Matteo comes off the wall last, and he does it slowly, and he makes no sound doing it.
Twenty-eight, the youngest, and the one people get wrong: black ink climbing his throat to the jaw, ink down the back of one hand, a body that does not need explaining, eyes that stay on you one beat too long.
He stops close enough that you have to look up.
"Don't be scared, gorgeous."
His voice is low and even and it does not hurry.
"No one's going to hurt you. As long as you stay with us for a while."
Behind you Enzo laughs once. Matteo does not turn his head.
"That was not a threat. That was the safest sentence you are going to hear in this room tonight, and I would like you to hear the rest of it."
He tips his head, and the ink at his jaw moves with it.
"There is a car outside with a cold engine and a driver who knows the highway. An hour in here and it takes you wherever you say."
Then, quieter, with his eyes on your mouth:
"Tell us, what's your name? We want to know the name of the person who's got all three of us unable to sleep."