Tempted and Taken, page 17
Chapter Thirteen
Matt finished his wine, wiped his mouth, leaned back, and sighed, wondering if he’d ever felt this genuinely relaxed.
Liza had assumed a similar pose across the table from him. “That was delicious. I’m pretty sure you’ve ruined me for commercial air travel for the rest of my life.”
He was glad. Because if he had his way, the two of them would always be on this jet together. Then Matt found himself making a mental list of all the places he’d love to travel to with her. “I still can’t believe you’ve never flown outside of the country.”
“We weren’t all born with private planes and silver spoons,” she joked. “But I do have a bucket list of places I want to see.”
“Given your heritage, Ms. Moretti, I hope Italy is on your list. You would love Lake Como and Positano.”
“Oh. I’ll add those to my list, right next to Amsterdam, Nice, and Rome.”
“All very good places to travel.”
Her eyes widened. “You’ve been to all of them?”
Matt nodded. “When I was younger, my father took us on a couple big trips each year, insisting that my brothers and I needed culture. Italy was our annual overseas trip, while the second trip abroad was always somewhere different.”
“Hmpf,” Liza huffed. “The most culture I ever got was on a high school trip to New York City with the drama club. We saw Les Mis and Phantom.”
“Ah…that explains why you’re so dramatic,” he teased.
She stuck her tongue out at him, and he chuckled. “It must have been wonderful to see so much of the world.”
“It was. Though, when I look back on those vacations now, I can’t help but wonder if they were just another way for Dad to flaunt his wealth to his peers, considering he typically spent most of the holiday working in the hotel, while Mom was the one who took us sightseeing.”
He smiled as he recalled Mom traipsing all over Pompeii with three preteen boys who never tired of pointing out every stone phallus they saw, and damn if there weren’t a lot. Mom laughed every single time they spotted another dick, endlessly patient with their constant tittering over the “everything penis” city. Gage had even started calling it Pompenis.
Matt paused, considering what he’d just said. What he’d just remembered. He didn’t have a clue where his comment had come from. Talking about his parents was difficult, so he didn’t do it. Then he realized it was the first time he’d thought of his mother and not felt that unbearable crushing weight on his chest.
And because Liza was Liza, she latched onto the nugget like it was gold and immediately started digging for more.
“Your dad was a workaholic, huh? Sounds like someone I know,” she said, one eyebrow raised, reminding him of the two days he’d wasted hiding in the hotel under the guise of work. The problem was Liza was comparing him to Dad, something that—unbeknownst to her—cut like glass.
“Do you think you take after your dad?” she asked, pouring more salt on the unseen wound. “Or are you more like your mom? My dad swears I’m my mother’s twin, the two of us cut from the same cloth—looks-wise and personality-wise, and at least half the time, I think he means that as a compliment,” she said, laughing.
“And now, I’m interested in meeting your mom to see if that’s true. I took after my dad,” Matt admitted, though it brought him no joy to say so. “He made sure of it.”
“What do you mean?”
Matt wasn’t sure why he was opening this vein, but after keeping his own counsel for so many years, it felt…good to be able to talk to someone else. “When I was thirteen, Dad decided it was time I stopped fucking around doing kid stuff and started learning the business.”
Liza’s eyes widened. “Thirteen?”
“From the moment we were born, Dad had assigned my brothers and me our roles. I was the heir, Gage the spare, and Conor was extra insurance, though if you ask my youngest brother, I suspect he’d use the word unnecessary.” He tried to temper the bitterness in his tone, but he was certain he was failing.
“Sounds…terrible. What business could you have done at thirteen?” Liza asked. “You were still in school.”
“I was, but when I got home every afternoon, I reported to his office. I did my homework there, a silent observer to my father’s meetings and business dealings. I believe his intention was that I would learn how to emulate him. And it worked.”
“How so?”
“In business, he was cold, calculating, and ruthless. Dad was the one who taught me to how to discover someone’s worth, then exploit it for gain. Dante Russo was a wealth of old-school wisdom. In addition to the Russos always come out on top gem, he had strong opinions about politics, marriage, and children.”
