Chapter 19 Matteo
MATTEO
He got to her somehow. I could feel it in my bones, even before Valerio briefed me on how the day went with her.
I knew the moment I saw her last night, when she tried to pretend nothing was wrong and failed spectacularly. Her smile wasn’t dim. It was wounded, shaken.
And when she touched her throat for the third time in five minutes over dinner last night, I knew something had happened in that store.
At first, I wanted to tear Valerio apart. He was supposed to watch her as if she were the most precious thing walking this earth—because she is.
But then I saw the footage.
And right under his nose, Giacomo was able to slip through. The footage from the store told me everything I needed to know. The asshole wanted me to know he was there. He made no attempt to hide his face from the cameras. He even turned and winked at one of them before leaving.
Valerio hates himself right now. He’s a soldier, and he lives by his orders and missions—and this one was damn near a failure.
Giacomo could have killed her. But he didn’t.
And now the real question is: why didn’t he kill her?
I think that’s the point he’s trying to prove. Giacomo wants to show me that he can get to her, that she’s still under his thumb.
Well, fuck that.
I don’t ask her about it. I don’t even bring up the boutique again. Mullier will never see another cent from me. I’ll message their director and let him know our little deal is done.
I look across my desk at my second. His muscles are tense as he stares blankly at the hardwood floor.
“You made a mistake, Rio.”
His head snaps up. “I can’t afford mistakes, Matteo. I’m your general—the one you call to get shit done. I almost got her… fuck, shit.”
I was angry at him too, but then I remembered how slippery Giacomo is. He’s like a roach—sliding through cracks, evading every hit until you finally crush him dead.
“She’s alive, and that’s what matters.” I lean back in my chair and look out the floor-to-ceiling windows of my office. “How is the woman?”
“Janette?”
I nod.
“She squealed everything. Turns out her brother got caught up in some business involving Giacomo. Some real shady shit that could get him locked up by the CIA. Giacomo threatened to release the evidence, and then her brother goes away for life.”
Typical tactic.
“So where are we with that?”
Valerio stretches his arms, his body still riddled with stress and tension. “We got her and her brother one-way tickets to Australia and new identities. In exchange, he gave us some much-needed intel on Giacomo’s… undercover ventures.”
The trafficking. Girls. He’s a truly sick and twisted individual.
“How quickly can we get him out of the city?” I ask. “I want as much distance between him and Beatrice as possible. I don’t even think a new state will be enough. I need him on a different continent.”
Valerio doesn’t miss a beat. “I’ve been working on that.”
He tosses a slim folder onto the table. Inside: flight logs, surveillance shots, forged communications.
“There’s a mess brewing in Marseille,” he says. “Or at least… there will be.”
I raise a brow.
“One of his foreign assets is about to get very nervous,” Valerio adds.
“A betrayal. A crack in a deal that funds the majority of his operations. If this deal looks like it’s tanking, he’ll fly to France to handle it personally.
This account is one he can’t afford to lose.
If he does, he can kiss whatever fraudulent empire he’s built goodbye. ”
And this is why you don’t build kingdoms on sand. I always knew the foundation of his empire would never hold.
I flip through the folder. “And how do we make sure he hears about it?”
“I have a guy in his circle. Luca Bellanti. Gambler, drunk, easily bought—nothing a couple thousand won’t fix. He’s going to leak just enough to get Giacomo on a plane by Friday.”
“Too slow,” I mutter.
Valerio smirks. “Then we’ll tell him I’m in France.”
I look at him. “You?”
“I’ll be the phantom problem. Our mole will feed him intel that I’m brokering a deal to poach Marseille out from under him.
And you can work your magic here—start the whispers about you securing a major deal with the French.
After what you’ve done with the Polynesians and the Irish, I don’t see why people won’t buy it.
The French are the one thing Giacomo has over everyone; it’s his one ‘claim to fame,’ so to speak. ”
I muse over the idea, and the more I think about it, the more I like it.
“He’ll bite,” Valerio assures me.
“Of course he will. He’s arrogant and he’s possessive. Two things that make men easy to manipulate.” And like I’ve been saying from the beginning, men like Giacomo—greedy and drunk on power—never last in our world.
I lean back in my chair, letting the plan settle into place.
“And how do we ensure he stays put in France? A rumor is one thing, but he needs to get there and find an actual issue. There needs to be some instability.”
“Already working on it.” Valerio reaches for a black folder on the chair beside him and tosses it onto the desk.
“Pierre Hadjar. Half-Saudi, half-French. The Le Brisé—a French syndicate based in Nice—have been on edge about the ‘hybrid prince.’ That’s what they call Pierre.
We can use him. He hates the Marseille group—old family wounds.
He’ll have no problem starting a little war in exchange for us doing business with him. ”
Immediately, I’m put off. “You know I don’t want to meddle with the French.”
“A small price to pay. And besides, he’s not full French.” Valerio tries to soften my resistance. “This is our best shot at getting Giacomo out of the city for a long stretch. Think of Beatrice and the baby.”
Bastard. He knows exactly what he’s doing. The moment he mentions those two, my resolve shifts.
“Fine,” I wave him off. “But I want no part of their civil war bleeding into my city.”
“I promise, boss.”
I flip through the file, scanning the documentation. The French have made a mess of things over there, but this is the perfect cover we need.
“How do we ensure we have eyes and ears on the ground?”
Valerio nods. “I’ve got men at the airport. We control the driver. We planted two of our own in his security rotation and a couple more at his place in Paris. All have been bought off—and those who couldn’t be have been threatened successfully. We have the upper hand.”
I nod slowly. “Good. How soon can we send the message?”
Valerio whips out a burner and waves it. “How about right now?”
“Do it.”
He types quickly, then turns the phone toward me. I grab it and read the screen.
Then I pull out my own burner and send the final message:
Marseille is slipping. Your boys are selling pieces of the deal behind your back.
Word is Matteo’s name is on the contract.
You’d better get out there before you lose more than respect.
“Do you want to do the honors?”
I hit send and toss the burner back to Valerio.
“He’ll be on the move within 24 to 48 hours. He’ll ask Luca, of course—that’s his point of contact in France.”
Valerio’s voice cuts through the air like a blade. His expression is calm, but I know him better than anyone. He’s on edge, with a point to prove. He’s still carrying the weight of the boutique incident, trying to make up for what he views as a failure.
He doesn’t have to.
I lift my gaze from the table. “How sure?”
Valerio flicks his wrist. “I’d stake my life on it, boss.”
I exhale once. I won’t breathe easier until that bastard is off American soil.
“But while he’s away,” I say, leaning back in my chair, “I think we should pay some of his establishments a visit.”
Valerio’s lips curl into a sinister smirk, eyes glinting with understanding. “You read my mind, brother.”
Giacomo will rue the day he ever laid hands on my woman.
Now he will atone for everything he’s done—even if I have to drag him to hell myself.
Game on, motherfucker.