Chapter 44
Chapter Forty-Four
Apollo
Two Months Later
Matteo looks like he’s losing his mind. My youngest brother is typically full of jokes, sarcastic grins, and boyish charm. But now? He’s almost unrecognizable. He’s twitchy, and disheveled, dragging a hand through his messy head of hair like he might pull some of it out.
I’m packing up the rest of my office, getting ready to officially move into my new home with Rayna. But I keep catching sight of my brother, pacing up and down the hallway near our father’s office. As if wandering around outside the door will magically make our old man appear.
“Are you having some kind of breakdown?” I finally ask, calling out through my open door.
“Fuck you,” he huffs, one hand dragging down his face as the other clutches his phone close. “Where’s Dad?”
“Out.” I narrow my gaze, analyzing his concerning body language.
“Goddamnit.” Matteo frantically types something on his screen. “Out where? When is he coming back?”
“He went to see Emilio,” I tell him blandly. “Is there a reason you look like you’re going to pass out, or break your phone from holding it so tight?”
He starts to pace again, eyes so fixated on his cell that I think he might burn a hole into the device. “Like you give a shit.”
Internally, I wince. Matteo and I have our bickering. But he should know if he needs something, I’m never going to turn him away. He should know I’ll always be there for him, I practically fucking raised him.
“Spare me the dramatics,” I snap tightly. “Tell me what has got you so worked up. If Dad can help you, clearly I can as well. So, what is it? You’re stressing me the fuck out with all your pacing.”
His blue eyes snap to mine, trying to gauge the seriousness of my claim. He must reluctantly trust what he finds, because he blows out breath and begins to explain himself.
“Anya has gone radio silent.”
Baffled by his clipped explanation, I ask, “You’re working a dent into the floor because your little friend isn’t texting you back?”
“You’re a fucking prick,” he spits, fists clenching. “I knew you wouldn’t be helpful.” He turns to flee down the stairs and I stop him with a groan.
Give me strength.
“I’m listening, Matteo,” I say, voice firm and convincing. “Why are you freaking out that she hasn’t responded? Do you feel she may be in danger?”
He hesitates again, lips turned down into a contemplating frown. But he doesn’t leave, instead, he enters my office and approaches me slowly. “You know what happened to her, yeah?”
“I’m familiar, yes.”
Unfortunately for the poor girl, almost everyone in power is aware of the atrocities that befell her at the hands of her mother. It wasn’t something that could be kept secret, not with the rampage her father went on to punish the men who were responsible for breaking his teenage daughter.
“I’m only telling you this because I’m going out of my fucking mind right now, Apollo,” he grits out. “This stays between us. Barely anyone knows.”
I give him a firm nod, gesturing for him to continue.
“She tried to end it all…like, several times after it happened. Her Dad kept her on lockdown after the first two times, and she hasn’t tried in a year now. But when she has bad days, she still thinks about it sometimes.” He swallows hard. “She’s having a bad day, and now she’s not answering…”
Jesus fucking Christ.
This is not how I saw Matteo’s friendship with the illusive Morozov girl going. When he got permission to continue contact with her, I knew they’d become close. But sharing something so deep from such a distance? She must truly trust Matteo. And I suppose, for good reason.
Snatching my phone from the desk, I scroll through my contracts quickly and dial.
“What are you—”
I halt his question with a hand in the air and press the phone to my ear. My call is answered in three short rings.
“Anton Morozov,” I say before he can utter a word. Matteo breathes out a shaky breath. Realizing what I’m doing, he drops into the chair across from my desk, eyes wide with rapt attention.
My little brother may not have the Russian Pakhan’s phone number, but I certainly do. His direct line, in fact. Dmitri connected both myself and my father when he married Jade. For formality, and for emergencies.
“Apollo Moretti,” he greets in return, a cold hesitation in his tone. “Why are you calling me?”
“Do you have eyes on your daughter currently?”
A sharp intake of breath. “Why are you asking?”
