7. Matteo
CHAPTER 7
MATTEO
M olly’s bar, deep in the heart of Hell’s Kitchen, is a nondescript Irish bar on Ninth Avenue and 48 th Street. Not many outsiders could guess it’s also the beating heart of the Irish mafia.
I don’t come to this part of Manhattan much, and as I step out of my blacked-out Escalade, I can see why.
Bars and restaurants of the trendy kind jostle with old-school hole in the walls beneath the red-bricked buildings and the quintessential New York fire escape. I straighten my coat and wait for Roman, who should be here.
I don’t give a shit about stepping foot inside the stronghold by myself. I can more than take the room if I need to. My gun’s at the ready, and I’ve got more than enough firepower in my driver and others scattered around if I give the word.
That won’t be needed, but I like to take care of possibilities. I’m not a hot-headed prick of a teenager anymore.
I cast a glance down the street, past the people walking by. No sign of Roman. Dusk has fallen, hints of the orange sun barely visible through the cracks between tall buildings lining the street. I pull my coat tighter to fight against the wind, a chill sweeping over me, courtesy of the Hudson River.
The message would have been given after my chat with Roman, and I left it in his hands. I had things to do today. Making calls, ordering a hit from across the pond because someone on my supply chain of illegal goods decided to get sticky fingers.
I almost smile. That person will be begging for a bullet to the brain about ten minutes into his sentencing. An example needs to be set. Just like today.
“Sorry I’m late,” Roman says, coming up behind me. I turn as he’s casting a look around. “It gets going at night, this area.”
“I don’t give a fuck.” I tap on the window of my car, and Gio, my driver, rolls down the window.
“Everything’s good to go, boss. Luigi did a sweep.”
I keep my opinion of Luigi and his sweep to myself. There are things I trust others to do and things I don’t, and the sweep is more a formality than anything. It’s something Luigi can do, not that I think there’s going to be trouble.
“Just make sure he’s at the ready if I give my signal.” I don’t need to tell Gio to be at the ready. I handpicked him. He’s always prepped for anything. “This could take a while.”
He nods. “Sure thing, Mr. Villani.”
I walk toward the pub, Roman at my side. “I take it today went well.”
His silence stops me before I reach for the door. I slant him a look. “Romo?”
“A little more complicated than anticipated, but it’s done.”
Before I can question this, a drunk stumbles and weaves out the door, bringing with him a blast of music, voices, whiskey and stale cigarettes.
“Let’s do this.”
We walk into the dark bar like we own it. I cast my gaze over the room. Patrons and Declan’s people. I can pick out the mafia goons with a scant glance. All that kind have the same air, including mine. Always watching, waiting. But the king himself won’t be out here. He and his royal court will be waiting for me to come to them. Not just walking in the door, but to them, their chosen inner sanctum.
A basic power play, and one that bores me.
When I’ve destroyed those I need to destroy to have this stronghold, I might leave the bar as a sentiment, a warning. Simply because I’m nice like that.
My bride most likely won’t make it through, which is a pity. But there’s always collateral damage, and she’ll be another victim. I don’t give a fuck. Pussy is all around, and hers may be finer than most I’ve had, but…
And there she is.
The flame red ponytail pushed through a baseball cap slung low over her face would be enough to make her stand out. But it’s more than that. It’s Heaven’s stance, the energy that rolls off her and slides beneath the skin. That’s what gives her away.
Although, I didn’t think the underboss would be slinging drinks and stacking glasses like a modern-day Cinderella.
An elbow hits my side and I realize Roman’s been talking low to me.
“Matty? You sure about this? You’ve been staring at her?—”
“Shut the fuck up, Romo, or I’ll shut your mouth permanently.”
I won’t, but it makes him fall silent for a second. “You’re putting your reputation on this. A girl.”
“I know what I’m doing. Keep quiet and play your part.”
“Matty—”
“You call me Matteo in here. Let’s get this done.” I don’t wait for a response from my brother as I stride across the wooden floor of the bar, people moving out of my way as I do so. I come to a stop in front of the bar. Declan has a private office somewhere in this building and told me he’d get someone to escort us from the bar when we arrived.
His daughter, my bride, will do nicely. “Hello, Heaven.”
Her shoulders go stiff and her fingers tighten on the glass in her hand. Then, she turns.
My breath freezes as I stare at her.
I see why she’s wearing that fucking cap. Heads are going to roll.
Even with the low lighting and the shadows cast by the cap, I can see the bruising, the swelling on one eye, and the graze on her cheek.
