9. Monitor him

Matthias was unable to concentrate on work, so he headed downstairs. All he needed was some fresh air to clear his mind and probably a sip of wine.

As he made his way to the kitchen, he heard laughter and voices. One was Hamilton. The other was...

Matthias recognized that accent. Dante. He walked towards the kitchen silently. Matthias didn't want to eavesdrop, but he couldn't help it.

Dante was seated on the stool in front of the island, cheek propped in one hand as he gazed at Hamilton. His cheeks were flushed pink, a silly smile on his face. It made him look... boyish. Almost innocent. Like he hadn't threatened Matthias an hour ago.

"Mister Dante, that's ridiculous. I'm not sure if that's even possible," Hamilton chuckled.

"Oh, you should try it. Just don't let the lady see. They scream bloody murder and run like horses," Dante whispered as if he was speaking about something scandalous.

A frown crossed Matthias' face. He didn't understand what they were talking about. But whatever it was, it made Hamilton smile. Hamilton hardly smiled or laughed. The old man was immune to those as he once told Matthias that many people tried to get into his good books so as to get into Matthias' bed or bank.

Hence, Hamilton chose to remain indifferent. And it was true. He was indifferent. Hamilton had seen lots of stand-up comedians, and nothing ever delivered that gut punch.

"Ooh! Look who's here. Want to drink, Matthias? They say Americans drink like fishes, alcohol stronger than our homemade wine, no?" Dante's Italian accent was more prominent now that he was drunk.

"We don't drink like fishes." Matthias' gaze fell on the table where he saw two empty bottles of Jack Daniel's. He looked at Hamilton, who gestured to Dante.

"Your guest got himself drunk," Hamilton said matter-of-factly. "With respect, sir, I suggest that you should monitor him."

"Me? Monitor him?" Matthias' mouth hung open.

"Look at him." Hamilton gestured at Dante, who looked between the two of them with a cheeky smile.

What was there to look at? Did Hamilton get the wrong idea? Dante could take care of himself very well.

"I... What and why?" Matthias was confused as hell.

"You're having a man the age of a college student here, drinking irresponsibly." Hamilton gave him a look.

Sometimes, Matthias felt as if Hamilton could read his mind. Hamilton seemed to be hinting at something else, though.

He turned to Dante, who was now flicking a knife skillfully in his hand.

"How old are you, Dante?"

Dante held up three fingers.

What does that mean?

"Thirty? No, you don't look thirty. I'm thirty-one. You're at least..." Matthias looked him over.

He hadn't noticed it, but now he did. Dante was young. Very young, in fact. Matthias shouldn't notice the way Dante's lips looked kissable, pouty, and dusty pink. But he did, and something stirred in his abdomen.

Dante held up ten fingers, then he slowly lowered three until he was holding up seven.

"Seventeen??!! You're... that young?"

"No, idiota. I'm counting to see if I'm missing fingers."

"Why would you... count fingers?"

"Because I sever too many fingers that I'm not sure if it's mine or my victims," Dante said, loud and clear.

Matthias' face went pale. Okay, drunk Dante was more likely to blurt out crazy things and scare people into a coma. He wasn't sure if he should let Hamilton know about Dante's true identity. He knew that Dante's guards were somewhere around, watching from the shadows.

One mishap and they might put a bullet in his sister's head.

"Why don't you bring him up to rest, sir?" Hamilton said, a seemingly sly smile on his lips.

What was he up to? Why did that sound so... suggestive?

"Isn't that your job or the servants'?" Matthias said.

Hamilton just smiled. What was wrong with Hamilton today? Was he drunk too? Where was that robot-like butler who looked so strict that everyone avoided him?

"Fine." Sighing, Matthias walked around the island and grabbed Dante's arm, hauling him up.

Dante batted his hand away. "I'm fine."

Matthias couldn't help but wonder if he had the chance to punch or bully Dante for what he did to him. Unfortunately, there was no doubt that his guards were watching.

"You're not fine, stumbling and swaggering." Matthias grabbed his arm and pulled harder.

He didn't intend to make things easy for Dante. Dante shoved him off, walked around the counter, and snatched a bottle and glass from Hamilton.

"Twenty-one."

"Twenty-one what?"

"I'm twenty-one years old."

"Great. Now come on."

There was a full ten-year age gap between them.

"Nope. You don't get to stop me." Dante flashed him a smile.

Not wanting to engage with him any longer, Matthias was about to turn away and call for help when Dante shouted, "Ah-ha!"

He turned to see Dante waving something in his face.

His phone!

How the hell did Dante get ahold of that?

He remembered it was in his pocket.

"Give that back."

"What happens if I dip it into Jacky here?"

"Jacky? You mean... the whiskey?"

Dante held up the dark bottle and the glass. Then his eyes flashed with something ferocious, and he turned to Matthias.

"Get down! Now!"

Matthias didn't have time to react as he and Hamilton were grabbed and dragged to the ground. The bottles exploded on the counter, whiskey splattering around as gunshots pierced the air.