Page 23 of Stalk (Assassin’s Kiss Duet #1)

Ren

I don’t want to talk about her.

My head is fuzzy from the alcohol, and my emotions feel heavier than normal all of a sudden.

Though I’m in between being heavily tipsy and drunk, I’m still aware that Mattia is from a different company, and we’re talking about some very personal stuff.

Things only Cleo knows about. What if he uses all this against me—or Catherine?

Despite my paranoia, a piece of me wants to open up to Mattia.

The problem is that I know I shouldn’t give him all of this information.

I want to talk to someone on the outside about it, because I’m terrified of Catherine’s motives.

I want to believe that Mattia’s concern is genuine, but he’s also a cold-blooded killer.

By choice. I should despise him for that alone.

It definitely bothers me. Yet, something about him invites me in.

So, I give in. For whatever reason, I start talking more, and I don’t hold anything back.

“Her name was Shiori. She moved to America from Osaka with her parents when she was a young girl. She was… gorgeous. Insanely smart. Sometimes, she could be pretty severe. She often couldn’t take a joke.

” I grimace painfully when her serious face that would show each time I tried to joke around with her flashes across my mind.

“I look so much like her. My father was German, but I feel like I’m my mother’s spitting image.

Aside from the color of my eyes, anyway.

” I take in a deep breath and stare at Mattia.

“She was a small woman, but she was strong.

She never needed a man to help her with anything. I always respected her for that.

“As I told you before, she told me she was a night nurse. Hell, she would even leave the house in scrubs and come back home in the morning dressed the same.”

Mattia finishes his drink. “What of her family? Are they still around?”

“No. My grandparents died before I was born.”

“What about your father’s family? Do you have any family that you are in contact with?”

“No… I don’t. My mother was an only child. She always told me that my father’s family all lived in Germany and that she cut off contact with them purposely after he left us. If I ever met any of them, I don’t remember. I was too young, and my mom never spoke of them.”

Mattia clasps his hands together tightly while he thinks. “I need another drink. When I return, tell me what you do know about your father.”

I glance down at my still full glass as Mattia goes back inside.

Why is our talk stressing him out so much?

When we met the other night, it seemed to me like nothing phased him.

Yet for some reason, this conversation has him tense.

I don’t understand it. It’s almost like killing people is part of his personality.

Like it’s as easy as breathing for him. Why is talking to me harder for him than taking a human’s life? It’s more than unsettling.

Less than a minute later, he returns with a fresh drink. Whatever smokey cologne he’s wearing wafts over in my vicinity as he closes the door and sits back down, making my mouth water. It’s like a blend of the tobacco and a campfire in fall mixed with an inviting musk.

For a moment, I forget why I’m here and what he wants me to tell him.

I’m distracted by the way he lounges in his chair, with his legs spread open casually, one hand holding his drink loosely atop his thigh.

In the dark, his jawline and cheekbones seem sharper than in the light.

Like they could cut my flesh just by brushing up against me.

His eyes are on me. Unwavering. I swallow roughly and try to reel myself back into reality.

I cannot find this assassin attractive, of all people.

But here I am, contemplating how his tongue would feel sliding against my own.

That, and what he looks like fully undressed.

“Your father?” he prompts me when I don’t speak.

“Oh, right. Uh—” I tear my eyes away from him and distract myself by downing several sips of my drink. The gin slides down my throat and warms my insides. I exhale a long sigh of relief. “I don’t know much about him.” It’s the truth, I don’t.

“Do you know what he did for a living? What part of Germany he was from? If he had siblings? Anything?” Mattia asks, obvious annoyance coating his voice.

My head spins as I try to figure out if I know any of the answers to his questions.

“I know his name was Geoffrey Winter. I think he did something with computers? I kind of remember him looking at code on our old desktop…” The memory is fuzzy at best; the back of my dad’s blond head as he stared at a screen.

“I don’t know what part of Germany he was from, but I do know he came to America for college. ”

“What college?” Mattia asks, not missing a beat. How can this guy drink like a fish and be so on top of things? Christ.

