Target on Our Backs (Monster in His Eyes 3)

That seems to surprise him. "He has children?"

"Yeah, a couple."

"And Melody's okay with that?"

"Melody? Why would she care?"

"Well, he is her boyfriend, isn't he?"

My brow furrows. "What are you talking about?"

"The fact that children are a big deal," he says. "No offense, but that doesn't seem like the type of responsibility your friend is prepared to take on."

I just stare at him.

He stares right back, waiting for some kind of response about Melody raising children. Yeah, right. I don't even know how she keeps up with herself.

"I think we're talking about two different people here," I say eventually. "I'm talking about Napoleon Bonaparte. I'm thinking that isn't who you mean."

He laughs. "No. You said you met her boyfriend today."

"Oh, yeah, right…"

"Why are you talking about Napoleon?"

I hold up my book and the blank piece of paper, showing it to him. "I have to write a paper about why anyone gives a crap about how tall he was."

"Huh."

Huh.

That word can get so annoying.

"You got a theory on why that is?" I ask. "If so, I'm all ears."

He shrugs. "It's all about perception."

"Perception."

"Yes," he says, getting up from his desk and strolling across the room, to his bookshelves. "His short stature sort of made him a joke, a caricature in a sense… a tiny man compensating for his shortcomings by trying to take over the world. It's hard to take him seriously when he's viewed that way. It's emasculating. Is he really that intimidating if he's characterized as looking like a child? Hardly." He pauses, scanning the spines of a row of books. "But it's vastly different when you find out he was just an average guy. Because that makes him less of a toddler throwing a tantrum and more of a mastermind hiding in plain sight. His enemies didn't want that. They didn't want him taken seriously, and still, to this day, he often isn't. But the fact is, Napoleon was one of the greatest military leaders of all time, but that's often overshadowed by the debate about his height."

Tossing my phone down on the cushion beside me, I dig in my bag for a pen. "You want to repeat all that so I can write it down?"

"I'm sure you got the gist of it."

He pulls a small book off of his shelf before walking over to where I'm sitting. He taps me on the head with it, smiling, and drops it onto my lap, right on top of my paper.

I glance down at the cover.

Clisson and Eugénie

Napoleon Bonaparte

He owns the book.

Unbelievable.

"It's actually decent," Naz says, picking up my phone from the cushion to move it out of his way so he can sit down beside me. "You should give it a read."

"I'll keep that in mind," I say, setting it on the arm of the couch as I focus on my paper. I can't even lie—I write down exactly what Naz just said, having no shame that I'm using his words. It makes sense, after all… reality is all a matter of perception. We see what we want to see.

"He's good looking," I say after a while.

"We said he wasn't short," Naz says. "Good looking might be pushing it."

"No, I mean Melody's boyfriend." I laugh. "He's good looking… like, really good looking. I'm talking cover of GQ kind of good looking. It's like, wow…"

"If you're trying to get me to kill him, all you have to do is ask."

Gasping, I elbow Naz. "Not funny. I would never. I'm just saying…"

"You're saying he's good looking." He waves me off, like he doesn't really care what I think about the guy's looks, but I can tell by his expression that he does. Holy shit, is that jealousy I see? "Like I said, it's all about perception."

"Yeah, it is," I agree quietly. "And yeah, he's good looking, but he's almost too good looking, you know? And he's smart, and nice… really nice… generous…"

His tone is clipped as he cuts in. "I get the picture, Karissa."

A smile tugs my lips. Definitely jealous.

"I mean, I just met him, so I don't really know him," I continue, "but there's something about him… something that feels familiar."

Naz perks up at that, raising his eyebrows. "How so?"

"He took her to Paragone for their first date."

"Nice place."

"I know… that's where you took me and spent an ungodly amount on overpriced food. Like, way more than a person should ever pay. It's insane. And he took her there at the last minute, just like you did, somehow managing to get a table… like you did."

"Maybe he knows somebody."

"Like you did?" I shake my head. "And he works for family. That's what Melody said. Family. And today he got a call and had to leave quick, had to slip away to handle some things. Sound familiar?"

"Somewhat."

"Somewhat, my ass. He's practically you."

"Nonsense," Naz says right away. "There's only one of me."

"Maybe so, but there are plenty like you," I counter.

"Are you insinuating he's in the mob?"

His blatant question stalls me.

Am I?

That's a serious accusation.

"I'm not insinuating anything. I'm just saying, you know... I think it's all kind of weird, how he comes out of nowhere and does these things that are so familiar to me. Like, he sent her flowers after their first date, just like you did. He insists on paying the tab, just like you do. She sees him around, near campus, even though he's not a student, just like I used to see you."

"You know, Karissa, there's a reason I did all those things. It's because they're natural things someone in those circumstances might do. Not everyone has ulterior motives."

"But sometimes they do."

"Sometimes," he agrees. "And sometimes we're just being needlessly paranoid."

He sounds so calm, matter of fact, like I'm being ridiculous. And, hell... maybe I am. But it's hard to shake the feeling that there's more to this all than meets the eye.

"His name's Leo," I point out. "As in, Leonardo. That's Italian, right?"

A slight smile turns Naz's lips at that question. "Yes. So are Michelangelo and Donatello. He's more than likely a Ninja Turtle in disguise."