She looks like she got hit with a battering ram. Or by one of my people, who is going to pay dearly.
The anger – sharp, hot, and violent – that slashes through me is surprising. I know who and what she is, and I’m sure she’s fucked over people. Even the daughter of a mafia king doesn’t get a free pass into the position of underboss without notching a belt.
“Fuck.”
“No thanks, Villani,” she says in a cold voice, setting the glass down with a thump on the bar. “Not interested.”
“What happened? Who did that to you?”
A muscle twitches in her jaw, and I have the weirdest urge to touch the bruising. All part of the show I’m putting on, that’s all. That, and Alfie and Philly are most definitely going to pay for thinking outside the box. I won’t kill them, but they won’t be walking straight for a while.
At least, I don’t think I’ll kill them.
Her gaze drops to my wrist I’ve left wrapped, and a cold little smile appears. “Not you. Someone strong.”
“I can have them killed.”
“And then I’d owe you? Seriously? I want nothing to do with you.” She leans forward, and through the old stale smoke from when lighting up in bars in New York was legal, and probably after-hours recently, I can smell her. That evocative scent from last night. “I’m an underboss.”
“That bruise says otherwise, Heaven,” I say softly. “Looks to me like you need a man to take care of you.”
Her eyes narrow, and I’m aware of the dangerous line I’m treading. She can’t get out of this deal. But I want her to choose to step into my den for the greater good.
“You’re here to attempt to make a deal with my father. I’m going to stop it.” She presses her hands on the bar.
I smile. “I don’t think so, Heaven. As I said last night when I sampled your goods, you don’t know the details.”
“I don’t give a fuck.”
“I’m concerned about you. Give me the names of who hurt you and I’ll take them down. Tell you what, I’ll let you choose the punishment.”
“I’m not in the market for any more friends.”
“That’s good. I’m not interested in being friends with you.”
She straightens up and crosses her arms, stretching the cotton of her T-shirt taut over her lush tits, and I drop my gaze to them. Deliberately.
“For a Neanderthal, you dress well.”
“And here I was thinking you’re overdressed,” I say.
I’m rewarded with color flooding her cheeks, a red that climbs from beneath the scoop neckline of the gray T-shirt with The Pogues on it. “Fuck you.”
“That’s the general idea, amore mio .”
Heaven reaches beneath the bar and pulls out a bottle of whiskey. She pours a shot and downs it before looking at me again. “Through there and down the hallway,” she says, nodding her head toward a door not far from the bar. “They’re waiting for you.”
I take her hand and squeeze it as she tries to pull free. Not enough to hurt, I understand the exact amount of pressure I can use, but enough that she can’t let go. Ignoring the fizz of electricity from the touch, the heat of her flesh, the softness of her skin, I raise it to my lips.
She tugs again. I wait, gaze steady on her until she meets it. And then, as if I have all the time in the world, I press her hand to my mouth. At her small, involuntary jerk, the sudden widening of her eyes, the quickening of her pulse in her wrist, I let her go.
“Matty,” Roman says as we cross to the door. “What the fuck was that?”
“Playing the game.” I knock on the door and straighten the charcoal tie I wear as part of the three-piece suit. It’s overkill, but I’m here to making a fucking impression.
And I know without looking that sweet, fiery, tough-as-nails Heaven can’t tear her gaze from me. I can feel it burn into my back. She’s probably imagining a target there. I almost smile at the thought.
Conor opens the door, his face darkening and eyes narrowing as he takes both me and my brother in. He puffs up. This asshole basically is handing me the keys to the castle in the form of his sister, and he has no idea.
His mouth lifts in a smirk, as though he’s suddenly got the situation pegged, and the insolent, idiotic fool’s put himself up as the superior. Perfect. The more ego on display, the less they’ll look for holes, and the harder they’ll fall.
And Conor?
I’m looking forward to his fall most of all.
He casts another look over my suit and black overcoat and snickers. “A little overdressed, aren’t we, Villani?”
“I’m about to be engaged. Jeans and a Whitesnake T-shirt didn’t seem classy enough,” I say coldly.
“I’ve had some time to think.”
“You can do that? He can do that, Roman,” I say. “Call the papers. It’s a fucking miracle.”
His eyes narrow to slits. “You act superior, fuckwad, but you’re not. You’re a servant. You take care of things for people, sure, but you’re a small fry. Otherwise, why would you want to marry Heaven? You want an in with New York, that’s why. You think you struck gold with this whole plan of yours, don’t you?”
