19. Matteo

19

MATTEO

S torming out of the cabin was the only thing Matteo could think to do. Who the hell did Ares think he was? Matteo had been perfectly happy with his life. He had a thriving and successful empire, a family who loved him, and a very active sex life—well, somewhat active… when he wanted it to be.

He'd moved on. Matteo had cut the bastard from his life and barely thought about the prick—well, unless the fucker stopped by the chateau… or when Matteo needed his help rescuing one of his boys. But those interactions were beyond his control!

Matteo had moved on with his life. Sure, the pain of losing Ares had been incredible, only to be outdone by the heart-wrenching loss of his parents a few weeks later. But eventually, he'd moved on. He'd learned to bury all his feelings and emotions, placing them into a box deep in his subconscious, securing them with a warning label, reminding him never to open his heart to another man.

No. Love was a fairy tale that lonely romantics told themselves existed, hoping that one day, if they were lucky, someone would come along and rescue them from their sad, pathetic, and mundane little lives.

Matteo knew the truth. Love was a weapon. A torture device created to break apart one's enemies and fool the weak of mind into bending to their will.

La Maison de M was a perfect example. Matteo's boys faked love and interest in order to rob their guests of their hard-earned money and steal away their secrets when they were in the throes of passion.

They had "love" to thank for that.

If men weren't so weak. If they didn't yearn for human connection, they would have realized that they were being scammed and drained of their life savings.

You don't honestly believe that, do you? That pesky voice buried deep down inside Matteo's mind whispered.

Matteo ignored him.

God. He hated Ares.

So, why did the asshole insist on constantly popping back into his life? Every time he started to forget that the bastard existed, Ares popped his little Egyptian head back up from whatever sewer he had been traipsing around in.

Yes, the man of incredible mystery was Egyptian. While the asshole never spoke of his true origins, he'd disclosed the truth to Matteo after only a few months of dating. Like the good little boyfriend that Matteo was, he kept Ares's secret, allowing others to guess and speculate, never truly figuring out who the man behind the mystery was.

But Matteo knew. Because, at one point, Ares trusted him enough to let him in. To be open and honest with him… before Ares decided that "he didn't love him" any longer.

But even after all that pain and after all that betrayal, Matteo continued to keep Ares's secret.

Yes, because you love him.

Fuck off. I hate the selfish bastard.

But Matteo knew that the voice he tried to keep buried was right. Even after all these years, he still loved the bastard.

So why was it so hard to admit?

Because he hurt you. Then he abandoned you the moment you needed him the most.

Matteo hated that voice hidden deep inside. The fucker was always right.

Tired and feeling more confused than ever, Matteo made his way into the tiny village to get something to eat.

He decided to grab a few empanadas from a mom-and-pop shop he had seen on their walk the other day. It was a tiny place. Just a window you walked up to and placed your order. That was how it was done in these tiny villages. People trusted one another and did what they needed to support the local community.

"Gracias," he thanked, taking the paper bag with his order from the woman and handing her a twenty.

The woman nodded and smiled as Matteo began to walk and eat at the same time. The air was chilly but not cold enough to make him uncomfortable. Plus, he needed the fresh air to clear his head and calm his nerves.

He really didn't know what the fuck he wanted. Part of him wished that Ares would just disappear from his life for good, while another more annoying part hoped the jackass would come around more often.

Matteo's head and heart were at odds once again. It had been this way ever since Ares had crushed his heart. Matteo's thoughts drifted back to that day.

It was early October. The sun was just beginning to set when Matteo exited the cab and made his way into the ridiculously expensive hotel. Mirrors and reflective surfaces dominated the space. Any excuse for a socialite to check out their reflection and admire how expensive their outfits were. What was the point of wearing designer labels if not to show them off?

Matteo walked to the elevators, then pressed the button that would take him up to the penthouse. In his hands, he carried a bag of groceries, which, of course, garnered a few confused stares from guests and hotel staff as he made his way through the lobby. But Matteo didn't care. Tonight, he was going to make them a special meal to celebrate their two-year anniversary.

For their weekend rendezvous, they decided to meet in Austria. It was one of Matteo's favorite countries, and he was so looking forward to seeing an opera over the weekend with his guy. HIS guy. His heart still fluttered every time he thought the words.

There was something to be said about the Austrians and their musical inclinations. It was like angels had fallen from the sky and decided to make Austria their home. Both beautiful in sight and magical in voice, the sweet-sounding music Austrians created was heaven on earth.

