Hate Me, Love Me (Ongoing)

Chapter 11

Mateo's POV
"Are you ready for tonight?"

Was I ready? No. And I'm not sure I ever would be ready. I've been in my head for days trying to figure out how to make sure my betrothed behaves. I don't trust her. I've seen the look in her eyes. I know she's looking for a way out.

She's been pretty well behaved so far, but she's a Vasiliev. They didn't get their reputation by being nice.

My little brother's voice pulls me back to the present. He sits in the office chair that used to belong to my father, his feet on the desk as he blows smoke from a cigar into the air.

"You know, you never talk about her," he says. "Is she ugly or something?"

I glare at Andreas and shove his feet off the desk. "Isn't there something you could be doing instead of bothering me?"

"Nope." He smiles a boyish smile.

I snatch the cigar from his hand. Our father would kill him if he knew he was smoking his expensive shit. Though I guess it doesn't really matter now.

I bring the cigar up to my lips, inhale, and eventually blow the smoke into the air.

Andreas rises to his feet. "Can I ask you a question?" My eyes splice to his hazel green ones. "How come you haven't visited dad's grave since he died?"

I hand him the cigar back. "I've been busy."

"I think that's bullshit. I feel like you don't even care. Like dad's death meant-"

"Don't fucking tell me what you think you know," I snap. "You don't have any fucking idea-" I take a breath. I haven't lost my temper in a long time. "You're not the one tracking down his killer. I am. So don't sit here trying to fucking read me."

"I'm sorry," Andreas mumbled after a moment. "I'm just trying to understand."

"Well, stop." I walk out. If I stayed any longer, I would just become more upset.

I might not be depressed or constantly sobbing over my father's death like the rest of my siblings, but that doesn't mean I don't care. That I don't miss him.

"Teo," my mother calls just as I'm about to leave. I pause in the foyer and turn to face her. "What do you think about having red roses for the party tonight?"

"I don't care."

Her motherly instincts kick in, and her eyes scan my face. "What's wrong?"

"I don't want to talk about it. I have to go." I pivot, every intention of leaving. But again, my mother's voice stops me.

"I miss him too."

She's always been good at that. Figuring out what I'm thinking or feeling before I ever voice it.

I catch the tear that falls from her teary gaze, wiping it away with a gentle swipe of my thumb. "Don't cry, mama."

She shakes her head, sniffling. I pull her into my chest and the tears fall even harder. She only ever allows herself to be this vulnerable around me and Gianni. She doesn't want our little brother and sister to see her like this.

I keep telling her she doesn't have to be strong for their sake. They're not little kids anymore. But just like always, her children come first.

"Mama, are you okay?" I look up when I hear my little sister Alani's voice. Andreas is beside her, their expressions a concerned one. The twins have always been perceptive and are able to come to their own conclusion.

My mother steps away, quickly wiping the tears from her eyes and forcing a smile onto her face. That's another thing she's always been good at. Pretending like everything's okay when we all know it isn't.

"I'm okay," she tells my brother and sister.

They don't believe her, but they know it's better to go along with it to avoid upsetting her more. So they simply do what they've always done. Nod and let it go.

My mother disappears further down the hall, leaving me with my siblings. I know they have questions. But even if I knew the answers myself, I'm not exactly the person for the job. Gianni is. He's always been better with the twins. I'm a shitty older brother and an even shittier person.

"She won't talk about dad with us," I hear my sister say to Andreas. "I don't even know what dad was like when he was younger, or how even met mom."

The both of them have started their own conversation. I interject. "It's honestly not a story you want to hear."

Alani's hazel green eyes flicker to me. "Why not?"

"Just trust me." 

I check the time on my watch. I have to get ready for tonight. I'm not looking forward to pretending like I give a fuck. With a flip of a switch, my annoyance returns. I'm not one for games, so this shit better work.

When I got home about thirty minutes later, Carla informs that the suit my brother picked out for me is waiting. My eyes roll. I was perfectly content wearing something from my closest, but he insisted on me dressing my best. He says it as though the clothes in my closet aren't worth thousands of dollars.

It doesn't take long for me to get dressed. I take my shower, put on the suit Gianni left for me, -of course his choice is a black three-piece- and decide to gel all of my hair back. A stubborn, single strand falls forward, refusing to cooperate with the rest of my hair. I leave it there, not interested in wasting my time trying to tame my hair.

Adjusting the lion cufflinks on my wrist, my mind wanders to my father. He gave them to me before he died. He wanted me to always remember the kind of blood that runs through me and my family's veins.

I push him in the back of my mind, needing to focus on the task at hand. I head down the steps wondering what's taking the little Russian so long to get ready. I glance in the direction of where her room is, but quickly tear my gaze away when I hear Carla's cheery voice.

"Wow. Mr. Lucci, you clean up nice."

I find myself offended by her supposed compliment. "I always dress nice."

She flushes. "Oh, yes, of course, sir." She stumbles over her words, visibly nervous. "I just meant you look even more handsome. Bello(Handsome)," she repeats in our native tongue.

"Right," I mutter.

Carla steps forward to fix my tie. The expression on her face is now a serious one. "How's your mother doing?"

I don't reply. She takes that as my answer. My mother's been doing better than she did in the beginning. She smiles a little more, and she's starting to actually finish her dinner. Though her heart still aches greatly.

I know seeing me doesn't help much being as I'm nearly identical to my father, but I like to think that in some way, knowing a piece of him is here brings about comfort.

"Any updates on his killer?"

I shake my head. As of right now, I have nothing. I was able to trace the gun back to its owner. A crackhead who likes to prey on young children. I killed him. It didn't make me feel any better, but at least there's one less pedophile on earth.

Still, it doesn't change the fact that it's been a year since my father was killed, and I have no leads. Nothing. Perhaps it's why a part of me thinks the Russians had something to do with it.

Speaking of Russians, where the hell is the little Russian? Carla notes my thinning patience and offers to check on the newest house guest. If she's not out here in the next five minutes, I will drag her out here by the locket she keeps around her neck.