Chapter 19
Matt
“Are you done spacing out while I’m talking about important issues?” Don Enzo Amato was standing in front of me, and while his words suggested a scold, his features weren’t matching.
I’d been too stuck on every movement Francesca made to be paying attention to what he said. To be fair, she was much more interesting, not to mention alluring. Her uncle’s fight for my attention didn’t stand a chance.
I was in a trance, admiring her.
Francesca was holding her shoulders squared, her head high, and her eyes away from mine. But it was the slump of her frame when she entered the elevator that gave it away. She was holding up a fa?ade for prying eyes who studied her, like mine.
It shouldn’t have made me feel victorious, but in a fucked up, twisted way, it did. The knowledge that she would be sleeping in my room just added to that feeling.
I vacated it just yesterday, ordering room service to clean it up but not change the sheets. Jimmy had cameras installed, connected to an app accessible from my phone, only so I could keep an eye on her at all times. I wanted to be close to her somehow. For her to feel me, smell me, sense me. To what end? Fuck if I knew.
Never in my life had I felt the urge to act off stupid impulses like these, but this woman changed me down to my marrow.
Maybe she’d lie down at night and feel me. Dream of me. Feel my scent permeating her skin. And in the morning, all that closeness would feed her hatred towards me.
I needed Francesca to loathe me. I needed her to allow herself to feel my deception and act upon it. Let her face show it like an undying truth. Because in her confident strut when she walked into this damn place and saw me, she showed none of that.
She was fine.
“I’m listening,” I answered, pouring myself another drink and hoping the burn of it would erase the sour taste in my mouth from what I was about to do.
“Have you figured out your plan yet?”
“I have. We need a majority vote, and mine can’t count. They’ll never give her the seat if they think our divorce is a sham. So we divide and conquer. Don Bartolini is a dead end. He’s too strict and compliant with the old Cosa Nostra philosophy. Plus, my grandfather killed his father back in the day, so there’s no way I can turn him.” I’d heard my grandmother tell the story so many times it was like I’d lived through it. I knew the memory was still fresh for Don Bartolini, not to mention an ego blow in a circle of men that measure power from the overpowering of other men. He had to overcompensate in some other way. Fucking me over would definitely be it, so asking him for anything was out of the damn question.
“That sounds accurate. So it will be my vote together with Don Massimo’s and Don Fiori’s.”
“Yes. I’ll deal with Don Massimo. He’s about my age, and our families have a… connection. As for Don Fiori, it's a precedent that might come in handy for the old man someday. He has two daughters young enough to be his grandkids. No sons or sons-in-law.”
“I see you’ve done your due diligence.” He patted me on the shoulder, giving it a squeeze that almost felt like pity. I wasn’t sure if I should take it as a compliment or an insult that he thought I wouldn’t.
“I started this, so I’m making sure it goes according to our agenda. We only have one shot.”
The stakes were too high, and failing wasn’t an option. Francesca would have this even if I had to choke their agreement out of them. She’d be the queen of her own concrete jungle.
“How are you holding up?”
“Just fine.” I dismissed him with a shrug and another sip of the Macallan growing hot under the palm I had wrapped around the glass.
“You should at least try to match your face with those lies,” Don Amato replied, seeing right through my bullshit. I guess I’d have to up the ante and put on a better show for our honorable guests.
“What? Were you expecting me to tell you that life has been fucking miserable and that I’ve needed to convince myself more than once that this was the right thing to do? Today is not the day to be admitting to truths that will fuck me over in the end. Today, I’m the ruthless man your niece thought she married. The fucker who’d do anything to get his seat in The Commission and throw her under the bus without hesitation. I have the rest of my life to wish I’d given her my seat instead.”
“Matteo, you and I both know that wasn’t an option. You have a promise to keep, a legacy to fulfill, and you know that your grandfather expected that of you. Time will heal the wounds.” His words of wisdom held little meaning in the despondent possibility of a lifetime without Francesca.
Some wounds are too deep to heal. They scrape away pieces of your soul, leaving nothing but a void that can’t be filled.
“I made her a promise, too.” My jaw tightened as I remembered her uncharacteristic vulnerability when she asked me not to break her. I held her in my arms and promised I wouldn’t. I promised that wasn’t me, and yet I did it anyway.
The way she looked at me seconds before signing those damn papers would be forever charred into my brain. Disappointment. Deception. Betrayal. I could see her glower saying, ‘ I trusted you,’ and regretting the exact moment she did.
Trust is not given, it’s earned. Indeed.
I shook my head lightly, ridding myself of those thoughts. I couldn’t go there now, or I’d fuck up this whole deal.
“Anyway. Are we set? I’ll speak to Don Massimo as soon as he arrives, and I trust that you’ll find a way to convince Don Fiori. Francesca’s future depends on it.”
“I’m aware. You don’t have to guilt trip me into it. We’re on the same page.”
“Good.”
I held my hand out, and Don Amato shook it vigorously, sealing our deal before he turned on his heel and left me and my bottle of Macallan to deal with my guilt alone.
It was short-lived, though. I had barely made it through the remnants of the drink I poured while he was still here when Max walked towards me.
“Perimeter set.” He informed before asking for a glass for himself. “Plus, in our background research of the hotel’s staff, it’s come to my attention that one of their employees is a singer in a club known to be owned by a filthy rich Japanese gentleman. After further inspection, we’ve found that it’s linked to a Yakuza division. It’s a good place to launder some dirty bills.”