I bite my lip and shake my head. “I want to say it was some Ivy League, but my mother never specified.”

“Siblings?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know.” Mattia runs a hand through his wavy hair, then lights up yet another cigarette. “I wish I knew more. I don’t know why you’re acting so annoyed, though,” I say, my voice growing tight. What the fuck is his problem?

“You’re right,” Mattia says a little too loudly. “I am annoyed. Why have you never thought to look into this? Any of it?”

My mouth snaps shut, and I suddenly feel defensive.

And a little nauseous. If I’m being honest with myself, I know that I should have researched more about my parents a long time ago.

Right after Catherine forced me into the remaining contract my mother left behind.

It’s not like the thought hasn’t crossed my mind.

I’m not an idiot. I know how all of this must seem to Mattia.

There are things in my family history that don’t add up, but for some reason, I could never bring myself to dig deeper.

The death of my mother is still too haunting, and my father is such a distant memory, I never thought to try and find him.

Maybe I’ve been in denial. Maybe I’ve just been trying to preserve whatever sanity I have left.

“I should have,” I admit. “With my mother’s death still so fresh, though—I don’t know. Sometimes, it’s just easier to think about her as little as possible.” I glance up at Mattia, and notice his features soften a little.

“Okay. Fine. I can understand that. It took me a long time to get over the death of my father, too.”

I realize that his remark is the first thing he’s told me about him that’s personal, and my defenses fall away a little. “How old were you when he died?”

“Almost eight.” He takes a drag from his smoke. “It was sudden. A heart attack.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

He shrugs. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago. Luckily, I still have my mother, my aunt, and my siblings. I am very fortunate.”

“How many siblings do you have?” I ask. I like that he’s telling me these things about him. It makes me feel less guilty for unloading all of my familial problems onto him, and I’m curious to find out more.

Mattia laughs, and it’s such a pleasant sound that my skin breaks out in goosebumps. “Four sisters. One has a baby on the way.”

Wow. As an only child, I can’t even imagine what that must be like. “That’s… a lot.”

He nods. “Sì, è molto. We all live together, too. I am the oldest, so I have my hands full.”

His accent becomes thicker the more he drinks, and I can’t help but think it’s cute. Funny how I was pissed off at him only two minutes ago, and now I’m gushing over how fondly he talks about his family . “You all… live together?”

“Yeah,” he says roughly. “It has been like that in my family for generations.”

I smile to myself, even though I’m somewhat envious. I’ve never had anything like that. “That sounds nice. I’m sure it can be overwhelming at times, but I would give anything to have a family.”

Mattia’s striking eyes bore into mine, and I stop breathing. I almost expect him to start asking me a million questions again, but instead, he says, “Maybe you will have one someday. If we can figure out the deal with your cunty boss.”

I choke on a laugh, taken aback by his vulgarity. “Yeah, maybe.” Another question pops into my mind, and I can’t help but ask, “Is your family in the same business as you?” It seems like they would almost have to be with him being so close to them.

“I shouldn’t answer that, but fuck it. I’m drunk and can feel bad about it in the morning.” He sighs and waves a hand into the air like he’s dismissing his own worries. “Yes. My family is my company.”

Oh. “So, your sisters do what you do? And your aunt and mother?”

“Not quite. Zìa—my aunt—runs the company in place of my father, seeing as I was only a child when he passed. The head of the company is supposed to be run by a male. It’s a stupid tradition, but it’s not one I see changing any time soon.

Women are not supposed to do the messy work.

Instead, they run the business side of things.

We have others outside of my immediate family who do what I do. ”

“Interesting.”

Mattia puts out his smoke and flicks it over the side of the balcony.

I want to berate him for littering, but I decide to let it slide.

I put my cigarette butt in my pocket. Whatever.

He polishes off the rest of his drink, so I do the same.

Once his glass is set down on the ground, he places his elbows on his knees and leans forward with a serious expression.

“One last question. For tonight, anyway.”

“What is it?” My heart races because of the way he’s looking at me. He’s only about a foot away from me now, and I have to resist the urge to lean in, too.