“Do I want to know what those opinions were?”
Now that Matt had started, he found he didn’t want to stop. “Probably not. But, since you asked… His opinions were pretty simple. His only use for politics was for financial gain. Grease the right palm with enough cash and you can have anything you wanted. As for marriage, the only purpose of a wife was as arm candy and to provide heirs. And an oldie but a goodie, as far as child-rearing—”
“Let me guess. Children should be seen, not heard.”
Matt nodded, tapping his nose once. “You got it in one.”
“Wow. That’s some pretty shitty advice. My dad just taught me how to ride a bike and fish,” Liza said with a kind smile, trying to lighten the mood.
Matt returned it, appreciating her efforts.
“And you really think you’re like him?” Liza probably hoped she was leading him to some great reveal, that this would be the point where he would admit he wasn’t anything like his old man.
“I was.”
She noticed the past tense, waited for him to expound on it.
“I idolized my dad, Liza. From the time I was fifteen until I was twenty-three, I didn’t just think the sun rose and set on my father’s shoulders, I believed he paid someone to do it—that God himself answered to Dante Russo. I strove to be exactly like him, and in truth, I succeeded.”
“So you’re nothing like your mom?”
Matt started to shake his head, then stopped. “Mom was a talented artist. When she wasn’t playing video games with Gage or trading books with Conor, she drew. Primarily comic books.”
“That’s cool,” Liza gushed. “I can’t draw a stick figure.”
“I shared her interest in art for a while. She and I had a sketchbook that we shared. We passed it back and forth. She’d start a drawing, then I would finish it. Then I’d start one and give it back to her to finish.”
“Wow. I love that.”
Matt nodded, his throat constricting. He hadn’t thought about that sketchbook in years. The last time he’d seen it was right after Dad had destroyed his drawing of his brothers playing football. He’d taken the sketchbook back to Mom without finishing her drawing. He told her he was done with art, that it was a stupid thing to do, a waste of time. Every word he’d spoken was channeled straight from Dad, and he’d seen how much they hurt her.
He couldn’t tell her that he was trying to save their art, certain that if his father ever found the sketchbook, he’d burn it. When he looked back now, he wondered if his cruel comments that day weren’t just his attempt to preserve the art but to keep Mom safe as well. Dad had already curtailed the amount of time Matt spent with her, claiming he couldn’t “suck at that tit forever.”
Had Matt pulled away so that Dad wouldn’t find another, more permanent way to separate him from Mom?
Mom had accepted the sketchbook, telling him, “You know who you are, Matt.”
Unfortunately, asshole Matt had been in full force that day, so he’d turned around, sneered, and tossed back a pitch perfect Dante Russo reply.
“I know exactly who I am, Mother. I’m a Russo.”
Mom shook her head, holding his gaze for a moment or two. “Look deeper,” she’d whispered.
He’d had to turn away quickly because the disappointment in Mom’s eyes had cut deep. After that, he’d avoided his mom as much as possible, and the rift he’d torn grew until it was as wide as the Grand Canyon.
“Where’s the sketchbook now?” Liza asked.
Matt shrugged. “I haven’t seen it in years.”
Liza, an astute listener, then recalled something he really shouldn’t have said. She tilted her head. “What happened when you were twenty-three?”
Shit. Matt hadn’t meant to share all of that. He’d decided in Hawaii that he didn’t want to keep fighting this thing between him and Liza, but old habits died hard. Because here he was, still trying to warn her, still trying to save her…from him.
Her question reminded him why he never cracked the door on the past. Because he’d just given Liza the opportunity to fling it wide open.
Matt refused to step through. He couldn’t. Not if he hoped to hold on to this thing between them. Losing her would snuff out the tiny bit of humanity he still possessed.
“Life happened,” he said dismissively, making it clear he’d said as much as he was going to. “So your dad taught you to fish?”
