16. Matteo
SIXTEEN
Matteo
Two days later…
Navigating through the cluttered streets of the deteriorating neighborhood, I pull up to Mark's building. It's late morning, the city bustling around me, yet here, there's a palpable sense of decay, of lives hanging in the balance. As I make my way up the creaky stairs to his apartment, I ready myself in case he tries to run again.
Twice I’ve almost caught him and twice he’s got away. Not this time. It ends now.
I kick the door in. There stands Mark, looking as worn and frayed as the building he's living in, bowl of cereal in his hands. His lack of surprise at seeing me doesn't mask the fear in his eyes.
“Enough running,” I say. “Sit.”
He slumps into a chair. “If you’re here to kill me, get it over with, I’m too hungover for any yelling.”
“I’m not here to kill you,” I say, keeping my tone neutral. The smell of stale alcohol and neglect hits me as I walk further in.
He eyes me warily as I stand in the middle of the room. “Why have you been chasing me if not to kill me?”
“We need to talk about your daughter.”
“What about her?” he asks, his voice filled with anxiety. “Is she all right? Did you hurt her?” He straightens his back as if he could fight me. I find myself admiring him a little. Even though I could break his spine in an instant, he still wants to defend his daughter.
“She is the reason you’re alive,” I say. “She sees something in you I don’t. But that aside, your recent interaction with Petrovitch’s men hasn't gone unnoticed.”
He stiffens, his gaze sharpening. “I didn't tell him anything, if that's what you're worried about.”
“I’ve been talking to people, about the deal you made months back, the one that cost you your money.”
“What about it?”
“You never mentioned it was related to decryption. Hobby of yours?”
“Nothing came of it. If you want to buy the package, I can’t help you. Without funding I could never get it to work.”
“Why didn’t Petrovitch offer to fund it?”
“He didn’t know. The guys I met worked for him but they had no idea what they were stealing. They just wanted a mug. They bled me dry so they could hire me later to move the case. I was used, Matteo. Doesn’t feel good, being used, I can tell you. I let my kids down. I was just trying to make that right.”
I can’t help but smile. “So the one man who could help him decrypt the file in the case moved it and never got a look at it?”
“File? What file? Is that what was in the suitcase? Something encrypted?”
I nod. “I’m choosing to trust you here. It goes against every instinct I have but your daughter believes in you and I believe in her so I’m going to make you an offer and I seriously suggest you take it.”
He scoffs, a bitter sound. “Since when do you care about my well-being?”
“I care about Emma” I reply earnestly. “I’m giving you a chance to start over. My therapist worked with Amelia. Got her moving outside the apartment again.”
“What? That’s wonderful.”
“I’m offering you a chance too. Rehab, a clean slate.” I explain, watching him closely. His face remains unreadable, but there's a slight easing of the tension in his shoulders. “I pay for you to get clean. You see a psychiatrist I hire, deal with the grief that’s still choking you.” I nod at his widening eyes. “I’ve been where you’ve been. I know how much it hurts to lose someone you love but you can’t drink your way out of it. You have to man up and take the pain, do the right thing.”
“And what's the catch?” His voice is laden with a lifetime of disappointments.
“No catch. Just a father who's present and sober. She needs that, Mark. And deep down, I think you want it.” The words are not just a strategy but a genuine attempt to reach out to him. “You could run to Petrovitch and decrypt that file. Fuck over everything I’ve worked to build for the last five years. Or you could be the man your daughter thinks you could be and get sober, be a part of her life again.”
He's silent for a long moment, his eyes wandering around the cramped space that represents his current life. Finally, he looks up at me, something like resolve—or perhaps desperation—flashing in his eyes. “And if I agree, what happens?”
“You go to rehab. You get clean. And when you're out, you'll have a chance to be a part of her life again but sober. The pain doesn’t leave you but you face it head on. You confront reality instead of trying to avoid it.”
He nods slowly, a flicker of hope igniting in his weary eyes. “I think I’d prefer it if you’d shot me,” he murmurs, and it's the most commitment I've heard in his voice since we started talking. “I don’t know who you are anymore. I thought I knew the kind of man I was dealing with. This is unexpected. What’s going on?”
“I need to know what you’ve been to see Petrovitch about. I know he’s questioned you. Did he mention your decryption skills?”
