way to take your emotions out of the equation. This is business. That woman back there, is nothing but a business deal. One that ends with our family coming out on top. Do you understand me?”
My reply is a glare. I hate that he’s so fucking right.
Confusion is definitely the right word to describe the cluster fuck going on in my head. And I decide I can’t go on like this. Regardless of the business deal or any of that bullshit, for the sake of my own sanity and wellbeing, I need to shut it all out. I’m adept at keeping shit looked behind an impenetrable metal door. I can do that right now with Liliana as well.
