5. Teo
5
TEO
T he bed is empty when I wake up, and I’ve never wanted to punch myself in the face before.
Because, of course, it is. Because what was last night, if not a way for her to make me lower my guard?
Every time I think I’m in control of a situation, she goes and flips the narrative somehow. One second, she's a fearless mafioso’s daughter willing to jump out a window; the next, she's a sniveling coward in need of comfort and protection. The next…
Fuck. Kissing her had been a terrible, terrible idea.
I really thought, for a moment at least, that she’d felt it, too. It was because of the way my heart seemed to jumpstart under the sheer force of electricity that exploded between us.
Her face, her longing…she’d made a fool out of me. Distracted me with that kiss, that open invitation to take her, to own her.
I don’t know where the sex ended and the attraction began, but every time I think about it, that line gets blurrier.
And now? I’m left with an empty bed and one hell of a lot of explaining to do.
I openly threatened her and her brother, Gave away my intentions with the Prince’s Hand, then lost my only bargaining chip because I’m a sucker for mouthy blondes who know how to put me in a chokehold.
God. If she wasn’t a Natali…
I cut off that train of thought. It won’t get me anywhere good, and I have more than enough things to do today without thinking about all the ways I would let someone—who looked exactly like Isabella but absolutely was not Isabella—fuck me.
“Yeah?” Dante picks up the phone after only a couple of rings.
“Call a meeting at the compound in two hours. I don’t care how hungover everyone is, they’ll be there.”
If Dante groans, he does an exceptional job of hiding it. “Sure thing, boss.”
“Don’t call me that. I don’t get off on it like Rocco did.”
“You’re sure already giving orders like him.”
I hang up without another word, scrubbing some life back into my face with my other hand. This is going to be a long day.
Only the bridal party was staying at the Plaza Hotel last night, so I’m not surprised that I recognize a couple of bleary-eyed faces having breakfast when I head down to the reception area to check out.
Most of them send me a respectful nod before turning back to their coffees. But one breaks away from the pack to approach me.
“Martino,” I greet the giant of a man warmly.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get the chance to congratulate you last night.” Martino slaps me on the arm, Entirely unaware that the gesture feels like getting smacked by a truck.
“Wouldn’t want to distract anyone from the bride.”
Martino’s smile wavers slightly. “Listen, Teo. I, er…I’ve been working for Rocco for five years now, and without him, I?—”
I raise my hand to stop him. “I’m going to need all the muscle I can get. You want to be my driver? Job’s yours.”
His face splits into a familiar grin. “You in deep already, boss?”
Yes, I don’t say. “Don’t call me boss.”
Martino salutes me mockingly. “Need a lift to the Guild meeting?”
“Please. I have a few calls to make.”
By the time Martino pulls up to the compound, Marco Chiavari is already waiting at the entrance for me.
I don’t break my stride as I greet the older man. “I didn’t see you at the wedding.”
“My daughter seemed to have everything under control,” Marco replies.
“Do you have any plans for her?” I ask.
Marco is silent for a few beats as we pass by the garage and the unsubtle stares of a few low-level goons hanging out there.
“Mia is her own person,” Marco finally announces. “She works for me on a freelance basis, nothing more. As far as I’m aware, she’s comfortable bartending at the Candelabra and keeping an eye on things.”
“She would be a strong asset to the Guild’s inner circle.”
Marco suddenly grabs my arm, pulling me to a stop. “You will not force her into this life.”
“She already has one foot in it.”
“One foot in the damn grave, boy,” Marco counters venomously. “Rocco had the good sense to stay out of it. I thought better of you.”
I regard the older man for a moment. He's the oldest surviving member of the Guild and perhaps the one that is most able to command the respect of his peers.
To demand something from him would be an insult, not only to the man, but to the legacy of the Guild itself. And we both know it.
Only, if I am to distinguish myself from my predecessor, I must rise to the challenge presented.
“I surely think that’s her own decision to make, is it not?”
Marco’s grip tightens. “You do not want to make an enemy of me, Vitale. Not when half the people in that room are looking for any excuse to overthrow you.”
His eyes dart toward the meeting room door. Behind it sits a dozen or so of the Guild’s inner circle. They are masters of their respective crafts and territories, many have been in the game from the moment they drew breath and will likely remain so until their last.
“Then I suppose you have an incentive, then,” I say quietly. “To ensure they do not.”
The implication immediately makes the vein in Marco’s temple twitch dangerously.
The truth is, I need Marco in my pocket. Without his line of funding, one that he rigorously and ruthlessly maintains on behalf of the Guild, the entire operation is compromised.
Rocco was always fond of the man, but he’s not going to be around forever. He needs to choose a successor. And if it’s not Mia, then I need to know now so I can begin to make preparations.
We give each other a long look, both unsure of how far we can push the other.
I save us both the headache and walk away.
The noise that hits me when I enter the meeting room is all groans and complaints.
More than half the seats at the table are filled with men and women braced in some kind of recovery position. Those who aren’t are throwing me unpleasant looks as I stride through the room and take my seat at the head of the table.
