Chapter 13
Matteo
Twenty-five years old
“It was a good plan, young Donato. Clever. Do not punish yourself because it didn’t hold up. Even the best plans stumble now and then. That’s how you know they were ambitious. Besides, if every clever plan worked, we’d all be kings by now,” the Old Fox says with a laugh, patting my hand.
I pull my hand away from under his, my nostrils flaring.
“I don’t need your pity, Don Vitale. Spare me the condescension.”
Don Vitale blinks once, then twice, clearly unprepared to be on the receiving end of such an outburst.
“I doubt that’s what Aldo intended,” Moretti quickly interjects at my side. “And if you were thinking more clearly, you would understand that.”
Both men stare at me with obvious concern. I throw a glance at Niccolò, who stands guard with Rocco and one of Vitale’s men, and see that his gaze mirrors that of the other two dons at the dining room table. They are all worried. As they should be.
For well over six months, I’ve been too erratic, too angry at the world to even see straight.
I’ve been acting so out of character that Moretti himself requested this sit-down at his home as some sort of intervention.
Everyone is placing their hopes on me, and I can’t be seen losing my shit so close to the finish line.
Under such scrutiny, I had no choice but to admit to my failure.
To divulge my original plan to them and explain how it all fell apart.
“A good Don is not measured by plans that succeed, but by how he answers when they fail,” Moretti adds, as if reading my troubled thoughts.
Merda. He’s right. I’ve been licking my wounds like some idiota, instead of keeping my eyes on the prize. One lost battle does not mean the end of the war.
“You know the first lesson they should teach a man before he becomes a Don?” the Old Fox says in jest, trying to lighten the tension in the room.
“Opportunity does not vanish. It only changes shape. You only need to look a little harder to see it for what it is. So Romano’s first two born sons are his.
So what? The others are still bastards. The shame of that alone should have him afraid to show his face.
I say we out the stronzo for the cornuto he is.
Let’s see how well his men will follow his command then. ”
Moretti shakes his head in disagreement.
“I’m afraid outing Vincent won’t cut it.
There have always been rumors that the Red Queen had extramarital affairs with his consigliere and enforcer, and no one has ever looked down on Vincent because of it.
No. If we strike at him, we need to strike at his heart.
That’s the only way we will weaken him.”
“Very well,” I say, finally entering the conversation that I’m meant to be a part of. “Then what do you suggest I do?” Moretti and the Old Fox think long and hard on the matter, neither one coming up with a solution. “That’s what I thought,” I chuckle sardonically.
“You’re a clever young man, Matteo. I’m sure the answer will come to you eventually,” Moretti says, with a fatherly affection I’m not accustomed to.
Over the years, Moretti has become a positive, nurturing presence in my life. Not only has he managed to persuade most of the families to align their interests with mine, but he was also able to broker the deal with the Camorra.
The Old Fox’s support, however, does come with a few strings. One condition, in particular, always sits at the top of his list. Though I have yet to accept it, he reminds me every time we meet. So much so that I’m surprised he hasn’t mentioned it yet today.
“Let’s not waste time on a future that remains out of our reach, and let’s talk about the present instead. How is your father?” Don Vitale asks, out of the blue.
“If you wanted to put me in a better mood, asking about my father is not the way to do it,” I groan through gritted teeth.
He raises his hands up and laughs. “Relax, young Donato. I only want to know if the old bastard is still alive.”
“He is,” I admit, pinching the bridge of my nose at the reminder.
In fact, the fucker is more than alive—he’s the picture of health. Thanks to Pietra’s insistence, I had to move the stronzo into a safe house better suited for his recovery. It’s been close to two years since he had his heart attack, and he’s still milking it for all it’s worth.
To my chagrin, I had to put an end to his torture, too. Pietra made sure to alert me that, in his frail state, it was only a matter of time before I ended up killing him in one of my torture sessions.
Maybe that’s why I’ve been so uptight recently. I have all this anger bubbling inside me, and nowhere to put it.
“That’s good,” the Old Fox mumbles more to himself than us. “Let’s make sure he keeps breathing a little while longer. Don’t send anyone to kill him just yet. Let us regroup first and see what next steps we need to take before naming you boss.”
“Are my ears deceiving me, or do you sound almost impatient, Don Vitale?” I ask, a haughty smile tugging at my lips.