“Check on her,” I advise, leaving no room for delay. “Matteo is concerned for her current mental and physical health.”
Russian curses fly over the line, and audible shuffling muffles through the call. Seconds pass ungodly slow, tense air thickening with every moment that goes by without answer.
Eventually, Anton’s deep voice crackles back into my ear. “She’s sleeping. She asked our doctor for her emergency medication. She has…she has never asked for it herself. If this is that boy’s doing, you tell him he is off probation.”
It’s the closest thing to a thank you we’re going to get. Anya’s father hangs up without another word, and I follow suit.
“She’s sleeping,” I say, watching as the relief washes right over Matteo’s face. “Apparently she asked her doctor for her emergency medicine?”
“She did?” he asks, a smile twitching onto his lips. “She never asks for it. Normally someone notices she’s gloomy and it’s offered, sometimes she’ll reluctantly take it because it makes her really tired. Shit, okay, that’s good.”
“He said as much. He credits you for her progress and says that you’re off probation now?”
His slight smile turns into a full blown grin. “That just means he won’t keep a hand on his gun when he sees me now. He’s starting to love me already.”
I tilt my head at him. “Are you hoping to turn him in your favor? Perhaps to become a son-in-law someday?”
His smile drops and he clears his face of any emotion. “We’re just friends. It isn’t like that.”
Matteo doesn’t want me to see him react to the implication, interesting.
I shrug casually. “Whatever you say.”
“Thank you, for helping,” he mumbles, scratching the back of his head. “You’re not so bad, when you want to be.”
“Perhaps married life is softening me,” I suggest, attempting to lighten the mood. “Rayna calls me a prick enough for the both of you. I have no need to irritate you on purpose.”
“Dad says we argue because we’re fundamentally different,” he tells me, unsure of the words like he doesn’t quite believe them. “But I don’t think I’m similar to any of our brothers, and we all get along fine.”
“They didn’t help raise you,” I reply slowly, attempting to explain my understanding of our strained relationship. “I took our mother’s—”
“Alina,” he cuts in like a correction. “Don’t call her my mom.”
There’s so much hurt in his eyes that I almost wince.
“Alina, then,” I continue. “I took Alina’s place in your life, and unfortunately, that meant you ended up with my teenage version of nurturing.
You took nothing seriously, and I needed you to grow up so that I didn’t have to worry about you so much.
I made you strong, and I would feel bad about it, but Dad let you be yourself where I didn’t. ”
He frowns, contemplating.
“I was concerned that your boisterous personality would get you killed some day. I wanted you to be able to protect yourself. But Dad always knew that you could be lively and lethal. I didn’t understand it, so I wasn’t perfect.
I still don’t understand it, but I hope you can see that I’ve improved.
I thought our arguments have become more banter than anything else over the years, but correct me if I’m wrong. ”
“Maybe you’re not wrong,” he mumbles, sounding almost reluctant.
“You should know that you can come to me with stuff like this,” I remind him slowly. “I would be a shitty Capo and a shitty brother if you felt like I wouldn’t help you if you needed it. Our personalities clash, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t love you.”
“Fuck, I wish I was recording that.” Matteo’s face lights up, his typical joy making a grand return. “No one will believe me without proof. Matteo Moretti, Apollo’s favorite brother.”
“I literally didn’t say that.”
“That’s not what I heard,” he sings, smirking. “Leon and Cassio are going to be so crushed when I tell them they’ve been replaced.”
I huff, pinching the bridge of my nose. “They won’t believe you.”
He rubs his hands together, a mischievous look in his eye. “We’ll see.”
“How about you start helping me carry these boxes downstairs instead of plotting whatever scheme you have brewing in your mayhem brain.”
“Fine,” he pouts. “But only because helping you is proof that you need me.” Matteo snatches up a couple of boxes and leaves the room before I can correct his ridiculous assumption.
I can’t believe I’m going to miss dealing with him everyday.
Who am I kidding? I groan. He’ll be letting himself into my new home on a daily basis in no time.