“We don’t need to talk about my sex life,” I inform him.
“You certainly have enough opinions about mine,” he shoots back, rolling his eyes.
“She thinks I bought her,” I tell him. I don’t know why I tell him that, it’s not like he’ll be similarly disgusted by the idea.
“You did,” he says, simply.
I scowl at him in the rearview mirror. “I didn’t buy her, I worked to free her. Why doesn’t anyone realize those aren’t the same thing?”
“Is she pissed about it?”
“No.”
“Then who cares?” he replies.
“It’s pointless to argue an ethical stance with you,” I state, shaking my head.
“It’s not pointless. I understand the ethics, they just don’t matter in this situation. Get out of your own way and let yourself be happy for once.”
I pull up behind the abandoned warehouse, throwing the car in park and climbing out. Mateo doesn’t usually come along and get his hands dirty with this kind of stuff, but since Meg got shot, he seems to want an outlet for some pent-up aggression. I guess I can understand that.
“Why’d you wear a white shirt?” I ask, as he removes his jacket and drapes it over his arm.
“I like them to see their own blood spatter,” he states.
That surprises me since he has a thing about cleanliness, but I don’t remark upon in. I’m honestly surprised he doesn’t wear hazmat gear to punch a guy in the face, but I guess since he’s got us here, he only has to do as much as he wants to, anyway.
“Did you ever look into the daughter?” Mateo asks as we head inside.
“I’m gonna check it out a little more, depending on what we get from this guy.”
“She’s technically a Castellanos.”
“She has nothing to do with the old man,” I point out.
“Fruit of his looms,” Mateo tosses back.
“I’ve found some pretty disturbing shit there, frankly,” I tell him. “I have to dig a little more, but I’m inclined to think he’s a bigger bastard than we realized.”
“Still, streets running red with blood and all that,” he says casually.
“Why don’t we focus on the blood of the people actually involved before we branch out to innocent bystanders,” I suggest.
“You’re such a Boy Scout, Adrian.”
I roll my eyes, rolling up my shirt sleeves to go beat some asshole half to death. “Oh yeah, I’m a real angel.”
—
Because it’s just easier and because I’m going to have to do it eventually, I go ahead and take Elise over to Mateo’s for dinner. She’s eager during the car ride over, and I don’t know if it’s to see him, to be back at the place she still thinks of as home, or maybe to see the people she used to live and work with. I don’t ask.
She pops into the study with me for a few minutes, but neither of us is quite sure how to work that. Mia is sitting on Vince’s lap and Meg’s not down here since Mateo won’t let her out of bed, but Elise and I don’t behave like a couple. It becomes apparent after a few minutes of awkward lingering—I wanna take a seat like I usually do, but I don’t know what to do with her. She’s sure as hell not going to sit on my lap, and I don’t want to make her linger by the chair. Usually she’s the one getting drinks if she’s in here, and I catch her casting a few longing looks toward the drink cart.
Eventually she bails and heads to the kitchen to help Maria with dinner.
“She knows she doesn’t have to do that anymore, right?” Mateo remarks, seeming slightly amused as she runs back to her old job.
Vince stands up, displacing Mia, and goes outside to take a call. Literally as soon as Vince is out of sight, she heads over to the alcohol cart and grabs Mateo’s decanter, heading over to his desk to refill his glass.
“Thank you,” he says, giving her a warm smile.
With an indulgent roll of her eyes, she says, “I know you hate getting it yourself.”
“So much work,” he agrees, lifting his glass to his lips and watching her over the rim.
Mia suddenly frowns, almost unthinkingly reaching out and running her thumb over his knuckles. “What happened to your hand?”
I glance down at my own knuckles. They’re in worse shape than his, and Elise certainly didn’t notice mine.
“Had a slight disagreement with someone’s face,” he remarks.
She sighs, leaning against his desk, standing beside him and looking over at him. “Don’t you pay people to do stuff like that for you?”
“Why should they get to have all the fun?” he asks, glancing over at her.
“As long as it wasn’t Vince this time, I guess I shouldn’t complain,” she remarks.
Mateo’s eyebrows inch upward. “Does Vince need to be punched again?” He holds up his other hand, free of nicks or bruises. “I’ve still got this one. If he’s acting up, just say the word.”