Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
Matteo
Except for the faint ticking of the clock on the kitchen wall, the house is still. The morning air smells faintly of coffee and rain.
I pour myself a second cup, the rich, bitter aroma almost sharp enough to cut through my exhaustion.
Quietly Alessia joins me, wearing one of my shirts and nothing else. The material barely covers her buttocks, and it skimming her thighs in a way that makes my throat tighten.
Her thick hair hangs around her face and trails down her back in a tumble of chestnut waves. Her beauty has me captivated.
She walks past me to grab a cup, and when she reaches to fill it from the coffeepot, I realize I didn’t think to pour her one.
I’m slipping.
“Good morning,” she says softly, as she pulls her vanilla creamer from the refrigerator. Her voice is a little husky, laced with sleep.
I glance at her, then back at my cup. “Nico and Dante will be here soon.” Like they have been every day since my father passed.
She pauses, her fingers wrapped around the handle of the cup. “Is this going to be a regular thing?”
“Yeah.” Just like it had been at my father’s house. “Every day,” I tell her. Unless I fail to ascend into my father’s position. But she doesn’t need to be burdened by my troubles. She has enough of her own.
Her eyebrows draw together, and her silence gnaws at the edges of my composure, but I don’t stop to explain. There isn’t time, and there aren’t words. I have too many people counting on me—and too many people waiting for me to fail.
The past few days have been hell. I’ve barely slept, barely eaten. Seeing my mother shattered like that…
I can’t shake the image.
Her grief is endless, like an abyss, and I’ve stood at the edge of it, supporting her because the family can’t afford for her to fall.
Every day, we’ve been at her house. Well-wishers and endless trays of food have cycled through the doors, a parade of people trying to prove their loyalty, trying to be seen. They’ve been speaking in whispers, eyes darting. There are no answers, no leads, and no reprieve.
More and more, I understand why Alessia wanted no part of this life.
Before Alessia can say anything else, the crunch of tires on the driveway echoes through the rain-drenched silence.
I glance out the rain-splattered window. Nico. Always the first to arrive.
Alessia comes to stand in front of me, taking hold of my lapels, her fingers curling tight into the fabric like she’s holding on to more than just me. “I miss you, Matteo.” Her voice is quiet, threaded with rawness that digs under my skin.
Since the night of our wedding, we haven’t had sex, and I haven’t spent more than two or three hours in bed at any time.
I can’t meet her eyes for long. “Alessia.” My tone is sharper than I mean it to be, but it’s the best I can manage.
She releases me like I’ve burned her, and her hands fall to her sides. With a step back, she tells me, “I’ll keep the coffeepot filled.” The fatalistic resignation in her words twists through my chest.
“There’s one in the bunker,” I reply automatically. I hear my own words and want to take them back, but my mind has already moved on, toward the constant battles that are looming.
“I won’t bother you then.”
“We leave for my mother’s in three hours,” I remind her. Where we’ll pick her up and begin the journey to the church.
“I’ll be ready.” My wife is polite, distant, and that’s worse than her earlier frustration.
I glance out the window. Nico is walking toward the house, his stride steady and deliberate despite the rain. The idea of him seeing her like this sends arrows of possessiveness through me.
I capture her wrist and lower my voice. “Get upstairs. Now.”
Her eyes widen slightly, and for a moment, I think she might argue. But then she nods, pulling away and retreating up the stairs without a word.
The door opens, and Nico enters, shaking off his umbrella. His expression is grim, and he offers a faint smile that I barely register. Moments later, Dante joins us, his presence more a force of nature than a man as he shrugs off his coat.
Cursory greetings exchanged, they follow me to the bunker, my secure space. Reinforced steel walls are hidden behind paneled wood, giving the room the appearance of an executive office rather than a fortress. A long mahogany table dominates the center, polished to a mirror-like finish and flanked by high-backed leather chairs.
Built-in screens line one wall, quietly displaying live security feeds and critical information. The hum of discreetly placed lighting makes it feel as if we’re not in a fortress.
I take my seat at the head of the table. Nico is on my right, Dante on my left.
Watching me carefully, Dante crosses his arms. “What’s the agenda?”
I lean forward to rest my forearms on the table. “We need to solidify the hierarchy. If there’s a power vacuum, someone will exploit it.”
In the past few days, no one has made any overt moves. Instead, people have been respectful. I know that will all change the moment the first shovel of dirt hits the top of my father’s casket.
