“Dante.” Like the song of a siren, her voice pulled me from the rage-induced fog I was in.
I looked at her and narrowed my eyes. “What the hell are you doing here, Layla?”
Matteo wrapped his arm tighter around her, and a growl echoed up my throat. “As you can see, she’s here with me.”
I ignored him and kept my eyes on her. “Why?”
She bit her bottom lip, reminding me of how many times I’d bitten that same lip, sucked and nibbled it. Soft, red lips tortured me with memories of how they felt against mine.
Layla squared her shoulders. “As Matteo said, I’m here with him.”
“The hell you are. What the fuck is going on?”
“Nothing.”
Matteo cleared his throat. “I think what Layla is trying to say is that we’re here to have some fun, you know, as a couple.”
This time I turned my attention to him, every muscle in my body taut as I tried to restrain myself from pulling out a knife and cutting his throat. “I suggest if you would like to keep that ugly motherfucking head of yours that you back the fuck off.”
Matteo stepped forward, pushing his jacket back, showcasing the gun at his side. A piss poor display of warning. “Is that a threat, Valenti?”
I moved closer. “You can bet your ass it is.”
“I get that you and Layla share this whole history together, but it’s exactly that…history. She’s with me now, so move the fuck along.”
I glanced from Matteo to Layla, who seemed uncomfortable as she shifted from one leg to other, the slit in her red dress draping perfectly along her thigh. She met my stare for a second before looking away.
I noticed her flicking her fingernails. It was a nervous habit of hers. It used to drive me up the fucking walls whenever she did it. But right now it was a clue—a clue that things weren’t as they seemed. Something wasn’t right, and I was going to figure out what it was.
I lifted my hands in a display of mock surrender.“Fine. Whatever. You two have a good time.”I took a step back and pinned my stare on her, silently conveying the message that we weren’t done. Not by a long shot. You didn’t disappear for five fucking years, then just reappear out of thin air and expect all questions to remain unanswered.
I turned my back on her and Matteo and headed up the stairs.
“Dante, I think it’s best we leave.” I heard Antonio’s footsteps behind me.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“I don’t want trouble, Dante.”
I stomped up the final step. “Too fucking late.”
The little nipple patch waitress came skipping by with a tray of shooters. I grabbed two, tossed them back one after the other, and didn’t even feel the sting of the alcohol since all I could focus on was the burn of jealousy and a shitload of fucks I gave at that point. Less than five minutes ago, I was the kind of man who had the natural talent to easily not give a fuck. But now? It seemed like I gave a fuck about a lot of things.
Her.
Why she suddenly decided to come back.
Did she know who and what Matteo was?
And if she didn’t, exactly how much trouble was she about to get into?
Was she safe?
Fuck me. That was just too much shit to care about for a heartless bastard like me. But because of her…I goddamn cared.
I took a seat on a leather couch and ordered a drink. Antonio sat next to me. “What the fuck is going on?”
I shrugged, then spotted Matteo and Layla walking up the stairs. “I have no idea. But I’m going to find out.”