2. Matteo
TWO
Matteo
“Don't scream,” I say as I clamp my hand over her mouth.
The noise growing in her throat cuts off as she stares at the gun in my hand.
The plan was simple: get in, kill Mark Thompson, get out. Except, nothing about this is simple anymore.
She woke up as I moved through her room and I’ve got to stop her before she warns him. I can’t have him running.
I look into her eyes and I’ve seen them somewhere before. Then it hits me. The girl from the bookstore. The one who made me stop dead and stare in through the window.
The first woman to make my cold dead heart feel anything since my parents died ten years ago. Fate sure has a sick sense of humor. She’s in the apartment of the man I’m here to kill.
She stares up at me with those fear filled eyes, her beauty striking me like a physical blow. It's like looking at a light so bright, it blinds me. For a moment, I see myself as she sees me, a monster in the darkness tempted by a light I have no right to touch.
It’s her innocence. That must be it. I’ve spent so long dealing with scum, I’ve forgotten what innocence looks like.
“I'm not here to hurt you,” I hear myself saying. Why do I care what she thinks? I’m here for him, she means nothing to me. Yet every fiber of my being rebels at the thought of ever causing her distress.
“Mark Thompson, where is he?” I ask, realizing she can’t answer. My hand is still clamped over her mouth. What’s going on? I’m always in control. Why am I just staring at her, wanting to tell her she’s going to be okay?
Her fear is palpable, a living, breathing thing that fills the room. She’s gasping like she’s choking. I loosen my grip, not sure if it’s a trick. She keeps gasping, her whole body shaking. “Easy,” I say, doing my best to look comforting. “Just relax. I know a panic attack when I see one. Deep breaths. In and out.”
She’s still gasping for air, her face white. The clock’s ticking. I need to get to him before he runs. “I just want to speak to your father,” I lie.
“He’s not here,” she manages to say between gasps.
“Where is he?”
“Probably out drinking somewhere,” she replies, her voice resigned.
I frown. “You’re lying. I can hear him breathing next door.”
Her breathing slows a little. “That’s my sister.”
Even better. Two daughters about to lose their father thanks to me.
“I’ve been watching this place. There’s only been you coming and going. It’s him, isn’t it? Don’t lie to me.”
“She’s got agoraphobia,” she replies, her eyes darting away, a mix of shame and protectiveness in her gaze. “She doesn’t go outside.”
Agoraphobia. The word echoes in my head. “I used to have that,” I say, no idea why I’m telling her such an intimate secret. “I’ll get my therapist to call her.” What am I going to offer her next? The key to my bank vault? “When’s your dad back?”
“I’ve no idea. Please, leave us alone. We haven’t got any money. There’s nothing in here worth stealing.”
“I can see that. What’s your name?”
“Emma.”
“Do I look like a common thief to you, Emma?”
“Please, don’t hurt me.”
I feel her words like a stab to the heart. As if I could ever hurt something so pure. “Your father stole something from me. I need it back.”
I hear keys rattling in the front door. “Don’t leave this room,” I warn her before stepping away from the bed.
She stares at me in such terror that I want to wrap her in my arms, carry her away from this shitty stinking apartment, give her the life she deserves.
Not happening. The last thing I need is a woman in my life, messing things up. I’ve got the deal of a lifetime in a week. We’re talking a billion dollars in real estate down by the river. City’s selling a load of wasteland but I’ve already got things lined up to turn it into premium office space.
Plus the deal means a chance to fuck over the man who killed my parents. That’s my focus. Not some woman, no matter how gorgeous.
I glance around her room. The place is spotless. She’s still laid on the bed, staring at me, her chest heaving. I want to tell her I’ll protect her from now on.
“Stay there,” I tell her, pulling her door closed. I glance into the kitchen as I pass. There’s a photo on the refrigerator. I recognize that. The park my parents used to go to before it got razed. Soon, that land’ll be mine along with twenty acres of pure profit. Who’s the woman in the photo? Got to be her mother. Same face.
I realize I’m just standing here when the front door swings open and I haven’t even moved.
I get to it just in time. I reach out and shove the intruding figure back into the tiny corridor outside. I don’t want to do this where she can hear me.
“Mark Thompson,” I say as I grab hold of him, lifting his body so his face is pointing straight down over the bannister. “If I let go, you fall five floors. Reckon you’ll survive?”
“Please,” he replies in a panic. “I haven’t got it.”
I lift him back up, setting him on his feet. “You know who I am and why I’m here? That’ll make this faster.”
He nods frantically. “Matteo Rossi. You’re here for the case, aren’t you?”
“No.”
He realizes at at last that he’s about to die. “Please, I had no idea it was yours. I was just paid to move it.”
“You must have a death wish, wheeling it through the streets where my people could see you.”
“They could have said it was yours, I’d have handed it over.”
“Gave them the slip, didn’t you? Knew you were being followed but didn’t know why. Who hired you?”
My face is inches from his, the stench of alcohol on his breath a bitter reminder of the man I almost became. I remember drinking like that when my parents died, trying to control the grief. Got wasted and beat two men to death just for looking at me the wrong way. That’s when I swore off the booze. I don’t mind killing men to further my business interests but losing control like that? Couldn’t let it happen again. Life is about control. Lose it and you lose everything. “Talk,” I say. “It’s your only chance.”
