Matteo had exactly three hours to prepare for what he absolutely refused to call a date.
It was not a date.
It was a forced interaction with appetizers.
He stood in the middle of his apartment, staring at his closet like it had personally betrayed him.
The closet, unfortunately, offered very little in the way of high-society criminal-dinner attire. Matteo owned:
Twelve black T-shirts (some with ink stains he insisted were "aesthetic").
Three hoodies.
One leather jacket.
Jeans. Only jeans.
Boots that had seen things.
He crossed his arms.
"This is stupid," he muttered to himself. "I'm not dressing up for him."
He immediately pulled out the least wrinkled black shirt.
Because if Aleksander thought he was showing up looking sloppy, he'd get that smug little look on his face. The one that said you tried and failed. Matteo would rather swallow glass.
He changed. Switched jeans. Tried on the leather jacket. Took it off. Put it back on.
He ran a hand through his hair.
"No. Too effort-y."
He messed it up slightly.
"…Better."
He checked himself in the mirror.
Why did he look nervous?
Maybe because he was having dinner with a who wanted to destroy Russia.
He straightened instantly. "I'm not nervous."
He was absolutely nervous.
The radiator hissed loudly like it was judging him.
"You shut up too," Matteo snapped at it.
His phone buzzed on the counter.
8:00 PM.
Right on time.
Of course he was.
Matteo walked to the window slowly, like approaching the edge of a battlefield.
Below, parked at the curb, was a sleek black car that looked expensive enough to have its own accountant. The windows were tinted. The engine purred quietly despite the cold.
Ofcourse he has another car.
The rear door opened.
Aleksander stepped out.
Matteo's stomach did something deeply unhelpful.
The man looked unfair.
Dark coat tailored perfectly to his frame. Gloves again. Hair styled but not overly so. Snowflakes caught in it like they were placed there deliberately by some dramatic lighting crew.
He looked up.
Directly at Matteo's window.
And smiled.
Matteo stepped back immediately.
"He does not need to be that confident," he muttered.
His phone buzzed again.
Unknown: I can see you hiding.
Matteo glared at the screen.
Matteo: I'm not hiding.
Three dots appeared instantly.
Unknown: You stepped away from the window.
Matteo typed aggressively.
Matteo: It's called walking.
The typing bubble paused.
Then:
Unknown: Come downstairs, zaika.
Matteo's eye twitched.
Matteo: Kill yourself.
A pause.
Unknown: Noted.
Matteo inhaled slowly, grabbed his jacket, and headed downstairs like a man marching toward mild doom.
The cold hit his face immediately when he stepped outside. Snow crunched under his boots as he approached the car.
Aleksander closed the distance before he could reach the door.
"You're late," Aleksander said calmly.
"It's 8:02."
"Exactly."
Matteo narrowed his eyes. "Do you rehearse being a cunt?"
Aleksander smiled faintly. "Only for you."
The driver opened the rear door.
Matteo hesitated.
Aleksander leaned slightly closer, voice low enough that only Matteo could hear.
"I did promise no kidnapping."
"That's the bare minimum."
Aleksander's lips twitched.
Matteo got in.
The interior was warm, leather seats heated to perfection. It smelled faintly of cologne and something expensive and woody.
Aleksander slid in beside him.
Not too close.
Just close enough to be aware of him.
The car pulled away smoothly.
For a moment, they sat in silence, the city lights sliding past the window in streaks of gold and white.
Matteo crossed his arms. "So where are we going?"
"You will see."
"That's wierd."
"It is dinner."
"That's still wierd."
Aleksander glanced at him sideways. "You are very tense."
"You threatened my business."
"I expressed concern."
"You used your fuckass concern to coax me into doing this bullshit with you."
Aleksander laughed softly. "I admire that you recognize the technique."
Matteo rolled his eyes. "You're not charming."
"I am extremely charming."
"You're legally questionable."
"Also true."
The car slowed as it approached a building that made Matteo's apartment look like a shoebox.
Glass exterior. Doormen. Subtle but unmistakable luxury.
"Oh no," Matteo muttered.
Aleksander looked pleased. "You dislike it?"
"I dislike places where the napkins cost more than my rent."
"You exaggerate."
"Do I?"
The car stopped. A doorman opened the door instantly.
Aleksander stepped out first, then offered a hand.
Matteo stared at it.
