Page 28 of Stalk (Assassin’s Kiss Duet #1)

Mattia

C innamon, who I have renamed Cannella, because the name is much prettier in Italian, has begrudgingly grown on me.

She is a pest. She follows me everywhere I go, and whines when I leave the rental home without her.

I have to admit, though, that it’s nice to have a companion.

Sure, I have Marco, but it can still be lonely so far away from home.

Hell, I’ve even gotten used to the rat dog sleeping at the foot of my bed each night, and I’ve had her for less than a week.

“Sei vizìato,” I tell her from my workstation. Her little eyebrows perk up from where she rests on my bed, but her tail wags playfully. I sigh. “I will take you out in a few minutes, principessa.”

I would have figured myself to be the last person in the world to have a pet. Now, I’m wrapped around Cannella’s little paw, too, and she knows it. I sigh again. This trip to America has been much stranger than I thought it would be.

I rub the area between my eyebrows with my thumb and close my eyes momentarily to take a break from staring at my laptop. I’ve been scouring our database for close to two hours now, and I haven’t found anything on Ren’s parents or his boss.

With a shake of my head, I close my laptop and pick up my phone.

I know better than to call Zìa about this.

I would only do something that stupid if I had a death wish.

Instead, I need to call Giorgia. Not only is she the closest to Zìa seeing as she acts as her assistant, but she is also the one family member I know I can trust, no matter what.

Still, I’m hesitant to bring her into whatever mess Ren’s family left behind.

I stand up from my seat and hold my phone.

“Andiamo.” Cannella jumps down from the bed immediately and follows me out of my room, down the stairs, and out to the backyard.

I’ve already gone to the damn pet store and gotten the little beast a bucket full of toys, so as soon as we step outside, she grabs a ball and drops it at my feet expectantly.

I roll my eyes, but obey my little master, bending down to throw it across the small span of grass.

Eventually, I pull a chair from the patio up to the edge of the yard so I can sit while I call Giorgia and play fetch, and then I unlock my phone. Normally, I video call my sister, but because this is about sensitive information, I choose to call her the old fashioned way.

“What’s wrong?” Giorgia answers almost immediately. I feel bad when I realize calling her this way probably spooked her.

“Niente, niente!” I reassure her. “Mi dispiace. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just need a favor.”

Giorgia exhales roughly. “Stronzo. What is it?”

I can’t help but smile into the phone. Oh, how I wish she was here with me. “It is a serious matter,” I say slowly, feeling thankful that Zìa doesn’t tap our personal phones. “One that Zìa cannot know about.”

“Naughty. Tell me more.”

I fill Giorgia in on what happened the night I met Ren, how we met up later when they asked to talk to me, and how I’ve found nothing so far about their family or Catherine Burdick.

When I’m finished, Giorgia doesn’t answer right away. I pull the phone away from my ear to make sure the call didn’t drop. Finally, she responds. “Why do you care, Mattia? Why get involved after Zìa explicitly told you not to?”

Cannella is finally exhausted from playing fetch and drops down beside my feet, panting away. I bend down to pet her soft coat as I try to figure out my why.

“Honestly, G, I am not sure. I think Ren needs someone in their corner. They don’t have what we do. No family. Not a lot of support. I just?—”

“You want to help them,” Giorgia says simply.

I look up at the sunny sky and nod to myself. “I suppose so.”

She laughs and the sound warms me more than the sun on my face. “Compassion is a strange look on you, brother. I’ll see what I can find out—but if Zìa finds out about any of this, I’m blaming everything on you.”

“Fair enough.”

Ren and I decided to meet here, at the house, so I have Marco pick them up downtown. The last thing we need is for their boss to wonder why Ren is being escorted by a strange Italian man in an SUV.

As soon as Marco leaves, Cannella and I go into the kitchen.

First, I give her a bowl of expensive raw dog food mixed with a little kibble that I bought at the pet store.

I truly don’t know what’s gotten into me lately.

Not only am I helping a random American assassin, but now I’m the father of a spoiled rat dog?

I shake my head as I set her sparkly pink bowl down.

I need to get back to Italy sooner rather than later, that much I know for sure.

Once Cannella is happily chomping away at her dinner, I start on dinner for myself and Ren.

Because now I’m apparently cooking for them, too.

However, I’m cooking tonight mostly for selfish reasons.