“We need to talk to her.”
“How many air quotes does that sentence have?” He was asking how far he was supposed to go. If ‘talking’ meant more than just a verbal conversation, but we didn’t need more innocent collateral damage in this war of ours.
“Just one pair because I’m too busy and focused on this meeting to be involved. See what you can find out and cut a deal with her. Pay her whatever price she sets, and have her report with everything she hears. Whatever it takes.”
“Consider it done.”
◆◆◆
With two hours to kill before Don Massimo was scheduled to arrive, time was playing a cruel game against me. The temptation of that damn app on my phone was too enticing not to falter. I took a peak and saw her asleep, twisting and turning relentlessly. I found it strange that she was sleeping in the middle of the afternoon, but then again, even though she looked fucking glorious, there was a stain of tiredness beneath her eyes.
Before I knew it, my feet were planted outside Francesca’s door. I had no idea what I was about to do, but somehow, I felt compelled to be here.
I took my key from the pocket inside my jacket and slowly opened the door, making sure to be stealthy.
As slow and steady as I could, I silently walked into the massive suite, my heart skipping a beat as soon as I saw her sleeping, curled up into a fetal position.
It’s a defensive position, meaning she was restless, trying to protect herself from whatever roamed free in her dreams.
As I stood in the dim light of the bedroom, I watched her sleep. The steady rise and fall of her chest usually brought me a sense of peace, but today, it was different. Her face was contorted in distress, just like when she dreamt of that scumbag ex-boyfriend of hers.
Francesca muttered incoherently, her brow furrowed while her fingers clenched the sheets.
“I do.” She whispered, followed by a shy cry that died in her chest.
Was she dreaming of our wedding?
Her breathing quickened, and she let out a soft whimper, her lips forming words that I couldn't quite make out except one – Matt.
Every twitch, every murmur felt like a dagger to my chest. I wanted to reach out and shake her gently, to pull her from her torment, but she couldn’t catch me here. She couldn’t see the guilt I knew was plastered on my face.
So, I stayed there, rooted to my spot, my hand hovering just above her shoulder, aching to comfort her.
I whispered her name softly, hoping the sound of my voice might penetrate the darkness and calm her. “I'm here,” I murmured, more to myself than to her.
Eventually, her breathing began to steady, and the tension in her body eased. The lines of worry on her face softened, and she sank back into a more peaceful sleep.
I vowed to be there for her always, to stand guard against whatever nightmares might come, but never thought I could be the source of them.
I couldn’t help but stroke her raven hair, allowing my fingers to lightly caress her cheek and jaw before withdrawing my hand. It was like a sense of relief and dread filled my every pore.
“I’m so sorry, my love,” I whispered between breaths as if somehow I could redeem myself, but I was way beyond that point.
Being this close to her, touching her, urged me to hold her to me and stay here forever. Crawl behind her, bury my nose in her hair, and nestle her hands in mine.
I had to leave right now, or that’s exactly what I’d be doing.
With steel-like willpower, I finally managed to break free of the spell and leave the room as silently as I entered, closing the door behind me. There was no trace that I had ever been in there as if I was nothing but a ghost.
It was clear that waiting for Don Massimo by the bar was the best option to keep me from doing something stupid.
◆◆◆
We’d helped the Massimos a few years back, so I was positive I could convince Vincenzo to vote Francesca in. He was one of the younger Dons with a more progressive mindset that suited my current needs. His reign in California began almost a year ago when his grandfather handed him the kingdom officially. Just like me, he’d been making all the decisions for a long time already, ever since his father was murdered by the Cartel.
As I meddled in my own thoughts, time quickly flew by, and soon enough, he arrived, taking the tall stool beside me and ordering a drink for himself.
“Well, you look like shit!” He said as a means of greeting.
“I can say the exact same thing about you.” I motioned towards his cane. “I can see you’ve acquired new hardware since the last time I saw you. How have you been holding up?”
Vincenzo Massimo had multiple sclerosis, and it was clear that it had gotten worse since the last time I saw him.
“Some days worse than others.” He shrugged it off as if it wasn’t weighing on him. “Damn fucking heritage.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Now, let’s hear it, Battaglia. What’s the urgency in this two-man meeting?” He charged straight to the point. After all, time is money, and we didn’t have much of the first to spare.
“It’s about tomorrow’s meeting.” There was no use in trying to cover this up with fragile lies, so I just told him everything. The whole truth.
He silently listened, not interrupting me as I told him all about Francesca.
“This is her destiny. She was born to lead, and I’ve seen her do it. She’s better than I am!”
“That’s because you’re not that great,” he chuckled. “So you need my vote to get three out of five. I see.”
“I do. This gender rule is outdated, not to mention bullshit. It should be about capability, not about what you’ve got between your legs.”
“I agree. But my vote comes with a price.” He said the words I was already expecting to hear. I knew he would want something in return.
“Favors from a mafia Don always do. I wasn’t expecting otherwise.”
“Can I cash in immediately?”
“I don’t see why not. Already have something in mind?”
“I do.”
I was thinking somewhere along the lines of a partnership in one of my businesses, dealing with some unwanted attention back in California. Business agreements weren’t uncommon to serve as trading items for something that came at no cost to him.
But Vincenzo already had his mind set on something.
“I’m all ears. What do you want?”
“Alison.”