Swiping his key card against the pad, he listened for the beep, then let himself in.

Ares, of course, was still sitting where he'd left him. Arms folded across his chest, scowl plastered on his face. He only got that way when he was toying with a decision that he did not want to make.

Matteo entered, then crossed the living room.

"You know, if you continue to make that face, people are going to mistake you for a bulldog."

No answer.

Oh, okay…

He placed the bag on the kitchen counter, then began removing the items one by one.

"Is everything okay?" Matteo asked, eyeing the handsome man sitting on the couch.

The man just sat there, staring at the floor, not saying a word.

"Ares? Everything okay?" he asked, starting to get worried that perhaps the man had received some bad news or something.

"I think we should break up," Ares muttered, barely audible across the room.

"Wh–what?" Matteo asked, convinced he had to have misheard him. Sometimes Ares mumbled, and sound carried weirdly across these large open spaces.

"We're done. Over. I want out." Ares appeared to come out of whatever trance he had been in when Matteo first returned to their hotel suite.

That was when Matteo noticed Ares's black leather travel bag sitting next to their hotel room door. How had Matteo missed that when he walked in?

Was Ares serious?

Dropping the neatly wrapped duck onto the counter, Matteo stared at the frozen man.

"You what?"

Ares turned to face him, cold, emotionless eyes staring back at him. "We're done. This is over."

Still in shock, Matteo walked around the counter and took a few steps into the living room. "What do you mean we're done? Where is this all coming from?" Fear and panic began to churn in his stomach.

Was this really happening? After two blissful years? On their anniversary, no less?

"This was only a temporary thing. We both knew that. You and I were just having some fun."

"Having some fun?" Matteo's voice hitched higher than he would have liked. But what could he do? His life and future were falling apart before his eyes.

Ares stood and walked calmly over to his travel bag. He picked it up and slung it over his shoulder.

"Yeah. You were a good lay, but it's time to move on," Ares droned, refusing to look up and make eye contact.

Matteo rushed over and grabbed Ares by the arms. "I don't believe you. Where is all this coming from?" He stared into Ares's chestnut eyes and hated the reflection he saw staring back at him—a poor, whiny man trying to hold together the last remnants of his love life. When did he become this needy?

"Ares, please! Talk to me," Matteo pleaded, holding back tears that were begging to be set free.

Ares ripped his arm away, eyes finally locking onto Matteo's.

"I don't love you," he growled through gritted teeth.

Feeling the knife pierce his heart, Matteo stumbled backward, staring unbelievingly at the man he no longer recognized.

Where was all this coming from?

And with those devastating four words, the man Matteo had once loved yanked open the door and walked away.

Staring down the dark road, Matteo pulled himself from his memory.

I. Don't. Love. You.

Four simple words that destroyed his life and shattered his faith in love.

Matteo made a right at the next corner, then continued his walk along the quiet road.

" Perdón, se?or ," a timid voice whispered from the darkness.

Startled, Matteo turned to his right, almost missing the scraggly young teen huddled against a wall. He sat there with his knees pulled up against his chest.

"Do you have some spare change?" the young man asked in Spanish while holding up a dirty, shaky hand. The messy gray hoodie he wore was pulled gently over his head as if hiding his identity from the rest of the world.

Seeing the boy in such a condition pulled at Matteo's heartstrings. He hated seeing people hungry and homeless, struggling and doing what they could just to make it through another god-forsaken day.

A few years back, Matteo tried working with a charity to help raise money for the homeless, providing food and shelter and offering mental health resources to those in need. Matteo had to terminate his relationship with the charity when he discovered that three of the four directors of the charity were embezzling funds. They chose to divert donations to offshore bank accounts, where they were being used to refurnish their summer homes and put their children through expensive boarding schools. After that, organized charities left a foul taste in Matteo's mouth. Instead, he did what he could to provide aid directly to those in need. At least this way, he knew where his money was going.

Matteo reached into his wallet and pulled out a fifty. He knelt down so that he was almost eye level with the boy, then slowly handed him the bill.

"Here you go," Matteo responded in near-perfect Spanish.

The boy reached for the bill and crumpled it in his hand before shoving it deep into his sweater pocket.

Judging by the state of the boy's clothing, Matteo guessed that he had probably been living on the streets for a few days now. His clothing was wrinkled and dirty but didn't have the wear and tear that one would see on someone who had been living on the streets for months.