“He had me brought to him. Wanted to know why you married Emma.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That I had no idea. He told me to go away and find out before this deal goes through.” His brows furrow as if he’s just worked something out. “The deal. That real estate deal that’s been in the news. It’s you versus him, isn’t it? That file has something to do with it. What’s in that file?”
“You don’t need to know. Where does Petrovitch want the next meeting to be?” My heart beats faster at the thought I might finally be able to track down the son of a bitch.
“He’s at a charity ball at the Manhattan Museum tonight.” He pulls a gun out from under the chair. I’m already moving for it when he smiles, putting it on the table next to him. “I was going to shoot him before he could kill me.”
“You were going to kill a Russian gangster? In public? Are you insane?”
“I thought if he was dead, you might let me live. Hell, even if I died doing it, it would mean Emma was safe.”
“Why didn’t you try to shoot me when I came in? I had no idea that gun was hidden under there.”
“Because my daughter married you.” He smiles. “She’s seen something in you, even if I haven’t. She’s no fool. She wouldn’t marry you for no reason.”
“What if I forced her?”
“Have you ever tried to force my daughter to do anything? If she married you, it’s because she wanted to. And if she wanted to, it’s because she sees a man inside you, even if the world sees a monster.”
He slides the gun my way. “So I say again, if you want to kill me, go ahead and do it. I’m too tired and too hungover to run anymore. And if you don’t kill me, Petrovitch surely will when he finds out I’m your father in law.”
“I said, I’m not going to kill you. But if you want to help your daughter and me, there’s a better way you can do it.”
The sun is setting in a blaze of orange and red, casting long shadows over the grandiose facade of the Manhattan Museum.
The air is crisp, carrying a chill that hints at the approaching night. As I help Emma from the car, the distant chatter of the assembled elite drifts toward us, a mix of laughter and the clinking of champagne filled glasses.
Inside, the atmosphere is thick with anticipation and subtle machinations. Crystal chandeliers hang from high ceilings, casting a soft glow over the faces of the city's most influential figures.
Every detail of the event is meticulously curated, from the intricate floral arrangements to the orchestra's soft melodies weaving through the air, creating a veneer of civility over the underlying currents of competition and greed. Money is being raised here for charity but far more is changing hands in quiet deals in hidden corners.
As we mingle, I can feel Emma’s tension beside me. Despite the warmth of her hand in mine, her other arm is wrapped tightly around herself, a shield against the overwhelming opulence and the press of bodies. I lean in, whispering, “Just stay close to me. It'll be over soon.”
“Why are we here?” she asks. “Will you tell me now?”
I can see the effort it costs her to maintain composure. My attention is split; part of me is tuned to her discomfort, wanting nothing more than to ease her anxiety, but the larger part is focused on the crowd, searching for Petrovitch, the man whose moves I need to anticipate next.
“There’s someone I’m looking for,” I say. I don’t tell her that if Petrovitch is here, that means Mark can hunt for the suitcase while he’s occupied.
As we navigate through the crowd, a sharp, disdainful voice cuts through the low hum of conversation. To my surprise, it isn’t Petrovitch.
“Well, if it isn't the kingpin and his little pet project,” sneers a man in a sleek, tailored suit, his eyes raking over her with thinly veiled contempt. I recognize him immediately as Petrovitch's second in command.
My heart sinks. If he’s here, that means Petrovitch isn’t coming. Has he guessed the plan? Has his sixth sense for danger saved him yet again? I dig my cellphone out and type a quick message, hitting send as Vlad starts up again.
“I thought she’d be better looking,” he continues. “Is that really the best you could do?”
His words are like a match struck in a room full of gasoline. Before I can censor my reaction, I step toward him, my voice low and dangerous. “Apologize to her, Vlad. Now.”
His sneer widens, his gaze shifting to meet mine, clearly underestimating the threat. “Or what? You'll kill me in front of all these people? I don’t think so.”
“Vlad?” Emma says. “As in Vlad Gregorivitch. I knew I recognized you. You’re the one who tried to kidnap my sister.” She lunges for him but he shoves her back into my arms.
“Control your woman, Matteo,” he snaps. “Doesn’t she know this is a man’s world?”
With a swift motion, my hand shoots out, grabbing him by the collar and pulling him close, my other fist connecting with his face with a satisfying crack. The sound is sharp, a punctuation in the soft murmur of the gala. Blood trickles from his nose, spattering the pristine marble floor, as he stumbles back, shock and pain registering on his face.