I can afford to eat out for each and every meal, but I’m sick of take-out.

There’s nothing like a home-cooked meal, and though I am the only boy out of my mother’s children, she didn’t save all of the cooking lessons for my sisters.

She taught me quite well, and for that, I am thankful.

I wasn’t sure what Ren likes, so I decided to go with a fresh Caprese salad, an antipasto platter, and a simple Margherita pizza. Because all Americans like pizza… right?

I groan. I don’t know why I care. If Ren doesn’t like it for whatever reason, there’s plenty of other food around here.

Before I get started, I pour myself a large glass of Pinot Grigio and take a gulp, because I don’t want to think about what’s lingering in my mind.

I don’t want to dive into the reasons behind why they get under my skin or why I somehow find myself caring for them more and more.

Fuck that.

Thankfully, cooking is a good distraction.

After my father died, my mother stayed in bed for a week.

When she finally emerged from the bedroom, she cooked for days.

She cooked anything and everything she could think of.

We had so much food that Zìa would take leftovers to our neighbors, her friends across town, and anyone else she would bump into along the way.

Now that I’m older, I understand why she cooked and cooked, day and night.

The Caprese salad doesn’t take longer than ten minutes. Once it’s finished, I begin making the pizza. After my cheesy masterpiece is in the oven, I put together the antipasto platter. Perfetto. I’ve just finished the platter when I hear the front door unlock.

Cannella yaps and runs into the foyer as my heartbeat increases with each second that passes.

Marco calls out, “Tesoro, siamo a casa!” Honey, we’re home!

I roll my eyes and take another sip of wine.

Before Marco and Ren can walk into the large kitchen, Cannella runs back to me, tongue hanging out as she pants.

She jumps up on my calf as if to say, “Papà! We have company!” I set my glass down on the kitchen island and then bend down to pet my spoiled princess rat.

“I see there’s been an addition to the family,” Ren points out as they look down at my little beast. I glance up and see them standing beside us with their arms crossed, trying and failing to hide the smirk on their face.

“Did Marco enlighten you on how I obtained Cannella?” I ask as I come to a stand.

Ren nods, the smirk on their lips slowly turning into a full-fledged grin. “I never would have taken you as an animal person.”

“I did not know that I was,” I grumble.

Marco stands on the other side of the island, and I admit I almost forgot he was here.

“Puoi portarmi il cibo quando è finito?” Marco asks me to bring the food up to his room when it’s ready.

I nod and Marco heads upstairs. I wouldn’t have minded if he wanted to stay with Ren and I, but Marco has always had a keen intuition.

He knows when to stay and when to take his leave.

And this is no dinner between friends. Ren and I may be…

friendly- ish at this point in our working relationship, but we have business to tend to.

“Wine?” I ask Ren.

They nod. “Thank you. It smells amazing, by the way. Did you make all this?”

“Yes. We’ve got a few more minutes before the pizza is ready, so feel free to start eating the antipasto if you’re hungry.”

“Wow. Thank you. I haven’t had a home-cooked meal in years.”

Probably not since their mother passed. I’m glad they are excited by the food, though I shouldn’t give a shit. I think this person is turning me soft, and I hate it.

We spend a while eating the antipasto and engaging in small talk, as if we really are just two friends hanging out.

Ren doesn’t mention anything about what they found out, and I wish they’d mention something already.

It’s kind of aggravating how easily they seem to bounce around from subject to subject, as if they’re purposely avoiding bringing up anything serious.

They’re probably waiting for me to break the ice.

Once the pizza is done, I leave it on the counter to cool off.

I set the table in the dining room before Marco and Ren got back, so I grab the salad and ask Ren to grab the antipasto platter.

We make our way into the quaint dining room adorned with a square table and four chairs and set down the food.

After retrieving our wineglasses, I join Ren at the table.

Cannella plops down by my feet, not a care in the world.

“Are you secretly a chef or something?” Ren laughs. “Have you been fooling me this whole time?”

I put some salad onto Ren’s salad plate. “I promise I’m not. My mother is the chef, if anyone.”

“Well, she definitely taught you well.”

“You haven’t even had the main dish yet,” I say, only a little annoyed by all the flattery.

Ren tries the salad and groans in delight. It’s weird. They seem almost happy tonight. It’s probably the only time I’ve ever seen them at ease.