8. Lazy sloth

Dante didn't expect to laugh at Matthias' words. So... He might be lazy like a sloth. But he always pretended to be hardworking. Did anyone know how hard it was to keep up with the image he curated for years?

Probably no one. Actually, Dante would rather lie on his bed and watch TV or play with his PlayStation. Chasing after fuckers who fucked with his brother was tiring. As much as he liked the killing, inflicting pain and fear into people, he wanted to rest and do absolutely nothing.

Was it wrong to be not productive at all? Just spend the day lazing in bed?

"I thought you were going to kill me," Matthias said.

Dante snorted. "I would have if you didn't look—"

Dante stopped himself short while Matthias' dark eyes widened slightly.

Look good. That was what Dante was about to say. He wasn't going to praise Matthias because that would be out of line.

Which kidnapper praises and oogles their victim like what he was doing now?

His eyes trailed over Matthias' body. Matthias Asher Whitlock was toned, definitely spent hours at the gym. He should be 6 foot 4 to Dante's 6 foot.

While Dante was tanned with blonde hair and blue eyes, courtesy of his mother, Matthias was fair with a light tan, dark hair, and eyes.

Matthias had an angular face, a Roman nose, and full lips with a Cupid's bow.

In short, Matthias was handsome. Like the rugged male models from the front-page magazine covers.

It wasn't that Dante didn't notice that right on the spot. He already did when he had Matthias chained to the chair.

Over the years, Dante had found himself oogling and staring in a not-so-appropriate way at men. Not limited to magazine covers, of course.

It was usually the beautiful and handsome ones that got his attention. Though he never acted on any of them. He couldn't. He wasn't gay... Right?

Admiring handsome men was normal to him. Dante liked to admire himself in the mirror. He was a well-known narcissist in the N'drangheta, often annoying the shit out of his brothers, uncles, and cousins.

So him thinking Matthias was beautiful was normal, no?

"Are you going to stop oogling me, Dante?" Matthias cocked an eyebrow.

"I was deep in thought," Dante lied smoothly.

"So remember what I said. I do not want to put a bullet into someone as handsome as you." Dante turned, walking out of the room just as he realized what he had just said.

Oh, he and his stupid mouth! Whatever. Dante never controlled his mouth from blurting out nonsensical stuff. This was one of the reasons his brother often sent him to annoy their uncles.

Dante walked past two maids who were holding a bucket and a feather duster. They looked at him like he was an alien. Probably because it seemed as if he had teleported into the mansion.

He had scaled the fence and walls in a not-so-cool Mafia way, deactivated the alarms, and slipped through the window.

The phone in his pocket chimed. He pulled it out and saw his younger brother's message.

Pietro: Gian and Frances aren't talking to each other. Padrone drove discord between them. I think he told her about that incident. Dante, I think she knows about the baby.

The baby. That incident. The one that nearly ruined them all. The one that made Gianpaolo isolate himself and cut his brothers out.

Dante: What are they planning to do? What's Gian doing?

Pietro: She locked herself up in her room. And him in his room.

What the fuck? His sister-in-law and brother were acting like children. Was this the result Padrone wanted? Why couldn't they see that it was Padrone's plan to sow discord?

Dante: I'll try to be home soon. Three days.

Pietro: Don't get sidetracked.

Dante sent him a thumbs-up and logged out of the chat.

Making his way to the kitchen, he opened the fridge and found a bottle of Jack Daniel's. Dante popped it open with the corkscrew he found on the counter and poured himself a full glass.

It wasn't ideal as he could get drunk easily and be killed. But Dante wasn't feeling good today. Maybe it was the stress or the tight deadline. He had to return to Sicily as soon as possible.

Finding Antonio was just a small step. It may have looked as if he was chasing him down because he had stolen from the N'drangheta—a trick to keep their uncles' prying eyes off. Deep down inside, it was because Antonio had secret intel that Gianpaolo needed.

Dante didn't know what it was; it wasn't his job. But he knew that it was important.

Tipping his head back, Dante gulped down the whiskey, letting the liquid burn his throat. He poured more and drank like that, thinking of matters back at home.

This was obviously a trap. But for what? Why break Francesca and Gianpaolo up? Francesca held no power. She was just the wife Gianpaolo had kidnapped to make his.

Dante didn't want that incident to happen again. It couldn't.

"Excuse me, sir. You're not supposed to drink whiskey that way... And from the bottle," a man said in a posh British accent as Dante tipped the bottle back.

"I know. But I want to drink like this. Any objections?" Dante glared at the man.

He had graying hair, brown eyes, and was dressed in a suit. A butler.

"Young man, may I know what is bothering you that caused you to drink this much? It's bad for your liver, and it's not recommended for someone so young at your age."

"My age?" Dante laughed. "I'm older than you think I am."

To make the butler displeased, Dante pulled two more bottles out from the fridge, placing them on the counter. The butler had a slight frown on his face.

"Sir, you're going to make yourself drunk and you'll regret it in the morning."

"Then make me regret."