That was at least promising. It was easier to convince someone who had recently begun living on the streets to accept assistance, as opposed to someone who's had to battle rejection and suspicion over years of neglect.

"Thank you, sir. That was very nice of you," the young man whispered in broken English. He still refused to look up or meet Matteo's gaze halfway.

"Is everything okay?" Matteo asked, watching as the boy nodded slowly.

Something didn't feel right.

Carefully, Matteo reached for the young man's chin, then tilted it up ever so slightly.

A bruised cheekbone and solid black eye gazed up at him from under the hood.

"What happened to you?" Matteo asked, concerned for the young boy's safety.

The young man couldn't have been any older than fifteen or sixteen. What was he doing all alone out on the streets this late at night, and why was he covered in different shades of bruising?

"Umm, nothing." His voice was barely audible as he lowered his head once again. The boy appeared scared and ashamed.

"I won't hurt you. I just want to make sure that you are alright."

The boy shrugged his shoulders. It was clear that he had been beaten and possibly abused by his parents. There was no way Matteo was leaving this young man alone on the streets to fend for himself.

"Do you have a safe place to stay?"

The boy nodded toward a makeshift fort that sat next to him. The structure was held together by two pieces of large cardboard, with a burlap sack thrown across the ground, adding a layer of protection between the boy and the dirt below.

Matteo's heart broke. He needed to try another approach. He needed to gain this boy's trust.

"Are you hungry?" Matteo asked. The boy slowly nodded. "How about we go grab you some fresh empanadas and something warm to drink?"

The boy cautiously lifted his head. His soft brown eyes observed Matteo, seeming to assess whether or not he could trust the man offering him food.

"My name is Matteo. What's yours?"

"Jorge," the young man replied, loosening his grip around his knees.

"Nice to meet you." Matteo extended his hand, hoping the boy would welcome his greeting. After a moment's hesitation, he finally did. "How about we go get some food?"

Seeming a bit more relaxed, the boy nodded slowly, then got up from the safety of the dark corner he was hiding in.

The young man barely reached Matteo's chest. Scrawny for his age, probably malnutrition. How long had he been living on the streets? The state of his clothing and the appearance of his body did not coincide.

They walked back to the empanada lady and grabbed a few more delicious patties before finding a quiet bench to sit on and eat. Having just finished his own food, Matteo opted to just snack on a mini patty.

"So, where are your parents?" Matteo asked once the boy was mouth-deep into his third empanada.

"Mom's dead, Dad did this." He pointed to his face.

Anger boiled at the sight of the bruises covering the boy's face.

"Are you living on the streets?"

The boy nodded.

Matteo looked around. He couldn't just leave the kid. The nights were beginning to get cold, and the boy looked like he barely had enough energy to remain standing.

"Look, I know you don't know me. But I'm here on vacation and staying in a little cabin about fifteen minutes from here. How about you come back to my place? You can get cleaned up and have a safe place to sleep tonight. In the morning, I can make a few calls and see if I can't get you some help. Perhaps see if there's a group home or something around here."

"Umm, it's alright, sir. I'll be just fine out here." The boy looked over his shoulder toward the area where he had built his makeshift shelter.

Matteo's heart ached. He couldn't just leave the kid. Of course he was afraid to trust a strange man he just met on a dark street. This was how horror movies were made. But how could he get the boy to trust him?

"You got a cell phone?" The young man nodded. "How about you take a picture of me, then you can send it to someone you trust. This way, someone will know that you are with me, and you can go ahead and trust me."

Matteo had read about this tactic in a magazine discussing how to build trust with someone you just met. It gave the person a sense of security, knowing that if something went wrong, there was documented evidence of their attacker available. More often than not, a person with malicious intent would not agree to having their photo taken.

After a moment's hesitation, the boy pulled out his cell phone and snapped a photo before sending it off to someone he knew.

Having a cell phone. That was another good sign. It meant that the boy had not been living on the streets very long and that someone had been paying the cell phone bill. The boy? His parents?

Watching him slide his cell phone back into his hoodie pocket, another thought occurred to Matteo. There was someone out there who the boy trusted. So why didn't the boy go and stay with them?

Matteo wasn't quite sure whether that was an appropriate question to ask, considering how long it took him to gain the boy's trust in the first place. He didn't want the boy to think he didn't want to help after all.

"Shall we go?" Matteo asked in Spanish. He didn't want to pressure him until he felt safe and ready.

Nodding slightly, the boy stood and waited for Matteo to lead the way.