MATTEO’s POV
My pen scratched across the paper, the sound echoing through the silence. I was aware of Charles's eyes on me, but I refused to acknowledge him.
Not yet.
I could feel it pulsing through my veins, a reminder of the secrets we kept, the lies we told. Finally, Charles spoke, his voice like a rusty gate. "Matteo, we need to talk."
I set my pen down, my eyes still fixed on the papers in front of me. "What is it?" I asked, my voice controlled, but my mind was racing wondering what he wanted.
His cigar flared to life, the sweet scent of tobacco filling the air. He drew in a slow, deliberate drag, his eyes never leaving mine.
"I lost my sister when I was nine," he said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. "She was six. We were playing near the old warehouse by the docks. She fell from the roof. I couldn't catch her."