If there was one thing Matteo hated more than rich men with god complexes, it was rich men with god complexes who refused to stay missing.
Three weeks.
Three peaceful, blissful, quiet weeks.
No suspicious black SUVs.
No tailored psychopaths lounging in his chair like they owned it.
No silk-voiced threats wrapped in compliments.
Just tattoos, snow, coffee, and the comforting hum of his machine.
It was almost suspicious how normal things had been considering he now knew his master plan.
The morning started slow. Snow flurried lazily outside the shop window, softening the city into something almost romantic. The streetlamps cast golden halos on the sidewalk. A couple walked by holding hands, bundled up in oversized scarves.
The bell above Matteo's door jingled occasionally as customers came in stomping snow off their boots.
Inside, the tattoo parlour was warm and cluttered in a way that felt lived-in. Flash sheets covered the walls—dragons, roses, fine line scripts, geometric patterns.
The radiator hissed like it had a personal vendetta against silence. A half-dead plant leaned dramatically toward the window as if begging for sunlight it would never get.
Matteo sat at his desk flipping through appointment notes, sipping coffee that had gone cold twenty minutes ago.
He stretched, cracked his neck, and muttered, "If he's dead, I'm not even going to feel bad."
The universe heard him.
Because the bell above the door jingled.
Matteo didn't look up immediately.
"We're open," he called lazily. "If you want a walk-in, you'll have to wait unless you're offering me a million dollars."
Silence.
Then—
"That can be arranged."
Matteo froze.
Slowly. Very slowly.
He looked up.
Aleksander stood just inside the doorway like he'd stepped out of a magazine cover titled International Crime & Fashion Quarterly.
Dark tailored coat. Gloves. Snow dusting his shoulders. Perfect posture. Perfect smile.
Like he hadn't disappeared off the face of the earth for nearly a month.
Matteo blinked. "…You've gotts be fucking kidding me."
Aleksander tilted his head. "That is a disappointing greeting."
"You were gone with the wind."
"I was busy."
"That's not the same thing."
Aleksander stepped further inside, brushing snow from his coat.
"You sound upset."
"I am upset," Matteo snapped immediately. "and annoyed. Why couldn'tyou just stay gone or better yet die in a fucking hole somewhere."
"Ah," Aleksander said mildly. "Of course. I should have died in a ditch somewhere first."
Matteo set his coffee down with a little more force than necessary.
"You storm into my life, tase me, make me suck your dick, vanish to fuck-all knows where after i found out what you're plotting, financially ruin me, and then just stroll back in like you forgot your wallet?"
Aleksander's lips curved faintly. "I did not forget my wallet."
"That wasn't literal—oh my God, you are exhausting."
Aleksander glanced around the shop slowly, taking everything in like he was assessing property value.
"Business seems stable."
"You checking up on your investment?" Matteo shot back.
Aleksander's eyes flicked to him, amused. "Is that what you think you are?"
"No," Matteo deadpanned. "I think I'm a man who would like five consecutive days without you appearing like a Victorian ghost. Infact make that infinity."
Aleksander laughed softly.
And that—more than anything—irritated Matteo.
"You're enjoying this," Matteo accused.
"Immensely."
Matteo crossed his arms. "Why are you here?"
Aleksander walked toward the counter casually, gloved fingers brushing over a sketchbook without asking.
"I came to see you."
"Wow, really? I thought you were here to see the naked women on the wall's."
"You... didn't reach out to me."
Matteo blinked. "You kidnapped me."
"Yes."
"And you're confused why I didn't send a thank-you card?"
Aleksander smiled wider.
The shop felt smaller suddenly. The air heavier. Not threatening exactly—Aleksander wasn't radiating violence today. He was radiating something worse.
Interest.
"You were not answering calls," Aleksander said calmly.
Matteo stared at him. "Oh, those unknown number's were from you?" Matteo said smirking.
Aleksander removed his gloves slowly. Deliberately.
"I prefer when you answer."
"Well, I prefer when you don't commit felonies in my workspace, so I guess we're both disappointed."
A beat of silence.
Then Aleksander stepped closer.
Not aggressive. Not rushed.
Just close enough that Matteo had to tilt his chin slightly to maintain eye contact.
"I have been occupied," Aleksander said quietly.
"Yeah? Planning world domination? Taking up knitting? What's the hobby these days?"
Aleksander's smile sharpened slightly.
"Restructuring."
"That sounds illegal."
"It often is."
Matteo groaned and dragged a hand down his face. "Why are you bothering me?"