I don’t say a word and wait because he’s not finished yet. When people talk, I listen. The way he shifts truths around to suit himself makes him both malleable and dangerous. Dangerous because he’s a half-witted short fuse and someone to watch out for. He won’t get in my way. He won’t be a voice in his father’s ear, even though I’m going to make a show of saving his ass.
“Say the word, Conor,” I say softly, so only he can hear, “and I’ll walk. You can take care of your own mess.”
He can’t and we both know it.
Conor grimaces, letting us through. “If you think marrying Heaven is gonna get you anywhere close to our fortune, you’re more of a dumbass than I thought.”
I turn to look at Roman and laugh. “This Irish idiot thinks we need their money.” The laughter stops as I swing my gaze back to Conor. “So we’re clear, I don’t.”
And he grins. There it is. Big, shining, shit-eating. It’s like sheep herding with this one. “Just our standing. That’s what you want, like I said before.”
“I want what I want. You want your life. I want Heaven. Simple.” I lower my voice, adding the right amount of steel, the right sprinkling of taunt. “But who’s the dumbass? Me? Or you? After all, I’m not the one who sacrificed his whole world because he had to get into a dick-swinging battle with the wrong crew. I’m not the one who came crawling for my help. Which you won’t get unless you shut the fuck up. I’m on your turf, but I’m a bigger bad than you could ever dream of. And, if you keep pissing me off, I’ll let you fail trying to protect your family.”
There’s a light of uncertainty in his eyes, but his ego eats it whole. He knows the truth of the matter, but he’s too fucking egotistical to let it sink in. Which works for me.
He pokes a finger at my chest. “Don’t you fucking mouth off to me. I’m your fucking employer, dickwad. Remember? We hired you , not the other way around.”
I glance down at his finger, then up at him before I grab it and twist it back so far, it almost hits the top of his hand. He screams, clutching his finger, murder spewing from his pale eyes. “You motherfucker.”
“I was never into that Oedipal shit,” I say. “Don’t ever lay a finger on me again, Conor, or next time, you won’t be here to beg forgiveness.” I saunter past him and toward an open door at the end of the hall with Roman behind me.
“Way to make inroads with the in-laws,” he says. “Also, remind me never to really piss you off.”
I ignore him and step into Declan’s office.
Declan stands up from his chair, his eyes blazing with anger. “You sonofabitch!” he hisses, face red with rage. “Did you do this?”
“Do what?” I turn to my brother and nod toward the doorway. “Give me a minute.”
As Roman steps back out into the hallway, I close the door and walk toward my soon-to-be father-in-law.
“What do you think?”
My plan took a little longer today because I needed to finely tune details. My people getting creative can be used to my advantage.
“The beatdown?” I raise a brow. “You think I did that?”
“I told you Heaven has a mind of her own and is hard to wrangle. You told me you’d convince my kids of the dangers facing them in such a way to strengthen this union.”
I pull out a chair and sit, leaning back, contemplating him. “I didn’t beat up my future wife. What kind of fucking fool do you take me for? I’ll walk right now and leave you to this.”
“A thug pulled a gun on Heaven. Another broke two of Patrick’s ribs. Jesus?—”
“Declan, I haven’t had time to orchestrate a thing. I’ve got businesses to run, other jobs to manage.”
He laughs, a bitter, harsh sound. “You think I don’t know you want what I have? Conor told me you’re looking to climb?—”
“I am,” I say. “A union with an established mafia family that’s not Italian takes a whole lot of fights among those families off the table. I’m a wanted man. You should be flattered I chose you and found Heaven pleasing enough to make this arrangement. Marrying Heaven fast-tracks me the most peaceful way I know. We both have something we need done. I need that spot in the hierarchy, and you need to keep Conor alive.”
“Yeah? These thugs mentioned Dominguez.”
I don’t immediately answer. Not because I lack one, but because I want him to let that sink in, bone deep.
“And you’re thinking since that happened, I’m not needed. Not true, Declan. You see, I happen to know that Dominguez’s name was splashed around today. Seems he’s asking questions of faction members across the board who were seen in Harlem that night.”
Declan goes white.
“And you still need me to protect you all. I think it’s best if we fast-track our arrangement. Time is of the essence. Right now, Dominguez is punching in the dark. But he’ll zero in on the guilty. Sooner, rather than later.”
There’s a mutinous set to the old man’s mouth. I understand it. He knows I’m manipulating him, sees me as some kind of underdog who wants to move his position in this world to equal footing to him.
Matteo Villani is feared. Yes. But Declan thinks I want what he has.
Respect.
I should fucking kill him now and be done with it.
