Mafia Lord's Mute Sweetheart

Chapter 48: Chapter 48 Where have you been?

"Where have you been?"

Alessio stood up from the couch. His tall frame unfolded like a blade being drawn from a sheath, slow and dangerous, each movement controlled. His dark green eyes were cold, fixed on Mateo with an intensity that felt like a storm about to break.

Mateo looked scared.

His light green eyes went wide, the mischief draining out of them in an instant. His shoulders hunched, and his hands disappeared deeper into his hoodie pocket, curling into fists inside the soft fabric. He took a small step backward, then another, until his back was almost touching the wall, pressing against it like he was trying to disappear into the plaster.

"Bro," Mateo said, his voice cracking like a teenager whose voice had not decided what pitch it wanted to be. "Can we talk about this in the morning? I am very tired, exhausted, sleep deprived. I need my beauty sleep. My eyebags have eyebags. I haven’t slept in... I don’t even know how many hours. Time has lost all meaning."

Alessio took a step forward.

Mateo pressed himself against the wall, his hands coming up in front of him like a shield. "I’m serious. I might fall asleep standing up. Right here. Right now. And then you’ll have to catch me, and that will be embarrassing for both of us."

Alessio’s eyes did not waver.

"What’s going on?"

Rafael’s voice rang through the darkness, deep and rough with sleep. It came from the top of the staircase, slow and groggy.

Mateo’s eyes lit up like someone had turned on a switch inside his head. His whole body relaxed, his shoulders dropping, his hands falling to his sides. He turned toward the staircase, a wide grin spreading across his face, relief flooding his features.

"Rafael! Bro! My savior! My hero! The best brother in the entire universe!"

Rafael was walking down the stairs.

He was shirtless, his muscular torso on full display in the dim light. His six-pack abs were visible even in the shadows, the muscles defined and hard. His skin was tan, warm brown, covered in tattoos that snaked across his chest and down his arms.

His dark hair was messy, sticking up in every direction like he had just woken up from a very deep sleep and had not bothered to look in a mirror. His eyes were half closed, still heavy with sleep, but his expression was annoyed. Very annoyed.

"Broooo," Mateo called out, his voice desperate and whiny, dragging the word out like a child begging for candy. "Help me. I am sleepy. Very sleepy. So sleepy I might die right here on this floor, and bro is interrogating me like I am a criminal."

Rafael reached the bottom of the stairs, his bare feet silent on the cold marble. He pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes squeezing shut, his jaw tight.

"Matt," Rafael said, his voice dripping with irritation. "You were gone for five days. Five days. No calls, no texts. And now you come back at two in the morning looking like you lost a fight with a bush, and possibly also the bush won, and you expect me to save you?"

Mateo made an innocent face. His light green eyes went wide and round, like a deer caught in headlights. His lips pushed out into a small pout, soft and pleading. He tilted his head to the side, like a puppy begging for a treat, like a child who knew he was in trouble and was trying to charm his way out of it.

Then he yawned loudly.

It was not a real yawn. It was a performance. His mouth stretched open, his eyes squeezed shut, his whole body shook with the effort of it. He covered his mouth with the back of his hand.

Rafael stared at him.

Mateo blinked innocently. "See? Sleepy...Dying...Need bed."

Rafael sighed. He ran a hand through his messy hair and looked at Alessio.

"Bro, let him sleep for now," Rafael said, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm. "We will deal with him in the morning. When we are all awake and caffeinated and less likely to commit violence. I am too tired to be angry. I do not have the energy."

Mateo nodded eagerly, his spiky hair bouncing with the motion. "Yes. Morning. Great idea. Morning is better. Morning is for talking. Night is for sleeping. I am going to sleep now. Goodnight. Sweet dreams. May your pillows be cold on both sides. May your blankets be perfectly tucked. May your sleep be deep and dreamless."

He turned and ran toward the staircase, his untied sneakers slapping against the floor, his hoodie flapping behind him.

Rafael’s hand shot out.

He slapped Mateo’s back hard. The sound echoed through the room like a gunshot.

"Ouch!" Mateo yelped, stumbling forward, his arms flailing. He spun around, rubbing his back with both hands, his eyes wide with betrayal. "What was that for? That hurt! I felt that in my soul!"

Rafael’s voice was flat. "That was for making me worry."

Mateo’s expression softened, just for a moment. Then he stuck out his tongue and ran up the stairs, his sneakers thundering on the steps, his laughter floating down behind him like a trail of breadcrumbs.

Alessio watched him go. His green eyes were still cold and hard.

"He would not have even come back if I had not frozen his card," Alessio said, his voice low and sharp, each word precise. He turned to glare at Rafael, his jaw tight, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "You were supposed to support me. Not let him run off to bed like a child who has done nothing wrong."

Rafael showed a helpless expression. His shoulders shrugged and his hands spread wide, palms up like he was offering an apology he did not quite mean.

"What was I supposed to do? Ground him? Lock him in his room? He is eighteen, bro. He is an adult. Legally. The government says so. He can vote. He can join the army. He can sign contracts."

Alessio’s voice was sharp. "The government does not live in this house."

Rafael snorted. "Thank God for that. The government would probably tax us for breathing, for existing, and for having the audacity to be richer than them."

Alessio’s eyes narrowed.

Rafael waved his hand, dismissing the conversation. "I am going to get water. My throat feels like sandpaper."

He walked toward the kitchen, his bare feet silent on the cold floor, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips. The dim light from the living room caught his back as he passed.

Alessio saw long red lines, scratch marks of nails running down Rafael’s back from his shoulders to his waist, deep enough to be visible in the low light, red against his tan skin. They looked fresh.

Alessio looked away quickly, disgusted.