Liza hesitated. He could see she wanted to push the subject, but—on this—he wouldn’t budge. He recognized the moment she realized.
“My family vacations were a lot simpler than yours. Mom and Dad own a cabin in the Poconos, so when we traveled, we went there. Fishing and swimming in the pond in the summer, ice skating in the winter. Lots of hiking and campfires with s’mores. That cabin is still one of my happy places.”
The way Liza described her family was so different from the memories he had of his. His happy times and places had been erased by all the pain and remorse that came after.
“One of your happy places, huh?”
She nodded. “Yep. Where’s yours?”
Matt didn’t have a response for that because he didn’t have a happy place. Then he realized, he did. His happy place was with her…but that wasn’t a confession he was ready to make, so he lied. “My penthouse, I suppose. The perfect bachelor pad.”
“Let me guess…black silk sheets, mirrored ceiling above the bed, mood lighting, and soft jazz playing at all times. Maybe Kenny G?”
“Clearly, I’ve decorated all wrong. I have white Egyptian cotton sheets, no mirror on the ceiling, a bedside lamp, and my white noise is the TV—finance shows mostly, so I can keep up-to-date with the stock market.”
Liza rolled her eyes. “God. That’s even worse than what I described. What are you? Ninety?”
“Not quite, but at least I can make a definite decision and narrow my happy place down to just one. You need two?” Matt was amused by their back-and-forth. He spent too much of his time around sycophants. It was nice to have someone unafraid to give him shit.
She leaned forward. “Absolutely. Because the second is my nonna and nonno’s house. They throw the greatest celebrations ever—holidays, birthdays, special life-changing events. You name it.”
“You Morettis seem to find a lot of reasons to overindulge in food and drink.”
Liza didn’t take offense, quite the opposite. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Give me an example of a life-changing event.”
“Those are some of the best parties because they’re unexpected and special. We had a party when Joey announced that he’d landed the hosting gig on ManPower. Then we had one where Elio and Gianna told us they were expecting. We had a huge bash when Uncle Frank and Uncle Renzo started Moretti Brothers Restorations. That party was epic. I was only ten, but Uncle Renzo poured me the tiniest bit of champagne in a real champagne glass, and I remember feeling so grown up. He probably hadn’t given me more than a single sip, but I loved how fizzy it was and how the bubbles went up my nose.”
Matt enjoyed listening to her stories, though it was difficult to hear them without viewing her relatives through the Russo lens. He’d spent most of his childhood listening to his own nonno and father talk trash about Liza’s uncles and grandfathers. Whether the stories he’d been told were true or the exaggerated bitterness of two angry, lonely men, it was still hard to not think of the Morettis as blue-collar buffoons—his father’s favorite description for them.
Liza continued. “I know I shouldn’t say this, but Uncle Renzo was my favorite uncle. He had this larger-than-life personality and booming laugh. He had a way of making me feel like I was the most special person in the world.”
Matt had known her uncle, and therefore knew he had passed away of a heart attack, though he didn’t admit that.
“He’s been gone nearly five years and I miss him every day,” she admitted. “And while it might sound silly, I still pour myself a tiny glass of champagne at every family gathering in his memory.”
“That’s not silly. It’s nice.”
“Yeah, I guess. He died too young. We all miss him. Especially Aunt Berta.”
“She was his wife?”
Liza nodded. “The two of them never had any kids. Around the same time Uncle Renzo passed away, Tony and Rhys bought the building where they currently live and work. So, as part of the renovations, they included an apartment for Aunt Berta on the same floor as the Moretti Brothers Restorations offices. That way she wouldn’t be lonely, and Tony could keep an eye on her. Not that she’s in bad health or anything. It was just…Uncle Renzo’s death hit her hard, and it took her a long time to find her way out of her sadness.”
“That was a thoughtful thing for Tony to do.”
“Careful, Mr. Russo,” Liza teased. “Because I’m not sure if you know it or not, but you just paid Tony a compliment.”