“If by impatient you mean that I’m eager to get this show on the road, then I suppose I am.
All this talk of war has breathed life into these old bones.
” He wiggles in his seat like a little kid at Christmas.
“So pardon me if I look forward to you becoming Don. You should be just as excited as I am instead of throwing yourself a pity party.” He chuckles, placing his hand over his large, jiggling belly.
I can’t help but smile at the sight of a man, who I assume is only a decade or so younger than my father, getting his second wind at life from the mere idea of war. Younger men than him aren’t nearly as keen.
“I’m glad to see you in a better mood, Matteo,” Moretti says, his eyes never straying from my face.
“Don’t count your blessings just yet. I’m sure I’ll be back to my foul mood in no time.”
“You know what you need?” the Old Fox asks, pointing a finger in my direction. “The love of a good woman.”
Here we go. I’m surprised it took him so long to broach the subject.
“Have you thought about my proposal of arranging a marriage with one of my girls?”
“I have not. Besides, I haven’t even met your daughters yet,” I try to deflect.
“And whose fault is that?” he scoffs. “I’ve invited you plenty of times into my home so we could share a meal. You’re the one who’s been acting like the world has ended instead of accepting my generous offer to take your mind off things.”
“And as generous as your offer is, I am in no mind to take a wife, much less look for one.”
Don Vitale’s frown lasts but a second before moving his full attention onto Niccolò.
“I wouldn’t say no to having Nico as a son-in-law.”
To his credit, Niccolò doesn’t so much as budge from his spot. Still, by the way the vein in his forehead starts to bulge ever so slightly, I can tell this is not something he wants to discuss, let alone entertain.
“Next thing you’ll say is that you have a daughter for Raffaele too,” Moretti jokes, catching the horror in Niccolò’s eyes.
“I have been blessed with four daughters to choose from, Alfonso. Hell, I might even have one for your Rocco, too, if we put our minds to it.” He laughs before turning serious.
“But Raffaele is still too young. I want someone older for my girls. Someone more dependable. Wiser. A boy like Raffaele won’t do, I’m afraid.
He’s still too green. My girls would chew him up and spit him out,” the Old Fox says pensively.
“You do paint quite a picture of your daughters, Don Vitale. They sound lovely,” I try to say with a straight face, but fail.
Moretti, too, begins to chuckle.
“Laugh all you want, but sooner or later you will come around to my way of thinking. A union between our families would strengthen our alliance. If we can learn anything from Romano, it’s that marriage is an effective way to ensure loyalty and bind rival organizations together for generations to come.
He made good use of his children. The stronzo has armies on almost every continent because of them. ”
“You’re not wrong,” Moretti says, nodding his head in agreement. “Pity I only have my Rocco. Maybe if I’d been blessed with a daughter, she’d give your girls some healthy competition in securing a marriage with one of the Donato brothers.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Dad. Gay marriage is still legal in the state of New York,” Rocco says with a mischievous grin, before sliding his arm over my brother’s shoulders.
“What do you say, Nico? Wanna get hitched?” He winks flirtatiously at Niccolò, causing him to turn every shade of red in the crayon box.
“Boss, is this meeting over?” Niccolò asks me, entirely forgoing the other real D
ons at the table.
“If we’re cracking jokes, it must be,” I say, trying to hide my smile.
“Good. I’ll be in the car.”
Niccolò rushes out of Moretti’s living room and onto New York’s spring chill.
“The big guy scares too easily,” Rocco jokes. “Might as well go check on him before he has a panic attack.”
“Hmm. That’s not a good sign. My girls love to joke around. If he can’t take a joke, then that’s a mark against him. Guess that only leaves you, Matteo.”
“I think Rocco has the right idea. Best I go check on my brother.”
“Coward,” Don Vitale mumbles disappointedly under his breath.
I let out a chuckle as I extend my hand to shake Moretti’s.
“Thank you for inviting me into your home. I think this was exactly what I needed to get out of my head.”
“I’m glad that I could be of service,” he says, then clasps his other hand over mine.
“It will come to you, Matteo. Your vision to restore the Cosa Nostra to its former glory will come to fruition. Despite the adversities you’ve faced, you’ve risen above them all.
Look at you now. You will rise again and be the leader we need. Of that, I have no doubt.”
Don Moretti’s belief in me, above all else, leaves me a little flustered, unsure of how to react.