As his underboss, I moved into the position of Don the moment the monitor signaled a flatline.
But my position is temporary, and I need to know who’s with me and who’s not.
I consider my brother—our enforcer. He’s one of the people who may consider a challenge. “Dante, do you want the top spot?”
Dante raises a brow, his expression momentarily unreadable. “That’s your role, Matteo. You’ve been groomed for it, not me.”
Though I appreciate the show of support, I acknowledge his right to the throne. “If you wanted it, you’d have my respect.”
He shakes his head. “I’m with you, Matteo. Always.”
Protect the family.
Nico clears his throat. “Then we need to confirm roles. Dante should step up as underboss. You’ll need someone strong to back you, and Dante fits.”
Dante nods. “I’ll do it. You won’t have to worry about me pulling my weight.”
I turn to Nico. “And you? I want you to stay on as consigliere.”
For a moment, he’s totally still. The news has to shock him. But this last week has cemented my trust in him.
“I’d be honored, Matteo.” He pauses. “Your father meant the world to me. I will give you the same loyalty I showed him.”
That’s settled.
When it comes to the ascension vote, nothing is certain, but the support of my brother and cousin will speak volumes to the capos.
The conversation shifts to the Russos. Nico spreads a few papers on the table, pointing to inconsistencies in their financial dealings and recent movements. “They’re too quiet,” he says. “The princess especially.” He’s referring to Valentina, her father’s advisor, the one who’d been at the first meeting of the Four Corners Alliance in Las Vegas. “She’s been keeping to herself, but her influence hasn’t gone unnoticed. We need to tread carefully.”
“Carefully,” Dante echoes, his jaw tight. “Or decisively?”
I glance at the clock. Time is slipping through our fingers. “We’ll decide after the funeral. For now, we focus on the day.”
When we emerge from the bunker, Alessia is waiting for me in the kitchen. She’s wearing a black form-fitting dress. Her long hair is swept back, and a small black hat is perched atop her head. Her face is composed. My wife is a picture of respect and poise.
Every day, she makes me proud.
Her head is tipped to one side, and she’s studying me, as if she’s waiting for something, but I have no idea what.
We pick up my mother.
Though she’s nervous about the procession, we have a police escort, and we have arranged for a convoluted route along the way. Our own teams have swept the roads, and a counter-terrorism team is in place. A former president would not have better security.
My mother sits in the limo across from us, clutching rosary beads, tears in her eyes.
After glancing at me, Alessia switches sides to sit next to her. With true compassion, she wraps her arm around my mother’s shoulders and presses a tissue into her hand. In response, she receives a small smile.
The drive to the church is silent, and rain falls harder with each passing minute.
Father Thomas addresses a full sanctuary. I speak, as do my brothers. And for another half hour, others take a turn, talking about the legend who was Don Matteo.
Hours later, we reach the cemetery.
Rain is pouring from the sky and soaking the ground.
Immediate family is seated beneath a canopy, and the sound of raindrops drumming against the canvas explodes like gunfire.
Umbrellas protect the sea of mourners.
Even as the priest speaks, I sweep my gaze over the crowd, and all I can think about is how many of them might be celebrating this day—a day that’s supposed to be for my father but feels like the start of something darker.
Anger boils, hotter than anything the rain can cool. I should be putting my father to rest. Instead, I’m searching for enemies among the people who should be friends. Today is the worst day of my life, and the weight of it might crush me.
As if sensing my despair, Alessia rests her fingers on my arm.
I ignore her.
I’m consumed with the need to protect my family from the unseen enemy. I’ll destroy it and everyone associated with it.
The longest part of the funeral is over, and Bella walks in front of us, offering roses.
Under umbrellas held by trusty soldiers, we walk to the graveside. Dante has an arm around our mother’s waist, holding her upright.
She shouldn’t have to face this soul-crushing loss.
I place the first flower on my father’s casket.
And long after everyone has walked away, I’m still there, Alessia at my side.
I remain where I am as the man who meant the world to me is lowered into the ground.
Cemetery workers stand nearby, at a respectful distance.
Uncaring how soaked the grass is, I cross to where they’re standing and grab a shovel from them.
Needing an outlet for the turmoil churning through me, I throw shovel after shovel of wet, heavy mud on top of him.
My responsibility. My duty.
Live by the sword; die by the sword.
Before I rest, one of those two things will happen.
Trying to outpace the pain, I throw another shovelful, a man possessed.