He looks like he’s about to confess when some sewer rat appears on the stairwell. Beady eyes, pointed nose, greasy hair. “Fuck off,” I tell him as he takes in the situation unfolding in front of him.
“He owes me three months' rent,” he whines, the desperation in his voice grating against my last nerve.
“Not anymore.” Without breaking eye contact with Mark, I pull out a wad of cash, throwing it at the rat. “That covers his rent and your poor eyesight. You saw nothing tonight, got it?”
“Sure, I saw nothing. I get it.” He nods, scooping the money up off the floor.
“Now fuck off before I break your neck.” The words are laced with a venom that sends him scuttling away like the vermin he is.
Turning my attention back to Mark, I tighten my grip on his throat. “Where is it?”
He stammers, blurting out a pathetic mess of excuses and pleas. “I don’t know,” he says at last. “I swear it.”
“Bull fucking shit. Last chance or you’re going down that stairwell head first.”
I go to lift him in the air and then I think of her. Of her face when she finds her father’s corpse. Can I do this to her? I pause for a moment, holding him, his legs kicking uselessly.
“I did have it,” he says as I’m frozen. “But I already dropped it off.” If I’d thrown him, I’d never have known.
“Where is it?”
“Please, I have kids. Don’t kill me.”
“How old are your kids?”
“Amelia’s nineteen. Emma’s twenty-two.”
“Old enough to know what a fucking idiot their father is.”
He starts to cry. “Please, don’t kill me. I’m sorry, truly I am. I was just hired to move it. I don’t know anything.”
I loosen my grip slightly. “Talk, and it better be good. Your life depends on your answer.”
Spit forms at the corner of his mouth as he panics, the words spilling out all at once. “I got conned three months back, I lost everything. Then these guys appear in the bar last night and they buy my a couple of drinks, tell me they need someone to carry a suitcase for them first thing this morning.
“Said they’d pay me twenty thousand dollars to do it. So I pick up this suitcase from a locker at Grand Central and I take it to Petrovitch’s bar, leave it in the dumpster out back like they said. Then I went back to Grand Central. They said the money would be in the locker waiting for me.”
“Let me guess, nothing there.”
“There was a note saying the case belonged to you and I better keep my mouth shut if I wanted to live. I swear If I’d known they were stealing from you, I never would have gotten involved. God help me, I just did it to help my family. I’m behind on the rent. I thought it was easy money. That’s all. I didn’t look inside the case. I just moved it.”
“Where is the case now?”
“I went back to the dumpster when I realized I wasn’t getting paid but it had already gone.”
Igor Petrovitch. The man who killed my parents though I’ve never been able to prove it. The man who thought he’d wiped out my family name, thought I was just a drunk like my father. The only other contender with enough capital to buy that land.
I should have guessed it wasn’t low level thieves who got lucky. They got past the security measures at the vault. Someone big had to fund that level of skill. I should have guessed.
I point a finger at him. “Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you.”
“I could get Petrovitch for you.”
I can’t help but laugh coldly. “The Russian mafia boss who hasn’t been seen in public for ten years. You can get him for me?”
“All right. Maybe not, but I can sure find the men who hired me. They’ll know where the case is. You want it back, right?”
I want to grab him and toss him down the stairs but I think of the angel trembling in her bedroom behind me. An idea occurs to me and I have to resist smiling. “If they’re not in my hands in twenty-four hours, I take one of your daughters.”
“Why?” he dares to ask, a flicker of paternal concern finally breaking through his terror.
I lean in closer, my voice cold. “You don’t want to know, trust me. You just concentrate on finding the men who hired you.”
I leave him to slump against the wall, the weight of his choices finally dawning on him.
I walk down the stairs, his sobbing slowly fading away. I get outside, glad to leave the stench of decay behind me. I pause, wanting to go back up and grab the girl, bring her with me.
All I would do is corrupt that innocence until there’s nothing left of it. The light so bright it was blinding would fade to darkness in my hands. She would lose everything that makes her pure.
I slide into the waiting car. Alex is in the driving seat. He moves into the traffic.
I barely register his presence. “You forget something?” he asks as we set off down the street. “Only I don’t see no suitcase in your hand.”
“Prepare St. Agatha’s for a wedding. Friday, noon.”
“You decided to marry him?” he jokes, a smirk playing on his lips. “I thought you went in there to kill him.”
I don’t laugh. “I'm marrying his daughter,” I clarify, staring out the window. “Gave him a deadline he’ll never be able to meet.”
“He’s got kids?”
“Nineteen and twenty-two.”
“Funny names.”
“Just drive the car, Alex.”
“Twenty mob families across the country offer you eligible brides and you turn them all down. Daughter of a thief who took the case and you decide she should be your wife? What gives?”
“I hold her hostage while he finds the two assholes that gave him the job. Keep his mind focused.” My voice is firm, the plan clear in my mind, even if its morality skirts the edges of dubious. “If he finds them, which I doubt, I win. I get them to confirm Petrovitch has the case. If he fails, I marry her, and go find them myself.”
“You make it sound like being stuck with the girl is a victory.”
“You haven’t seen her. I’ve never seen anyone like her before.”
“What if he runs and you never see him again?”
“He won’t run. Trust me. He cares too much about the people in his life. He took the job just to make enough money to keep them in that shitty apartment. You get the church ready.”
He nods, loyalty overriding his concern. “I’ll do that,” he says, his tone resolute. “You want a dress?”
“I look better in a suit.”