I won’t. That’s the reckless, wild Matteo talking. Instead, I let him think that, just like I’ve set it up.
“Tell you what, Declan, I’ll do you a favor, buy some time.” I raise my voice a little. “Roman.”
My brother comes in, face expressionless, and I say to him in Italian, “The Marco Cruz situation we’ve been sitting on? It’s time to move. We’re going a different route. Pulling the trigger, but a different gun.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Have Luis A. taken out, now. Pin it on Marco and make sure it sticks.”
“You want what?”
“Do it. There are instructions with Gio. Call him now. Report back to me.”
“Will do.”
Declan’s trying to follow, but our Italian is too fast, and it’s clear he doesn’t understand a word. I nod, and my brother leaves. I settle my gaze back on the old man.
Declan doesn’t realize that the “Marco Cruz situation” is me killing two birds with one bullet. He needs me to give him a show of faith, proof that I can deliver the protection I claim I can. He needs to be convinced that I’m the guy who can save his family. Besides, Luis A. has been a thorn in my side and deserves the end he’s about to get. Marco “killing” Luis A., one of Dominguez’s soldiers, will take the heat off Conor for a little while. Not forever, but long enough for me to put the rest of my plan in place.
Win, win.
“In ten minutes, you’ll get an alert. I’ll wait.” I tap my fingers against the arm of the chair.
He wants to argue, I can see that, but he doesn’t. The anger grows, and it’s a beautiful thing because it’ll cloud his mind.
The phone on his desk pings in seven minutes and shock hits his face. “What the fuck, Matteo? You took out Luis A.?”
I smile slowly. “A wedding gift. He’s a small player in Dominguez’s cartel, one who’s been causing issues with other families. He was on my hit list, a fix for the Rodriguez family, only they hadn’t agreed to my price yet. Now they won’t have to. I just bought you some time by killing Luis. Now Dominguez will have his sights set on the Rodriguez family in Jersey. Another problem I’ve solved for all of you.”
His mind is working overtime and his eyes widen. “That prick Marco Cruz? He’s been gouging us for fucking years, but his family is big.”
“Marco runs guns on his own. Along with some girls who have his family turning their back on him where it matters. But no one has done anything to fix this issue. Others fear retribution. I, on the other hand, do not. I have secrets on and favors owed by the Cruz clan, they won’t touch me. Dominguez will take care of Marco now that he’s acted against him. My hands will be clean and the guns and cash will flow.”
Declan grabs a bottle of whiskey on his desk, along with two glasses, and pours two healthy fingers into each with unsteady hands. “You orchestrated all that? Right then?”
It took longer than that, but he won’t know that. “Why do you think I’m in demand? I get things done.”
“That was a thing of beauty…”
I pin him with a look. “I’ve bought some time, Mulligan. Given you a wedding present. We move the wedding up. Because the reality is if Dominguez knew it was your fucking son who killed his second, then Patrick and Heaven would be dead. I’ll make sure that won’t happen.”
“Heaven—”
“Will do what you say. Won’t she?”
For a moment he looks like he’s going to argue, but then he nods. “Yes.”
“Good. A man needs a wife, and you need protection. It’s perfect.”
I’d say all this is playing perfectly into my hands as if I’d organized it myself. Except, of course, I have. All it took to set this plan on its perfect path was Conor fucking up.
“She won’t like it,” he says, pushing one glass to me and draining the other. “And she’s headstrong.”
“She doesn’t have to like it, she just has to do it…and she will. Your daughter’s an underboss. She knows the score.”
“If something happens to her, I…” He stops. “We’ve lost so much.”
I don’t give a fuck. “Time is of the essence. You said she’s loyal, a leader, and would take a bullet for you. She won’t have to on the last front.” No, it’s going to be worse than a bullet for her. “And those other qualities are what I’m looking for in a wife. We can both benefit from the arrangement, financially and otherwise. I’m looking at the long game here. This arrangement is an investment in the future.”
Declan rises and starts to pace. He stops near one of the tall windows lining his office, his shoulders slumping. “And Conor…Conor will be safe, too?”
I allow a tight smile. “Yes.” I pause for a second, letting him contemplate his plight before I hammer him once again with the reality of the situation. And to let him think he has the upper hand, that he’s making the decision. When it’s done and dusted, psychological warfare is surprisingly easy, especially with the egos running around New York. “You know exactly what will happen if you back down from this deal, Declan.”
He shakes his head. “No, I’m not backing down. We have a deal. Protect my family, my children, and you marry my daughter.”
This time, I stand. “I think it’s time to meet my bride before I take her home, don’t you?”