"I can exit vehicles independently."
"I am aware."
"Then why—"
"because this is the hand that's going to be scratching my back when I fuck you into the mattress."
Matteo swatted his hand away and stepped out himself.
Inside, the restaurant was absurdly elegant. Soft lighting. Chandeliers. Tables spaced generously apart. The quiet murmur of wealthy people pretending not to eavesdrop on one another.
Matteo suddenly became hyper-aware of his boots.
Aleksander, meanwhile, walked like he owned the building.
The hostess greeted him by name.
Of course she did.
They were led to a private table near a window overlooking the snowy city.
Matteo sat, trying not to look like he was calculating how much a single glass of water cost.
A waiter appeared almost instantly.
"Wine?" Aleksander asked.
"I'll take water," Matteo said quickly.
Aleksander tilted his head. "You do not drink?"
"I do. Just not when I'm being psychologically evaluated over pasta."
Aleksander smiled faintly. "hm."
They ordered. Or rather, Aleksander ordered something in Russian that Matteo did not attempt to pronounce.
When the waiter left, Matteo leaned forward slightly.
"So," he said, lowering his voice. "Why am I here?"
Aleksander studied him.
"Do you think everything has a strategic motive?"
"You run illegal operations."
"That does not answer my question."
Matteo frowned. "You don't do things without a reason."
Aleksander rested his elbow lightly on the table. "I wanted to see you outside your natural habitat."
"My natural habitat?"
"The shop. The sarcasm. The defensiveness."
"I'm still sarcastic. That will never change."
"Yes," Aleksander agreed. "But you are slightly more… aware."
Matteo flushed faintly and hated that Aleksander noticed.
"I'm not aware."
"You are."
"I'm not nervous."
"I did not say nervous."
Matteo scowled.
The food arrived, beautifully plated and far too fancy for his comfort.
He poked it cautiously.
Aleksander watched him like this was the most fascinating show in the world.
"You're staring," Matteo said.
"You are thinking very loudly."
"I'm thinking about how you probably planned this entire thing like a corporate acquisition."
Aleksander smiled. "You compare dinner to hostile takeovers often?"
"Only when applicable."
Aleksander leaned back slightly.
"You are safe tonight," he said calmly.
Matteo paused mid-bite.
"That wasn't what I was worried about," he lied.
Aleksander's eyes softened just slightly.
"Eat," he said gently.
Matteo hated that tone.
Hated that it didn't feel entirely real.
Conversation shifted gradually—less sharp, more natural. They argued about music. About politics. About whether pineapple belonged on pizza.
"It absolutely does not," Matteo insisted.
Aleksander considered. "It creates contrast."
"It creates a dead body."
Aleksander laughed again.
By the time dessert was brought out, Matteo had relaxed without realizing it.
And that realization hit him all at once.
He sat back slightly.
"This is strategic," he accused suddenly.
Aleksander blinked. "Dessert?"
"No. This." He gestured vaguely between them. "You're being… normal."
Aleksander's expression shifted subtly.
"Would you prefer I was not?"
Matteo opened his mouth.
Closed it.
"…No."
Silence.
Not uncomfortable.
Just heavy.
Aleksander leaned forward slightly, voice lowering.
"You agreed to dinner."
"Yes."
"You will agree again."
Matteo narrowed his eyes instantly. "That wasn't part of the deal."
Aleksander's smile returned—slow, deliberate.
"I did not make a deal."
"You implied one."
Aleksander tilted his head.
"Matteo," he said softly, almost sweetly, "you will go out with me again."
"And if I say no?"
Aleksander's smile didn't falter.
"Then I will ask again."
"That's not how consent works."
Aleksander's eyes darkened with amusement. "You misunderstand."
He leaned closer, voice velvet-smooth.
"I am not forcing you."
"That sounds like forcing."
"I am making it very inconvenient for you to refuse."
Matteo stared at him.
"You're unbelievable."
"And yet," Aleksander murmured, "you are still here."
Maybe that's because i have to unless i wanna live on the streets. Matteo said to himself.
Aleksander leaned back, satisfied.
"Friday," he said calmly.
"That's not a question."
"No."
Matteo glared at him.
Aleksander smiled gently.
"Friday," he repeated.
Matteo exhaled sharply through his nose.
"…Fine."
Aleksander's smile widened just slightly.
"Good."
God dammit.