Around us, the crowd draws back, a circle of space forming, their faces a mix of horror and fascination. Emma tugs at my arm, her voice urgent. “Let's just go. Please.”
Regaining my composure, I release him, straightening my jacket as I turn to her. “We leave when I say,” I snap, turning back to Vlad. “Your boss is using you,” I say. “You’re just too dumb to see it.”
He wipes blood from his nose, glaring at me with hatred in his eyes. “You’re a fucking psycho, Matteo. I’ll be glad when he wins this deal. Stomps on you like the cockroach you are.”
Emma is trying to drag me away but my feet are fixed in place. “You tell your boss if he walks away now, I’ll let him live.”
He barks out a cold laugh. “You think we’re scared of you? You Italians think you run this place. You don’t. We do.”
“Please,” Emma says, tugging at my arm. “People are watching.”
I look around me, seeing the eyes staring at me and Vlad. “Let’s just go,” she continues. “Please.”
I let her guide me through the crowd. If I stay any longer, I’ll kill him and that’s what Petrovitch wants. I kill Vlad in front of all these people and I’m in custody when the deal goes through. Even a mob boss can’t murder someone in front of an entire building filled with people.
“Your girl calls the shots, I see,” Vlad shouts after me. “Got you whipped, has she? Controlled by a cunt, aren’t you? Literally.”
“Trust me,” she says. “I have to tell you something.” Her eyes are wide with urgency, a silent plea etched into her gaze. I follow her lead, weaving between the clusters of shocked guests, the murmur of their conversations a dull roar in my ears.
“What are you doing?” I ask, once we're a safe distance away, my voice low to keep our conversation private.
She slows, turning to face me. Her expression is determined, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “In front of everyone is one thing but alone and out of sight? You might just get away with it. He’s following us.”
I can’t help but smile. “You fit into my world better than you think.”
“I want justice for my sister.”
“Justice or revenge?”
“A wise man told me they were the same thing not too long ago.”
I scan the shadows behind us, the hint of a figure lurking just beyond the light confirming her words. My mind races, piecing together her intentions. “You know my kind of justice doesn’t go through the courts.”
She meets my gaze, her voice steady. “We tried the courts. He paid his way free. Now I want him to pay for what he did to Amelia.”
I nod, understanding the depth of her pain. We continue walking, the figure of Vlad growing bolder in his pursuit as the crowd thins. The moment we round a corner I shove open a door. It leads into a deserted alleyway. Perfect. I stop and turn, seeing Vlad pull a gun from beneath his coat as he emerges, expecting us to be looking the other way.
In a flash, I'm on him. My hand grabs his, shoving the gun away as I twist his arm behind his back, the snap of bone nearly drowned out by his scream of agony. “Controlled by a cunt?” I hiss into his ear. “You talk of my wife like that and expect to live?”
Vlad groans, pain distorting his features. “Stop... please,” he gasps, his plea directed at Emma. “Your man is starting a war. You’ll never be safe again!”
Emma steps forward, her voice cold. “You deserve this and more, Vlad. You remember Amelia Thompson? You tried to traffic her off the streets. You walked free for that crime but you’ll pay for it tonight.”
“Kill me, and it's war,” Vlad grits out, pain and defiance mixing in his strained voice.
I tighten my grip, my other hand clenching into a fist. “Only if they find you,” I reply, before landing a final, crushing blow. As he staggers, I grab him around the neck. One loud crack and his body goes limp in my arms. With a swift movement, I drag him to the nearby dumpster, disposing of the pathetic threat he posed.
“What if they find him?” Emma asks as I shut the lid.
“I’ll have three men here in ten minutes. There’s a pig farm upstate. The only thing left will be his teeth by morning. As far as Petrovitch is concerned, his man’s missing. By the time he gets suspicious, he’ll be dead.”
Turning back to her, the adrenaline slowly receding, I'm met with a complex mix of emotions on her face. She steps close, her hands reaching up to frame my face, her touch gentle.
“I guess your world isn't all bad,” she whispers, pulling me down for a deep, affirming kiss. Her gratitude is palpable.
As I hold her, the weight of our actions settling around us, I realize the true depth of our bond. Emma isn't just living in my world; she's shaping it with me, understanding the hard choices and standing by me through them. This isn't just my fight anymore; it's ours, and together, we could be unstoppable.
