Chapter 7
Matt
I’d been putting this day off. The thought that my grandfather wasn’t here to witness it was too bitter for me to take it as a celebration. I had big shoes to fill. A legacy to perpetuate without forgetting to create my own.
This was an enormous honor, a prestige only a few could claim. To add to the symbolism, I’d be taking this huge step on the exact same week I had taken one of the best leaps of my life, only a year ago, when I married this beautiful wife of mine.
“I’m so proud of you, Matt. Finally, you’ll be taking the place that is rightfully yours.” Francesa cheered me on, depositing in me all her dreams, living them through me. “It takes a special kind of courage to face this moment, knowing it will be very different from what you’d always dreamed of. The credit of your hard work is yours, sworn oath or not, you are the Don to these men. The best of the best. But my pride goes beyond that. You have become exactly the man your grandfather led you to be. Even though you can’t see him, be sure that he will be there with you today.” Francesca’s words struck a deep chord of both pain and peace.
I would miss Don Giancarlo Battaglia today, more so than any other day.
“You deserve this, Baby. Don’t face it as a chore, as protocol. This is you filling the spot everyone already knows belongs to you.”
“Well, not in the last couple of months. I haven't lived up to that standard. That was all you. You are the reason the Battaglia’s reign is still thriving and growing strong,” I confessed, looking deep into her eyes as she helped me with my tie.
“Even if that was even remotely true, you know that it would never happen for me. It wouldn’t matter if my touch turned everything into gold. I could be the best this world has ever seen and yet. the only thing these Made Men could see was a woman.”
There was sadness and anger in her voice, her eyes glistening with the raging truth of this gender-biased world of ours as she realized, maybe for the hundredth time, that her ultimate ambition would never be more than exactly that. Ambition.
“I'm lacking an exterior appendage, remember? Either way, you’re back now, your kingdom awaits you." Francesca smiled, brushing it off with a joke, but I could see the growing dismay in her eyes, the shady and gloomy aura that spilled through them as she virtually stepped aside for me to take charge again.
“How can they not understand that it’s exactly that trait that makes you so much more alluring?” I teased, both of my palms covering her ass while I kissed her neck, trying to ease the air. “All jokes aside, you already are much better than all the Dons put together, myself included. They are just too blinded by tradition and moldy rules that should have stayed in the past. Old men stuck in a different era.”
“There’s a word for it. Misogyny. But don’t worry, I’m under no illusion that will ever change. My hopes were never shattered. I’ve always lived in reality, two feet firmly set on the ground,” Francesca said, placing a small peck on my lips, “All ready, looking all handsome for a bunch of men, ready to take over the world.”
Her smile was genuine, even though it didn't quite meet her eyes.
“At least one of those old-fashioned rules worked in my favor.”
“Yeah? Which one?”
“The one where I was coerced to marry before becoming a Don. What would I ever do without you?”
“Attend without a tie?” I locked her against my body, tickling her in payback for the mockery, her laughter filling the room with the most perfect sound I’ve ever heard – happiness. Despite everything, Francesca was genuinely happy for me. I could see the pride in her eyes as she spoke of this moment. Her glee was endearing and contagious, making me love her even more. “Oh my God, stop. STOP!” She wiggled and struggled out of my grasp, falling onto the bed, my attack following after her. “You’re going to wrinkle your shirt!”
“That’s a lame excuse.” I couldn’t help but laugh with her, watching as Francesca twisted and turned beneath me, trying to set herself free. “Do I hear you surrendering?”
“NO!” She shouted between a giggle and an inhale, tears falling from her eyes, “I’ll never surrender.”
“Good girl,” I praised, halting my assault before capturing her lips in a starved kiss that would sadly have to suffice to appease the constant hunger I had for this woman. “I’d love nothing more than to see this through, make sure you mean those words, but I have to go.”
“I’ll hold you to that later, then.” Francesca smiled, pulling me in for another kiss, “ In bocca al lupo, amore mio.” Good luck, my love.
“Grazie, Gattina.”
◆◆◆
I sat alone on one side of the round table, facing the four Dons with a seat in The Commission, while behind them stood a crowd of the remaining capi who came to witness my ascension. Every other member without the boss badge of honor had their entrance barred to this party.
I stared at the .357 mag revolver in front of me, the sharp dagger to my right, and a lit candle paired with a card with a picture of Saint Nicholas on it, patron Saint of New York. The symbolism wasn’t lost on me at all.
There was one thing new, though. A golden bullet with my name carved on it.
I knew exactly what each of these items were for. All but the bullet. I’d been in this same spot before as an inductee being initiated into this world of both crime and honor.
It had been a long week of ceremonies and meetings, initiating other soldati into our circle. Max was one of them.
He had become more than just a soldier. Tainted and ruined as he thought he was, he was a man worthy of my trust, and to me, that said it all.
