Page 178 of The Favor Collector

I follow their frozen stares to a figure approaching from the cross street—broad-shouldered, swaggering gait, and instantly recognizable even in the fading light. A low, involuntary snarl escapes my throat.

Rick Hartwell. Leo’s high school tormentor. The walking embodiment of toxic masculinity in khaki shorts. The fucking asshole who spent four years making my brother’s life hell for being gay.

Matteo’s hand tightens on mine, his body shifting subtly into alert mode. “Who is that?” he asks, voice dropping to a dangerous register I know too well.

“Rick,” I say, the single syllable loaded with fifteen years of hatred. “Leo’s bully.”

Understanding dawns in Matteo’s eye. He knows the story, and his posture changes instantly, the casual boyfriend personasliding away like a discarded coat, revealing the predator beneath.

Rick spots us too late to change course. He falters for half a step, then resumes his swagger. “Well, look who it is,” he calls, his voice exactly as obnoxious as I remember. “The Carter twins. Back in the old neighborhood?”

My mother immediately turns around. “We’re heading back now.” She touches Leo’s arm gently. “Come on, honey.”

Leo hesitates, clearly torn between flight and confrontation, but Ollie makes the decision for him. “Let’s go, babe.” They turn, following my mother, leaving just me, Matteo, and my dad facing Rick.

It happens so fast I almost miss it. Dad’s hand goes to his pocket, where I know he carries his everyday knife. My own fingers find the small knife in my back pocket. And Matteo, despite all promises to the contrary, smoothly retrieves a gun from somewhere beneath his jacket.

We all move in perfect, unconscious synchronicity, like a family of wolves baring teeth at a threat.

I glance between my small knife, Dad’s medium knife, and Matteo’s very much not-a-knife, and can’t help but laugh. “Well, this is awkward,” I say dryly. “Dad and I apparently brought knives to a gunfight.”

Rick’s eyes widen comically as he registers what’s happening. His face drains of color so quickly I’m surprised he doesn’t faint right there on Mrs. Lawson’s carefully maintained sidewalk.

“Jesus Christ,” he stammers, backing up a step. “What the hell is wrong with you people?”

Dad steps forward, his expression calmer than it has any right to be given the circumstances. “Hello, Rick. It’s been a while. I believe the last time I saw you was at the principal’s office when you wanted my daughter expelled for sticking up for her brother.”

Rick swallows visibly. “Look, that was a long time ago—”

“Not long enough,” I cut in, twirling my knife between my fingers. “You know what’s interesting about memories, Rick? They stick around. Like how I remember exactly how Leo’s face looked after you had your fun.”

“I suggest,” Matteo says, his voice velvet-wrapped steel, “that you leave. Go somewhere that never, ever brings you within sight of any member of this family again.”

My dad nods in agreement. “I’ve lived in this neighborhood for thirty years, Rick. I plan to live here for thirty more. You, on the other hand, should consider relocating. Immediately and permanently.”

“This is insane,” Rick protests, though his bravado is crumbling by the second. “You can’t just threaten me on a public street.”

“I haven’t heard a single threat,” Matteo observes coolly. “Only a few friendly pieces of advice.”

I step closer, close enough to see the sweat beading on Rick’s forehead. “Let me make this painfully clear. If I ever—and I meanever—hear that you’ve so much as looked in my brother’s direction again, what happened in high school will seem like a pleasant memory compared to what we’ll do.”

“We?” Rick manages.

“Oh yes,” Matteo says with a smile that would make sharks consider career changes. “Very muchwe.”

Something in his tone finally penetrates Rick’s thick skull. He backs away, hands raised. “Fine, fine. I’m going. Jesus. You’re all fucking crazy.”

We watch in united silence as he retreats, practically jogging by the end of the block.

Only when he’s completely out of sight does my dad turn to Matteo, eyebrow raised. “That’s quite a piece you’re carrying. I assume you have the appropriate permits?”

“Multiple,” Matteo replies without missing a beat. “International ones, even.”

Dad nods, then slaps Matteo on the back with enough force to make a lesser man stumble. “Welcome to the family, son. I can rest easy knowing my daughter is in excellent hands.”

With that, he pockets his knife and continues walking, heading back toward the house where Mom, Leo, and Ollie are undoubtedly waiting.

I stare after him, momentarily speechless. “Did that just happen?” I finally ask Matteo. “Did my dad just give you his blessing after witnessing you threaten someone with a firearm?”

Matteo tucks the gun away with practiced ease. “I believe he did.”

The moment Dad disappears around the corner, I launch myself at Matteo. He catches me effortlessly, hands gripping my thighs as I wrap my legs around his waist and crash my mouth against his.

The kiss is filthy, all teeth and tongue and pent-up everything, right there on the sidewalk where I played hopscotch as a kid.

When we finally break apart, both breathing hard, I rest my forehead against his. “I fucking love you,” I tell him fiercely.

“And I love you, Little Thief.” He sets me down but keeps me close, one hand possessively at the small of my back. “Even when you keep stealing my lighter.”

I laugh, pulling the metal out of my pocket and flick it on. “But it’s so pretty,” I sigh. “I think I’ll keep it this time.”