We arrive back at our place, the tension from the gala still clinging to us like a stubborn mist. The drive had been quiet, too quiet, each lost in our own whirl of thoughts. Once inside, I lead her to the living room where we both take a seat on opposite ends of the plush sofa, the distance between us more than just physical.
I take a deep breath, breaking the silence. “I know what you saw tonight was hard,” I begin, searching for the right words to explain the darker parts of my world, the parts I've shielded her from as much as I could.
She looks up, her eyes weary but searching. “What are you hiding from me?” she asks.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Tell me, please. I think I have a right to know. I’m your wife.”
“Fine. I spoke to your father but I didn’t hurt him before you ask. He told me Petrovitch was going to be at this event tonight. Looks like he played me and your father. Hoped I’d kill Vlad in front of everyone, make me look bad to the appropriations committee. He gets the deal. Would have worked if it wasn’t for you being there.”
“What would you have done if Petrovitch had showed up? Killed him in front of everyone?”
I shake my head. “If he was where I could see him, that meant his places were accessible. That meant the suitcase could be found.”
“So you planned to steal the file back while he was in your eye line?” Her eyes widen as something clicks in her head. “Did you send my dad to steal it back?” She gasps. “But if Petrovitch is at home, he could get killed. You need to warn him.”
“Did that as soon as I saw Vlad. And your father wanted to do it. To right the wrong he made when he moved the case.”
“You put my father in danger for your precious deal. Is that all that matters to you?”
“Not for the deal. To protect you. If he cracks that file, he runs this city. I’ll be firefighting day and night just to keep you alive. Get the file back and our problems are solved.”
“Then why not hire someone else to get it back?”
“Because I can’t trust anyone else. Your father has a vested interest and he knows what the case looks like.”
She frowns. “And you trust my father? You said he was nothing more than a drunk.”
“You believe in him. I wanted to try. My world, it’s built on certain realities. Realities I can’t change overnight. It’s dog eat dog.”
She shifts, turning to face me more directly. “But do you ever wonder if it could change. For something better, I mean?”
The question hangs heavy in the air. I’ve asked myself the same thing countless times since meeting her. “Every day,” I confess. “And every day, it’s a battle. You’ve seen me, the sides I’m not proud of. But I’m not willing to give up control, not entirely. It’s who I am, who I have to be.”
Her expression falters, a small frown creasing her forehead. “Even if it means losing me?”
It’s a direct hit, her words piercing the armor I wear so habitually. “I hope it doesn’t come to that,” I say quietly. “But I’m not lying to you. He wanted to help, for you.”
“And you let him? He could be dead right now.”
“It was a gamble and it failed, all right. I sent him a message as soon as I saw Vlad, called it off. I guessed what Petrovitch was doing. Didn’t work though. Vlad’s dead and no one can link his death to me. Your dad’s heading back home. Time for Plan B.”
She examines me like she’s never seen the real me before. “And that makes it all okay, does it?”
“I’m leaving for a few days,” I say, changing the subject slightly but knowing it’s all part of the same tangled web. “Business. When I get back, I want your decision. Whether you’re staying with me or not. This is me, this is who I am. Accept it or not, that’s up to you. Just know that everything I’ve done has been to protect you.”
“I’d rather you didn’t get into a fistfight in front of the whole of New York’s high society.”
“Oh, so I embarrass you, is that it?”
“That’s not what I said. You’re putting words in my mouth.”
“Not for much longer if you don’t want. When I get back, you tell me if we’re staying together or not.”
“You make it sound like you want it to end.”
Her words are a gut punch, hitting directly through all my barriers. Part of me does want it to end. I can’t change who I am. She clearly can’t handle that. Maybe it would be better if we parted. My control would swallow her sooner or later. Already her purity and innocence has been sullied by my actions.
She stands to leave the room, pausing at the doorway. “I hope you find what you’re looking for while you’re away,” she says, not turning around. “Because I’m not sure you’ll find it here.”
As she disappears from view, I’m left alone, the echo of her words filling the space. In the silence, I confront the possibility that my inability to change might cost me the very thing, the very person, I’ve come to value above all else.
It’s a stark realization, one that leaves me questioning if perhaps, in my insistence on remaining in control, I’ve already sealed both of our fates.