Chapter 34
MATTEO
She was so ready in that restaurant restroom. All I had to do was tell her what I want and she’d have given it to me. No questions asked. I’d never had a woman so innocent and naive before. Not since I was like that too. Which is so long ago now I don’t even remember that guy.
Death and grieving will do that to you.
Caused by men like her father, who don’t care how many bodies they step over to get to the top.
I’ve been telling myself that to stop thinking about her soft lips and how sweet they taste.
How that deep look of devotion—mixed with just a little surprise and fear—in her eyes whenever she looks at me makes my heart beat in ways I didn’t know it still could.
How soft her skin and her hair are, how soft and willing her body, how much she wants me.
I don’t remember a woman ever wanting me this much.
And she’s not even lost in some fantasy of her own. She wants me.
But all that’s not something I should be focusing on.
When all is said and done, she’ll hate me worse than the devil. And all that devotion and softness will be replaced by hate and hardness.
Better to let it all go now.
I was dismissed after the dinner; told I wasn’t needed for the night shift. Probably for the best, because I probably would’ve snuck into her bedroom and fucked her. I wouldn’t have been able to stop myself. No rationalizations I could’ve come up with would’ve stopped me.
Despite knowing it was for the best, I almost fought with Rafaelle to let me stay and guard her door overnight. Hell, it’s almost ten AM now and I’m still thinking of her soft curves under that snow white blanket of hers and how good it would be to fall asleep with her in my arms.
But that’s probably just because I still haven’t slept much. Not without waking up every couple of hours and then not being able to fall asleep for another two.
I’m sure fucking Goldie would help with that. But it’s a remedy I can’t afford to take now.
I’m on my third espresso from Nico’s fancy coffee machine, sitting on one of the barstools by his kitchen island, looking out over the city through the huge windows, wondering why I don’t feel like I’m eighty stories in the air.
I feel like I could just open one of those windows and walk out and I’d be fine.
I’d step onto one of the many roofs and just keep going from there, all across the city, looking down at it from above.
Good thing I’m staying off drugs or else I might actually attempt it. Jesus fucking Christ. I feel like I’m high despite it. Like I’ve done a million lines of coke and can actually fly.
The phone by the front door rings. It’s one of those old style 1980s things and I thought it was just there to add some retro vibes to the apartment not that it actually functioned.
Nico comes out of his bedroom, cursing as he goes, his hair a mess, his boxers on backwards.
He picks up the phone and barks something into it. A moment later, he’s standing straight as a board, patting down his messed-up hair.
“OK, I’ll send him down.”
He replaces the headset and looks at me, looking very pale and kind of alarmed.
“That was for you,” he says. “He wants you downstairs.”
“Who?”
“Ferro,” Nico says. “I hope. Unless Codelli figured out you’re not to be trusted.”
I drink the last dregs of my espresso. “They don’t suspect shit. But what does Ferro want from us? Get dressed so we can go meet him.”
Nico shakes his head. “He just wants you. The guy insisted on it. And it’s weird. You know what they call him?”
I shrug and shake my head.
“Ironman,” Nico tells me. “You know why?”
“Because his last name is Ferro and that means iron?” It’s not the scariest of nicknames, so I don’t get why Nico seems to think I should be scared of it.
“They call him that because his preferred weapon of choice is a tire iron,” he says. “He likes to beat his enemies until there’s nothing left of their faces.”
I probably should be more scared. But a tire iron? Come on. That’s such a clumsy weapon. Nico seems to be scared as hell, though. But I’m still riding that high that could’ve had me walking out the window, so I don’t give a shit.
“Good,” I say as I stand up. “Maybe he wants to get this show on the road early.”
“Or he’s decided he was offended by how you spoke to him the other night after all,” Nico mutters.
“Or that. I’ll see you when I see you, I guess.”
I walk past him and out the door, without the slightest hint of apprehension.
I really should be more alarmed, but I’m not.
Blame the high, blame my sleepless nights, blame the fact that I’ve waited for revenge so long I stopped believing I’d ever get it.
I doubt Ferro would ride all the way into the city so he could collect me for killing. But maybe he would.
Either way, I was born knowing my family’s curse would ruin me one way or another before my time. It’s already done that more times and in more ways than I care to list. So if it’s finally done with me now, then so be it.
* * *
Ferro’s manservant was the one who made the call from the front desk and he’s waiting beside it for me, looking as grim-faced and sour as ever.
He grunts something when he sees me and I take it as Follow me, because he walks across the lobby to the revolving doors, the leather soles of his shoes clicking against the marble.
I follow. And by the time I meet him in the circular driveway in front of the building, he’s holding open the back door of a town car out of which cigar smoke is rising.
The first hints of a pounding headache are starting in my temples.
Just like always when I’m coming down off a high.
I’m sure it will get a lot worse once I’m in the car.
I greet Ferro, he just nods in response and I climb in beside him, wondering if he’d actually take his fancy town car to pick me up for killing.
Hopefully not. Despite what I said to Nico and my lack of fear, I cast my eyes over the back seat of the car before getting in, looking for the tire iron. I don’t see it.
The windows are tinted almost black, and the back is separated from the front by black windows too. It’s creating a nighttime atmosphere that’s only heightened by all the smoke swirling around back here.
“Glad you could make it,” Angelo says. He’s wearing a three-piece suit, dark grey or black, hard to tell in this light, and together with his black hair and black eyes and all the smoke, he makes quite a picture.