Martino quietly follows behind, standing just behind my left shoulder as if nothing has changed at all.
This seems to have an immediate effect on the group. Those capable of doing so sit up a little taller, shooting wary glances at those around them.
The only person who seems entirely at ease with the situation is Dante, who has one arm flung over the back of his chair as he picks at his nails.
“Thank you for meeting here on such short notice,” I begin, and the room immediately falls silent.
There’s a groan, and then, “Fuck you.”
My head snaps to the culprit.
Alessandro has his arms crossed on the table, his head buried within them. The last time I saw him, he was already drunk out of his mind. The hangover clearly isn’t doing him any favors now.
“Did the future of the Guild cut into your beauty sleep, Alessandro?” I counter smoothly.
This earns me a few chuckles from the group.
He twists his face to look at me, seemingly only capable of cracking one eye at a time. “You could have given a guy a warning.”
“You think I had a warning?” I snap. “I found out I was to command the Guild the moment the rest of you did.”
This leaves a beat of stunned silence. “How can that be true? You were his second, his best man, for fucks sake.”
There’s the scrape of a chair, and Marco finally takes his seat. “I think I speak for all of us here when I say that this news does not instill much confidence in your capacity for leadership.”
I quirk an eyebrow. “Perhaps, Marco, you mean to say you would not have been so ill-prepared had Rocco named you don.”
“Well,” Marco coughs. “It was never my ambition. Given the timeframe, perhaps I would be able to come up with a strategy within the week.”
“A week?”
He nods.
I look around the table, meeting everyone's eye. “Would a week satisfy you all? Do you believe any one of you could complete a strategy for the Guild within a week?”
There’s a grumble of general consensus.
It’s Dante who speaks up next, a smirk already on his face. “Is this the timeframe you expect us to give you, Teo?”
I smirk back. “Of course not.”
“You want longer?” Alessandro sneers.
“No,” I reply as I open my laptop and hit send. “I won’t need any time at all.”
A chorus of pings and vibrations reverberates through the room as everyone checks their phones, tablets, and laptops.
I watch in satisfaction as each person reads the message with increasing disbelief.
“What you have just received is a thirty-five-page document on the first phase of our new trajectory,” I declare.
“To dismantle Giuliano Moretti’s list,” Marco finishes for me, eyes wide as he scans through the document himself.
I nod. “The list has put constraints on our operations for too long. As of today, our first priority is to undo the damage that has been done.”
“The old guard won’t agree to this,” Alessandro mutters, having finally lifted his head up from the table. “They’ve benefitted from the list too much.”
“The old guard is no longer protected by the list,” I say. “Today, they will all be retired.”
“Including me?” Marco asks, and the tension in the room immediately rises.
I regard him for a moment. “Would you say you’ve benefited from Giuliano Moretti’s protection?”
“I’d forsake that if it means we can burn that damn list to ash.”
I smile, and the room lets out a collective breath. “Second order of business: Amos Rubio and the cartel can no longer trade on Guild territory. Including the Electrix club on fifth.”
Someone actually laughs at this, followed by something that sounds suspiciously like “fucking finally”.
“Third, Oswald, I need you to contact demolition. I want the Electrix gone in a fortnight. The Candelabra will act as the official front for the Guild as of today.”
The shadiest club this side of the East River was a perpetual thorn in the Guild’s side. It was our biggest moneymaker by a long stretch, but also a cesspool of leaks and under-the-table business that we had never been able to control.
As far as I’m aware, none of the inner circle use it as a base of operations, choosing instead to conduct their business in the esteemed music lounge, the Candelabra.
The Electrix is just a liability. A few drunk grunts give away secrets they shouldn’t know, and our enemies get the upper hand. It’s happened more times than any of us would care to admit.
“That’s all well and good, Teo. But where is our capital coming from?”
I look over at Marco. “What’s the status of the property Rocco purchased?”
“He signed the paperwork before he left. Still under construction, but the architect has finished the legwork,” Marco replies dutifully. “A new club could be completed before the end of the year.”
“Scrap the club. We’re building a casino.”
You could hear a pin drop in the aftermath of my statement.
“Boss, the Prince’s Hand?—”
“Are no longer allies of the Guild,” I declare. “For too long, they have monopolized the market, and we have enough real estate in Brooklyn to be a serious competitor.”
“You’re going to antagonize them,” Dante comments. It’s more of a gleeful observation than a warning of any kind.
I smirk back. “I want Ida Natali’s head on a pike.”
“She hasn’t been seen since her husband’s funeral,” someone points out, head buried in their laptop. “Our last contact with the Prince’s Hand was a few months ago. We let Leon Natali, the new don, use our docks for something he was importing.”
“Any idea what?”
They shake their heads.
I think about this a moment. “I want someone tracking Leon Natali’s location at all times. Eventually, he’ll slip up and lead us to Ida.”
“What about Isabella?” Dante asks innocently.
I glare at him, daring him to say something else. He just waggles his eyebrows.
There are more than a few questioning looks between us when I stand up.
“Leave Isabella Natali to me.”