“Do you think your mother was killed accidentally, or on purpose?”

I swallow down the painful knot that comes to life at the back of my throat. “Catherine, my boss, said it was an accident. That she was killed onsite of a high-profile assignment.”

Mattia clicks his tongue. “Do you believe that?”

“No. I don’t.” I’ve never admitted it to myself, but I knew my mother better than anyone, aside from her secret life, and she was not a person to make mistakes.

She was calculated. Precise. Every single thing she ever did was well thought out and executed properly.

There’s no way she would have made a mistake that would have put her life in danger like that.

“Let’s go inside,” Mattia says abruptly, standing up quickly and swaying a little on his way to the door.

I grab my glass, as well as his, because he didn’t bother to bring it with him, and follow him inside.

After setting the glasses down on the bar, I turn back around and find Mattia lounging half-propped up in the middle of the bed.

I take a few steps toward him, then stand in front of him, unsure about whether I’m allowed to sit down beside him or if that would be inappropriate. Overthinking every action, as usual.

“Don’t be weird,” Mattia growls. “You can sit down. Why do you do that?”

My brow furrows. “Do what?”

Mattia’s head falls back and he groans. “Doubt. Every. Single. Thing. You. Do.”

I sit down on the bed beside him. “It’s just how I am,” I admit softly.

“Mi stai facendo impazzire,” he mutters.

“Huh?”

“I am drunk and you are making me mad.”

It’s kind of endearing to know his thoughts, drunk or not. I know that I get on his nerves. That was apparent from the moment we ran into each other. Before I know what’s happening, I start laughing my ass off.

“What is so funny?”

I snort. “I just—I annoy myself, too, is all.”

One second, I’m sitting upright beside him, and the next thing I know, he’s shoving my shoulder with an impressive amount of strength for someone so drunk, and I’m falling off the bed.

“Ow! What the fuck?” I yell from the floor. My elbows sting from using them to support my fall, and I know for sure I’ll have some mean carpet burn.

Mattia howls with laughter from the bed. “You deserved it.”

I stand back up, but don’t sit back down this time. “You know you’re a total dick, right?”

His laughter stops, and he grins at me devilishly, his brown eyes playful.

My cock stirs from the way he stares, like a wolf calculating when to attack.

It doesn’t help that his shirt has ridden up, exposing a few inches of his tan stomach, showing off a dark dusting of hair.

My mouth waters, and I have to force myself to keep breathing.

“I am a dick, but you make me this way.” I can barely make out the words from how thick his accent is right now. He points to a notepad on the bedside table. “Write down the names of your mother and your father, then hand me my phone from the dining table so I can have Marco take you home.”

With that, he shuts his eyes and sighs happily, then lays down fully atop the made bed.

I kind of want to tickle him or disturb him in some way, because the audacity of this guy is unreal.

Instead, I do what he says. I write down the information for him, then bring him his phone.

I have to shove his shoulder a little to wake him up, then force the phone in his hand.

Mattia struggles to unlock his phone, but finally manages, then calls Marco. They have a short conversation in Italian, then he hangs up and tosses his phone off to the side.

“Marco will meet you outside of my room. I will research your parents. I suggest you do the same,” he says with a yawn.

I blink at him. “Then what?”

“Then, we discuss what we find. I will be in touch.”

Just like that, his mouth opens and he starts to breathe heavily, somehow already fast asleep.

As though it’s as simple as flipping off a switch for him.

I stare at him in awe. I hate that he’s even more painfully beautiful when asleep.

He irritates me. I don’t like him, yet I do.

I want to cuss him out but I also want him to fuck me.

My face burns as a fantasy comes to life in my head.

Fuck. My dick hardens painfully in my jeans. I cup myself, unable to stop.

But then there’s a knock on the door, and I remember Marco is going to take me home. It’s not a good idea for him to know where I live, I realize. I’ll give him the address for the Burdick House and walk from there, I guess.

I take one last look at Mattia, then leave. While he’s asleep tonight, I’ll be awake, too busy mulling over our conversations to have the simple pleasure of rest.