Matteo moved like nothing had ever been disturbed.
That was the lie he kept telling himself as his hands trembled while returning a folder to its exact angle on the desk. The room still smelled wrong—like metal, ink, and something colder beneath it all. Intent. The kind that didn't wash off no matter how much you scrubbed your mouth raw.
He aligned the chair. Smoothed the papers. Closed the drawer slowly, carefully, as if the room itself were watching.
Because it was.
His jaw tightened as he stepped back, scanning the office one last time. Everything looked the same. Perfect. Untouched.
Except Matteo wasn't.
His throat burned. His voice felt scraped hollow, like he'd screamed into the ocean all night and the ocean had screamed back. He swallowed, jaw flexing, anger coiling tighter with every breath.
That was when the door opened.
Matteo didn't turn.
He knew who it was the second the air changed.
"Putting things back?" Aleksander's voice slid in smoothly, casual. Amused.
That was it.
Matteo spun around. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he snapped, the words tearing out of him raw and loud.
Aleksander paused just inside the doorway, coat still on, one hand lazily resting against the frame. His expression didn't change—not surprise, not guilt. Only mild curiosity, like someone watching a dog bark at a passing car.
"You're—" Matteo laughed sharply, the sound breaking halfway through. "You're planning to blow parts of the city to hell. You've got maps, targets, schedules—don't look at me like that, I saw it. You're talking about killing people. Thousands of them. You think you can just—what—rip the government apart and crown yourself king of everything?"
His chest rose and fell hard.
"And Russia?" Matteo barked incredulously. "Russia? Are you insane? You think you can just take it over like it's a board game?"
Aleksander blinked.
Then he laughed.
Not loud. Not mocking. Just a soft exhale through his nose that turned into a low chuckle, like he'd just heard something deeply entertaining.
Matteo froze.
"…Did you seriously just fucking laugh?"
Aleksander pushed himself fully into the room now, closing the door behind him with an unhurried click. His eyes flicked over Matteo—messy hair, flushed face, shoulders tight with rage.
God.
He really did look like an angry pomeranian.
All fire and noise and absolutely convinced he could take down something ten times his size.
Aleksander smiled wider.
"You're hoarse," he noted mildly. "You should drink water."
That snapped something feral.
"DON'T—" Matteo's voice cracked, rough and strained, and he had to swallow hard before continuing. "Don't you fucking talk to me like this is funny. You're talking about people's lives. You're treating it like—like chess pieces."
Aleksander tilted his head. Studying. Amused.
"You came into my office," he said calmly. "Touched my things. Read what wasn't meant for you."
"Oh don't you flip this shit on me," Matteo shot back. "You don't get to act offended when you're planning fuckass genocide like it's a damn weekend project."
Aleksander fully broke now—quiet laughter shaking his shoulders, eyes gleaming.
"you're so amusing," he said fondly.
Matteo stared at him, disbelief warring with fury.
"What is wrong with you?"
Aleksander took a step closer.
Then another.
"You're shaking," he observed. "Angry. Moral. Loud."
Matteo clenched his fists. "Stop smiling at me like that."
Aleksander stopped inches away.
"You know," he murmured, "you remind me of a pomeranian I once had."
Matteo gaped. "I'm sorry—what?"
"Very small. Very aggressive," Aleksander continued thoughtfully. "Convinced the world was ending if it barked loudly enough."
That did it.
"OH YOU ARE FUCKING DEAD," Matteo shouted, voice shredding itself further. "I walk in here and find out you're basically FUCKING HITLER 2.0 and you're calling me a DOG?"
Aleksander laughed again, openly now.
"You're adorable when you're furious."
Matteo's face went red. "Do not—DO NOT—"
"Especially after last night," Aleksander added lightly. "Sobbing so beautifully as you choked on my cock."
Matteo's brain short-circuited.
"SHUT UP-"
His voice cracked so badly it hurt, and he winced, pressing a hand to his throat. That only made him angrier.
Aleksander noticed. Of course he did.
"You really should rest that voice," he said, almost gentle.
Matteo stared at him, chest heaving.
"Fucking cunt," he said hoarsely. "You think—" He cut himself off, jaw tight. "You think i'm gonna just bend over for your ass, huh?"
Aleksander's smile softened—but not with regret.
"Well it would be nice," he corrected. "preferably without clothes on."
Matteo laughed bitterly. "Fuck you." He punched Aleksander hard across the face before turning sharply, grabbing a jacket that was hung by the door.
"I hope I kicked you hard enough last night," he muttered. "Insane fucking basterd."
Aleksander watched him head for the door, completely unbothered.
"You won't call anyone," Aleksander said calmly.
Matteo paused.
Then scoffed. "You really think I won't?"
Aleksander smiled.
"Yes," he said. "I think you're furious. And furious people run."
Matteo yanked the door open.
"Go to hell," he snapped, voice barely holding together.
He stormed out of the penthouse, anger propelling him forward, heart pounding like it was trying to outrun what he'd just learned.
Behind him, Aleksander remained in the office, hands in his pockets, still smiling.
Angry little pomeranian.