Don Amato was presiding over the ceremony today. It was mere protocol and a pompous show for the masses since I’d taken my Omertà before, even carved it into my fucking chest, although these Dons had all the proof one could ask for of my loyalty and dedication to the Cosa Nostra.
It’s tradition, Son. Making things official in the eyes of the mafiosi family.
I heard my grandfather’s voice as if he were standing next to me, saying them one more time as he did before.
There were no trials for me to pass today. My family history was well known. No connections to the boys in blue to report. I ticked all the boxes as far as they knew. So today, under the eyes of the head of each family, I’d swear an oath of loyalty, silence and honor. Simple and easy. The repercussions of non-compliance? Those were not simple at all.
By blood you enter, by blood you leave.
“Matteo Battaglia, through this oath and ceremony, you will be accepted as a Mafiosi Don. A capo to be respected must show respect for others first, he must honor to be honored, he must follow to lead. We have all witnessed the remarkable man you have become. A true leader worthy of his men’s respect and loyalty. It is our great honor to be here with you tonight, guiding you to the place where you belong, which was so proudly filled by your grandfather. It was his ultimate desire to see you here today, taking your rightful place at this table and in The Commission.” Don Amato started, leading the crowd to cheer. “Today, you oath your silence, your loyalty, your respect towards these men behind me, to this family, you pledge to live your life by the code of honor of The Mafiosi, as an honorable man, an independent, courageous and rational Don, that will bring pride, respect, and virtue to the family’s legacy. Build your own, but don’t forget where you came from, who you are, and especially who you don’t want to be.”
He reached his hand out to grab mine, his words still resonating in my mind, giving me a small confirmation nod, to which I replied with one of my own. He grazed the palm of my hand with the tip of the dagger, forcing it to break skin as it reached my index finger, precisely the one used to pull the trigger, squeezing my blood into a small puddle right on top of Saint Nicholas’ face, staining the card in crimson, a part of me drenching the paper and covering the holy figure.
I picked it up, igniting it with the slow-burning flame from the lit candle.
It was my turn to speak. My turn to pledge my silence and loyalty to the Cosa Nostra , The Commission, and these Made Men in front of me. To pledge my life to this found family and the laws that ensured its prevalence, vowing that from this day onwards, my life would be led as a man of honor, a Don, a capo who’d represent other capi at this very table, to the best of my abilities.
“ Come questa immagine brucia nelle mie mani, macchiando la mia carne, così possa la mia anima bruciare all'inferno se tradisco il giuramento di omertà. Come brucia questo santo, così brucerà il peccatore. Col sangue mi unisco, col sangue mi separerò ” As this card burns in my hands, staining my flesh, so may my soul burn in hell if I betray the oath of Omertà. As burns, this saint so will burn the sinner. And by my blood, I enter, by my blood, I depart.
I chanted the words, juggling the burning card from one hand to the other as it burned until it was reduced to nothing but ashes. As would be my life if I chose to betray the vow made here tonight.
There were no actual rules dictated in the ceremony, but The Mafiosi lived by a rigid code of honor and silence, simple things to be applied on a daily basis. I knew them all in theory and practice by now – respect women, family members of other Made Men are off limits, keeping eyes and ears open while your mouth remains closed, even under torture, because if you can’t pay, then just don’t play. But there was one that had been lingering at the back of my mind for the past few months, one that I wasn’t certain I was living by.
Don’t engage in battle if you can’t win.
I was arrogant enough to think I could win but wise enough to know there was a chance I wouldn’t.
Hiro was no amateur. His experience and hatred were on his side, nurturing the grudge until the very end. Mine had less time to grow, yet it was just as monstrous. The scale was balanced. It could suddenly tip either way.
I set the ashes on the table, sheathed the revolver, and picked up the bullet, running my thumb along the engraving.
Matteo.
“It’s a gift, not a threat.” Don Amato said, breaking my stare.
“A gift?”
“So he knows who sent him to hell to burn.” I chuckled and gave in to the hug the old man pulled me into.
And just like that, it was done. I was officially Don Battaglia, and that realization hit me like a ton of bricks. There was no time for self-pity, though, as every Don awaited their turn to present both their condolences for my grandfather’s passing and their congratulations for my ascension.
It was a while before I had a moment of peace, and as soon as I could steal one, I pulled Don Amato aside for a private conversation that I’d been itching to have for over a week already, ever since I’d gotten the report back from Jimmy.
It took a lot more digging than normal, special connections with the NYPD for a harder search than I’d anticipated, rummaging through classified files on databases I had no idea existed. Still, the information was limited, not to say none. But that level of classification told me a lot more than what any report could. Red fucking flags were stamped all over this issue.
“A word, Don Amato?”
“Ah, Matt, just the man I needed to talk to,” he replied as we retreated to a more private and secluded area of the compound.
“You needed to speak with me, too?”
“Yes, but by all means, you first.” I nodded, taking a deep breath, inhaling all the courage I needed to ask what was tormenting me, deciding not to flourish it and go straight to the damn point.
“Who’s Tommy?”