Page 57 of Pistols and Plush Toys

“You done?” Horatio snarled. “Good, let’sgo.”

Elliot only allowed himself one last glance over his shoulder as Horatio yanked him forward again. The last thing he saw as he was pulled from the bedroom was Max and Apricot lying in a tangled heap of blankets on the floor.

Elliot didn’t sob. He bit his lip and didn’t make a sound as he was marched through the dark, silent house, Horatio muttering curses in what Elliot recognized from Mattia as Italian. He had no idea what time it was, no idea how long it had been since Nikolai had left, or how long it would be until he came back.

He was taken out to the front and shoved unkindly into a waiting car. Horatio and the driver started talking in rapid Italian, and then the car was heading back out the open and unattended front gates.

Another chill went up Elliot’s spine. He was certain someone had been left at the gates. Nikolai was too careful not to leave someone else here. Which meant that whoever else had been here had probably been—

He curled up in his seat, arms tight across his belly. His wrist and forearm throbbed where Horatio had grabbed him, his cheek raw and stinging. He had been dragged out of bed in a thin T-shirt and his boxers and he felt horribly vulnerable. Vulnerable and alone.

His eyes burned, and he bit his lip harder, swallowing down his sounds. He had no idea what to expect. What would Mattia do to him? Elliot knew that he’d be blamed for everything that had happened in the days that he’d been with Nikolai. Mattia would be beyond furious with him.

Enough to… to kill him? Elliot didn’t know. He didn’t know what would be worse, anymore. Being dead, or Mattia wanting to keep him alive to make sure Elliot wassorry.

Either way, he thought dully, he knew it would hurt.

It came to him, the awful realization, that Mattia probably liked it when Elliot was hurting. That there was… there was a reason he kept setting Elliot up to fail. That there was a reason everything was always Elliot’s fault.

He hadn’t let himself think about it until this moment, as they made the drive away from Nikolai’s house, but Mattia enjoyed being cruel.

And Elliot had made him angry.

He lost his sense of time as the car drove on. As it rolled up to the skyscraper that was Mattia’s building.

Horatio got out and dragged Elliot into the lobby and to the elevator, yanking him along as though Elliot was fighting every step, instead of quietly stumbling after him, keeping his head down. The staff on duty looked at the two of them and then looked away, ignoring the scene.

When the elevator opened at the top, Horatio all but shoved him out before the doors reclosed.

And Elliot was alone, back in the penthouse. It looked the same. White tile and sharp angles. Everything cold and pristine.

He hated this place. Had maybe always hated it, even in the beginning when he’d been riding the high of Mattia’s attention and praise. He’d lived here for over four years, and had never been allowed to hang even a picture frame.

There was a light glowing from further in, even though the rest of the apartment was dark. It looked like it was coming from the living room.

Elliot knew what was waiting for him there.

He started to walk forward, shaking with every step, his bare feet dirty and freezing. Maybe if he could convince Mattia he was properly sorry, Mattia wouldn’t—wouldn’t make it hurt as much.

He stopped at the entrance to the living room.

And there was Mattia.

For once, Mattia wasn’t on his phone. He was seated in a chair, facing the entryway. Expectant. Waiting for Elliot, face a thundercloud.

“Welcome home,” Mattia spat as he pushed to his feet.

Elliot’s breath stuttered in his throat and he froze where he stood.

“What’s the matter?” Mattia’s voice was dark, venomous. “Aren’t you happy to be home? Aren’t you going to fuckingthank mefor getting you out?”

“Th-thank you, Mattia,” Elliot whispered. He couldn’t make himself be louder. Not with the terror. Not in the face of Mattia’s clear fury.

“Come here,” Mattia snarled, crooking a finger.

Elliot bit his lip on the whimper that wanted to escape and made himself walk forward. He was trembling all over, but he stopped right in front of Mattia.

“I don’t think I heard you, El,” Mattia said, voice gone quiet and cold. “You want to say ‘thank you’ again?”

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