Aleksander's gaze softened in a way that made Matteo deeply uncomfortable.
"You are interesting."
"I'm a tattoo artist."
"You are defiant."
"I'm sarcastic."
"You do not scare easily."
"You tased me."
"You recovered."
Matteo opened his mouth, then shut it.
He hated when Aleksander did that—turned arguments into compliments like he was rearranging furniture.
Aleksander's eyes flicked over him again. "You look tired."
"I am tired. And it's because just looking at your fuckass face makes me exhausted. Plus someone left my fucking door open to any bitch who decides to take my cash."
Aleksander's expression shifted slightly.
Ah.
There it was.
"You are still angry about that," he observed.
"You left the door open," Matteo snapped. "Do you know how stupid that is? I had to replace equipment. I had to explain things. Rent is due soon."
Aleksander considered this like it was a mildly inconvenient weather report.
"I will compensate you."
"Great. Give me the money."
Aleksander blinked once.
"really?" he repeated.
"What kinda dumbass refuses free money?"
"Wow. You are much more greedy than i thought."
"I don't care. It's not like giving me some cash will make such a differencein your bank account."
Aleksander studied him in silence.
Matteo crossed his arms again defensively. "What?"
"You are very proud."
"I'm very annoyed."
"That too."
Silence stretched between them again, thick but oddly charged.
Then Aleksander straightened slightly.
"You will come out with me tonight."
Matteo laughed.
Actually laughed.
"That was not a joke," Aleksander added gently.
Matteo stopped laughing.
"Oh, absolutely not."
Aleksander's smile didn't falter.
"I am asking politely."
"You raped my mouth."
"Yes."
"And now you're asking me on a date? I knew you were gay."
Aleksander tilted his head. "does the word date make you uncomfortable my little virgin."
"It does not. Man-whore."
Aleksander stepped even closer, voice lowering—not threatening, not sharp.
Sweet.
"I would hate," he said softly, "for something unfortunate to happen to your shop again."
Matteo's eyes narrowed instantly. "Is that a threat?"
Aleksander's smile widened. Warm. Charming. Almost affectionate.
"Of course not," he said gently. "It's blackmail."
Matteo stared at him.
"You're insane."
"Frequently."
"You think I'm just going to agree because you blackmail me like that?"
Aleksander leaned in slightly.
"Yes."
Matteo's mouth fell open.
"I have been very patient," Aleksander continued smoothly. "Three weeks. I did not disturb you. I allowed you space."
"You make it sound like you're a considerate boyfriend."
Aleksander's eyes darkened slightly at the word.
"I am asking you to dinner."
"And if I say no?"
Aleksander's voice remained light. "You will not."
"That's not an answer."
Aleksander's thumb brushed lightly against the counter beside Matteo's hand. Close enough to feel the warmth without touching.
"I am inviting you," he said softly, "and I would be… disappointed if you refused."
"And?"
"And I do not like disappointment."
There it was.
The threat.
Wrapped in velvet.
Delivered with a smile.
Matteo stared at him for a long moment,
calculating.
He could refuse.
He could argue.
He could throw something at his head.
But Aleksander wasn't bluffing. Not fully.
And Matteo was many things—stubborn, sarcastic, reckless—but he wasn't stupid.
"…Dinner," Matteo muttered finally.
Aleksander's smile sharpened triumphantly.
"Yes."
"One dinner," Matteo clarified quickly. "Public place. No kidnapping. And make sure it's fancy. Plus, you're paying."
Aleksander considered this.
"Ok."
"And if you try anything—"
"I will not," Aleksander interrupted smoothly.
Matteo narrowed his eyes. "I don't trust that."
"You do not need to trust me."
"That's not comforting."
Aleksander stepped back finally, reclaiming space like a king satisfied with a negotiation.
"I will pick you up at eight."
"You don't know where I live."
Aleksander paused.
Matteo groaned loudly. "You know where I live."
Aleksander's smile returned, infuriatingly pleased.
"Eight," he repeated.
Matteo muttered something under his breath that definitely wasn't polite.
Aleksander turned toward the door, slipping his gloves back on.
Just before leaving, he glanced over his shoulder.
"You should tattoo a bunny on yourself," he said casually.
The bell jingled.
The door shut.
Snow drifted outside like nothing monumental had just happened.
Matteo stood in the middle of his shop, staring at the closed door.
"…I hate him," he muttered.
And then, after a beat—
"…What the hell am I going to wear?"