Matt narrowed his eyes, pretending to be annoyed. “My mistake.”
She reached out and smacked his hand playfully.
“Did your aunt keep her half in the company or did Tony and his brothers buy her out?” Matt asked.
“Aunt Berta still owns half. Calls it her nest egg.”
“Pretty nice nest egg,” he mused.
“You’re not kidding,” Liza agreed. “The company is doing amazing. Tony said last year was their best ever financially, and they already have enough projects lined up this year to beat that. Over Christmas, he, Gio, and Luca were talking about plans for expansion. They’re looking to buy another local company, bring it under the Moretti Brothers umbrella. They’re all so talented and smart,” Liza gushed.
Matt wondered what it would feel like to be on the receiving end of such praise. Liza adored her family, proud of them and their accomplishments. Despite Matt working his ass off, doing everything in his power to prove himself to Dad, he couldn’t recall a single time his father had ever given him a simple “good job.”
Mom might have felt pride for him at some point, but Matt couldn’t confirm that. When Dad stepped in to take over the primary parenting role to train his heir, Matt had all but cut her out of his life. By the last few years of her life, they rarely spoke, his father’s demeaning comments about Mom sinking in as deeply as his hatred for the Morettis.
There’d been a time when he’d believed his dad’s lies…believed his mom was stupid and weak, believed the Morettis were white trash.
Matt swallowed hard, refusing to go there. It was hard to remember how susceptible he’d been, how brainwashed. It was why he fought so hard to remain in control now. He would never allow anyone the same power over him that he’d bestowed upon his father.
Time to end this conversation.
Glancing across the table at Liza, he knew the best way to shut down all the shit. “We have several hours before we land in Denver to refuel. Do you want to watch a movie or…”
When Liza’s eyes grew dark, her lids heavy, he knew she’d chosen correctly. Rising from the table, he offered his hand.
Yesterday—their last day in Hawaii—had been one of the best days of Matt’s life. The two of them had slept—he used that word loosely—so late they’d missed breakfast and lunch.
After pulling themselves out of bed, they’d frolicked in the ocean, sunbathed, then done scandalous things in the hot tub on the deck of their suite.
Walking down the aisle of the plane, they entered the bedroom together. Matt closed the door behind him and leaned on it, as Liza sank down on the bed, looking at him.
The past week had been nothing but passionate, frantic, frenetic sex, the two of them all but ripping each other’s clothes off and fucking like it was the last thing they’d ever do.
Tonight felt different. Probably because they were headed home after their too-brief break from reality.
“Matt,” Liza started. “We haven’t talked about what comes next.”
They hadn’t. Matt had considered starting the conversation last night at dinner, but he wasn’t ready to leave the bubble of bliss they’d been bouncing merrily along in. Talking about what came next meant adding in a lot of variables, like work, family, friends, his place or her place, conflicting schedules, and God only knew what else. In Hawaii, it was just them in a shared bed with nothing but time to spend wrapped around each other.
“We haven’t.” Matt noticed Liza’s stiff posture, the unease in her eyes. She’d been comfortable with him since the night of the rehearsal dinner, so he hated seeing doubt creep back in. However, she didn’t let her nervousness stop her from putting herself out there, from asking the hard questions.
“I’d like to keep seeing you. Dating you. Just you,” she clarified. The wariness in her tone proved she knew just how big a risk she was taking. Because before this, Matt hadn’t done committed relationships. Hell, he hadn’t done relationships at all.
This was the fork in the road Matt had been avoiding last night. Not because he didn’t know which direction he wanted to go, but because—no matter how hard he pretended otherwise—he was making a bad decision. One that would most likely lead to heartbreak for both of them.
Regardless, he dove into the mistake headfirst. “I’d like that too, Liza.”
Liza blinked several times, and he got the sense she was wondering if she’d misheard him. “You would?”
Matt pushed away from the door, brushing her chestnut-brown hair over her shoulder, cupping her cheek affectionately. “I would. Stand up.”
