Page 6 of The Chameleon

Imitating his father, Matteo swirled his glass, sniffed the aroma, then tried his first sip of alcohol.

His father smiled. “That’s my son.” There was so much pride in his father’s voice, Matteo couldn’t help but love the man even more.

“Now, I thought it was about time we discussed the family and the family business. One day, this will all be yours, and you need to know where all the bodies are buried.” His father smiled at him, then took another sip of his cognac.

His father spent the next two hours going over his family’s legacy. The good, the bad, and the secrets they kept buried deep beneath the château in which they lived.

One day, Matteo would be the master of the estate, and he needed to know the truth about his family’s history. As a guardian of the château, it would become his duty to protect their secrets and ensure the family’s power and position continued.

When you are young, you think you have all the time in the world. Little did he know his world would implode, and he would become the guardian of his family’s legacy much sooner than he thought.

Voices in the bar brought Matteo back to the present. Lifting the glass to his lips, he took a sip of the expensive cognac andwelcomed the familiar sweetness as it made its way over his tongue and down his throat. He always had a glass whenever he went to the theatre. It was a way to honor his father’s memory and remind him of the happy times he and his father shared before his father’s untimely death.

“Thank you, sir,” Matteo said to the bartender before turning his attention to the group of bratty young men standing behind him.

How did he know they were right behind him?

Their body heat. Their whispers. The vibe they gave off. Pick your poison. He always knew when one of them was around.

Matteo’s eyes narrowed.

The group of young troublemakers stared at him with what amounted toevilsmiles withmischievousintent.

Thosefuckingsmiles.

Matteo didn’t mind when those smiles were directed at the guests who visitedLa Maison de M. Those smiles caused men’s wallets to open and money to fall out. Those smiles, when directed at guests, meant that some article of clothing was about to disappear or someone’s cock was about to be swallowed.

But when those smiles were directed at Matteo, it only meant one thing—the boys were about to do or say something that they knew Matteo was not going to like.

Little assholes.

He knew the boys.

They were up to something.

Matteo exhaled, not sure he wanted to know what inappropriately timed thing was about to fall out of their mouths.

“What? You guys look like you’re about to sell me off to some European sex trafficking ring. Hate to tell you, but at my age, I won’t fetch you a pretty penny.”

That was a lie. At forty-three, Matteo was still at his sexual peak. He worked out five times a week, ate healthily, had a rigorous nightly skincare routine, and, of course, always made sure that his hair and facial hair were neatly maintained.

Matteo knew that he was good-looking and could get any person he wanted into his bed. But he refused to let that knowledge go to his head. Beauty faded. And at the end of the day, all that people remember is how you made them feel.

You could be the sexiest man alive, but if you treated someone like shit, that was how they always remembered you.

He was the perfect trifecta. He was rich, powerful, and easy on the eyes. The world was his if he wanted it.

Watching the young men suspiciously, the eight of them stared back at him with cocky smirks on their faces.

Diesel, Jared, Isaac, Teo, the twins Gunnar and Anders, Rafael, and, of course, Levi.

God, he hated it when they all teamed up against him like that. How was he supposed to break them down individually when they all had backup? They acted like a brotherhood—always there for each other, always helping one another in their scheming.

But there was one thing that they always seemed to forget.

Matteo knew them.

Each and every one of them.

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