Page 16 of Cavaliere

“Am I fucking serious right now?” he echoes again, his voice rising slightly.

“Yes!” I snap. “You can’t break into my place; force yourself into my life by claiming I need protection, which I never asked for, by the way. In fact, I’m pretty sure I told you I didn’t fucking want it. Your protection lasts basically a week before you just decide to stop without so much as even a phone call. You could have even texted! I would have understood. Then, you find out something happens to me, and you come running, acting like it’s your business? Like some fucking knight in shining armor? Get the fuck over yourself, dude.”

“Get the fuck over myself?”

“Oh my fucking god! Stop repeating everything I say!” I yell as I throw the covers off of me and jump out of bed. “Actually, get out. Get the fuck out.” I point toward the door.

“Is that what you wore here?” Matteo asks, eyes quickly roaming over my body, the bite in his voice making me freeze.

“What?”

“Is. That. What. You. Wore. Here,” he repeats slowly.

I look down at myself.

Oh.

I forgot I didn’t put any clothes on before I ran out of the apartment. It’s not exactly like my first thought was to get pants. I was trying to not fucking die. I’m glad the jizz-infested motel isn’t a turn-off because I don’t miss the flare in his eyes as he looks me up and down. Placing my hands on my hips, I tilt my head at him. “Yes, this is what I wore. Is there a problem?”

Matteo squeezes his eyes shut as he sharply inhales, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m really trying to stay calm here, Wren. Really fucking trying. But you’re making it nearly im-fucking-possible.”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“Your ass is basically out!” Matteo explodes, jumping out of bed.

He’s wearing those sexy dress pants again. How do they just perfectly mold to him like that? The man just oozes sex appeal.

“And where is your bra? Jesus fucking Christ, Wren.” He continues to rant, drawing my gaze back to his face.

“Is this really what you’re concerned about? My ass? I almost fucking died!”

Matteo’s chest is rapidly rising and falling as his breathing increases. “And I’m going to find that motherfucker and kill him for touching what is mine,” he says through clenched teeth as he throws his suit jacket at me that was resting on the chair next to the bed. “Now, put this on, and let’s fucking go.”

“Can you take me to Delaney’s?” I’m too stubborn to tell him that I don’t want to go back to my place. I’m not ready to face that yet.

“If you get in the fucking car.”

“I need to pay first. I forgot to grab my wallet during the shit show of a night I had.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

I look around the room. For what? I don’t know. It just makes me sad when I realize I literally only came here with the shirt on my back. I don’t say anything as I head to the door. I can feel him following. He approaches the front desk, and the same guy from the night before is working.

He lets out a low whistle. “You sure pulled in a nice one, girl. If I'd known that, I’d have raised your rates.”

Matteo’s head whips around to look at me as my mouth drops open in shock. Did he just call me a prostitute?

Matteo’s eyes take on a scary edge. In a blink, Matteo pulls a switchblade out of the pocket of his dress pants and flicks it open as he turns back to the guy at the desk, stabbing it into the top of his hand that’s resting on top of the desk.

“What the fuck!” he screams, pulling his hand back on reflex, making the blade slice through his hand even more. Blood is starting to pool onto the counter. My eyes are glued to the growing puddle, fascinated by watching it start to trickle over the edge, dripping onto the already stained carpet. A gasp works its way out of me, but it’s not from the shock of what Matteo just did. I gasped because that was the hottest fucking thing I have ever seen. Judging by how wet my panties just got, I probably need to schedule a full psych evaluation after this shit show that has become my life is over. This can’t be normal.

“Watch your fucking mouth,” Matteo growls, slightly twisting the knife. The guy lets out another scream. “This is the only time I’m going to tell you this. If I hear you ever refer to her as a prostitute again, I’ll cut your fucking hand off.” Matteo pauses as he rights the blade. “Understood?”

The guy frantically nods his head as Matteo pulls the switchblade out, wiping it on a silky-looking piece of cloth he pulled out of his pocket. The guy is crying and violently shaking as he watches Matteo clean his blood off the blade. Only once the switchblade is completely clean and tucked safely back into his pocket does Matteo turn back to me.

“Let’s go, tesoro,” Matteo says calmly as if he didn’t just stab someone in the hand.

And what do I do?