Like a mobster out of a movie and not the real thing.
But that’s his thing. The image he’s going for.
Though from what Nico tells me, he’s very much the real deal.
A mobster from a time when mobsters were stone cold, ruthless men who’d let nothing and no one stand in their way.
“Didn’t know I had a choice,” I say, fiddling with the window control and wondering if it’d be rude to roll down the window just a little bit. Given that we’re so perfectly enclosed back here, the smoke has nowhere to go but my nose and mouth.
Angelo chuckles and gives me a pointed look that’s very hard to read.
“What? Did I?” I ask, since I have a feeling he can make any silence drag indefinitely and that I’ll never figure out what he’s thinking even if I spend an eternity staring into his face. He’s one of those unreadable types, probably works on it being so.
“No one talks to me like you do,” he says. “It’s refreshing.”
“In a good way?” I might as well ask, since I prefer to know where I stand, especially with guys who enjoy being as secretive as Ferro.
“Yes,” he says simply and stubs out his cigar. I barely fight down a sigh of relief. Over there being less smoke now and the fact that I think his answers means he won’t kill me yet.
“And since you’re so straight with me, I’m gonna be straight with you,” he says.
“You didn’t have a choice. Your cousin is one of my closest supporters and he vouches for you, but I don’t know very much about you.
Less than you know about me, I’d wager. I suggest we get to know each other better today. ”
There’s definitely a threat in there somewhere.
We’re not out of the woods yet. And what’s even more annoying is…
the more he speaks, the harder it is to keep Gianna’s face out of my thoughts.
She’s done nothing to me. Except fall for me like only a naive, sheltered virgin of twenty-one years old can.
And I’m about to use that to destroy her whole world.
“Yes, let’s get to know each other,” I say and sink back into the incredibly soft leather seats of Angelo’s car.
It’s been a long time since I was treated to fancy car rides or invited to participate in important conversations and jobs.
The guy I used to be before all that was taken away from me is the one who feels sorry for Gianna.
But he’s long dead and buried. Nothing more than dust. The one sitting in the back seat of this town car is who I am now.
And I will get my revenge by any means necessary.
No matter who must fall for me to get it.
Because all the people who actually mattered to me are long dead. Save for my sister and she’s the one who caused all those deaths.
“From what I hear, you’re no stranger to the kind of takeover I’m aiming for,” Angelo says, picking up the cigar from the ashtray, but not lighting it, thankfully.
We’re rushing down some wide avenue, maybe fifth, possibly Broadway, the world outside the windows tinted dark grey and a blur.
What’s not a blur is all the battles and all the deaths I witnessed as Dante Moretti waged his war against my family.
Ending in the deaths of my older brother and father.
Those are particularly vivid right now. Ricardo was dead before I could reach him.
Dad muttered something before he died in my arms, blood trickling out the sides of his mouth, his chest covered in it.
I’m not sure I heard him right, but what I imagine I heard was, “Avenge us.” I’ve been trying to ever since.
I clear my throat and look at Angelo. His face is still an unreadable mask. “Yeah, I have some experience with that. And all the bloodshed involved.”
“I heard you lost your father and brother and were made to work for the guy who killed them to stay alive,” he says. “Is that right?”
“Not entirely. I’d have gladly laid down my life for the family too. I agreed to the deal and worked for the guy to protect my sister. So she wouldn’t be killed.”
Angelo nods and perhaps I see a glimpse of something on his face. Understanding, possibly. Definitely not compassion. There’s none of that in his black eyes.
“So you have a soft spot for women,” he says. “That explains your objections to killing the Codelli women.”
“That and the fact that they’re all fine as hell,” I say and laugh at my own little joke. “No use destroying such prime meat.”
Am I the only thing standing between Angelo and Goldie’s death?
If that’s so I’m not getting out of the way. That much I know.
We ride onto a bridge, the car jerking in spite of its good suspension system, and Angelo lights his cigar again.
“I never had much time for women, personally,” he says. “More trouble than they’re worth.”
“They’re mostly trouble, I’ll give you that,” I say and crack the window to let out some of the smoke.
He gives me a weird, pointed look, but doesn’t tell me to close it again. The fresh, or relatively fresher, air feels like a balm for my stinging eyes and throat.
“But my mother would never forgive me for killing a woman in my war, may she rest in peace,” he says and makes the sign of the cross over his chest. “So I’ve decided that you’re right. We won’t kill them. We’ll just marry them off.”
According to my sister, that’s a fate worse than death.
But I don’t say that. I just nod and wonder if he’ll let me keep Goldie.
But that’s a bridge I’ll cross when we get to it.
If we do. Because I figure she’ll be gone from my mind as soon as I get to fuck her.
Like most of the other women in my life have evaporated from my mind as soon as I had them.
Once we’re off the bridge, we pull into the parking lot of a seedy-looking Italian restaurant near the river.
I’m sure it’s much nicer inside, though the grimy awning and the cracked and lopsided lettering of the name—Luigi’s—do not suggest that.
They’re suggesting we’d be better off to steer clear of it.
But I get out of the car and follow Angelo inside anyway. I’ll most likely be doing a lot of that in the next few months, following Angelo, that is. I’m still not sure it’s the best thing to do. But I truly no longer have a choice. Nor does Goldie. If I want her to live.