Chapter 16 #2
Romano will feel the pressure from every direction. His rule will end by my hand.
By the time I finish, Moretti is practically glowing.
“I told you it would come to you,” he says, getting up to his feet and clapping a hand against my shoulder, genuinely impressed. “Vitale will be disappointed, though. He was hoping to make a match between you and one of his daughters,” he jokes with a chuckle.
“Sacrifices have to be made for the greater good. He’ll survive the disappointment,” I reply with a smile a little too tight, something that Moretti notices.
“You don’t look pleased,” he says mildly. “Is there something I should know? A flaw in the plan I’m not seeing?”
“Everything will proceed exactly as intended,” I answer, steadfastly. “You have my word.”
“And when do you plan on kidnapping the girl?”
“I’m still assessing the most opportune time.”
“I’m positive you’ll find it.” He nods, clearly satisfied. “In the meantime, we wait.”
“We’ve been waiting for years,” I reply calmly. “We can handle a few more months.”
The sound of a scoff coming from behind Moretti has us both turning our sights toward Rocco and Niccolò. Since I know that Niccolò would never interrupt a Don meeting in such a way, I’m left to assume that the sound came from Moretti’s heir.
“It sounds like you object to my plan, Rocco.”
It’s not a question. By the look on his face, I know he does.
“Yeah, I fucking object,” he spits out, throwing a disapproving glance at his father. “When the fuck did the Cosa Nostra start kidnapping children?”
My jaw ticks at the remark, but it’s Moretti that gets a handle on his son.
“The girl is eighteen, Rocco. An Outfit principessa, at that. She’s not a child.”
“The fuck she’s not,” he huffs out again. “Forcing her to marry a stranger, one that hates her and her family to his very core, is not right, and you know it, Dad.”
It’s Moretti’s turn to scowl at the clear sound of defiance in his son’s voice.
“You forget your place, son. But I’ll indulge you just this once.
Yes, it is true the girl is young, but Annamaria has lived her whole life under syndicate rule.
Not too long ago, girls younger than her were bargaining chips and in lengthy engagements with suitors that would benefit their families.
Though Romano, in his time as Capo dei Capi, put an end to such arrangements in the Outfit, even he couldn’t prevent his heads of families from marrying off their daughters when they became of age.
If Annamaria is old enough to marry and have children, even by Outfit standards, then I do not see the issue. ”
“Fuck, Dad, are you being for real right now? She might be legal, but that doesn’t mean she’s in a position to consent to a marriage with Matteo.
That shit isn’t right, and the fact that you don’t see that…
” Rocco trails off, looking honestly disappointed with his father’s archaic views of the world we live in.
“Annamaria will consent to marrying me. I will not force her,” I state evenly.
“No, you’ll just kidnap and manipulate her into it,” Rocco scowls.
I’m not offended by his outrage. Not in the least. If I were in his shoes, I’d probably think the same thing. She is too young. So damn fucking young compared to me—seven whole years, to be precise.
Still, it has become increasingly easy to forget just how young she really is when we spend half the night debating philosophy and poetry. I’m not sure if that is a good thing or a bad thing.
“I’m sorry, Matteo. I believe it’s time we finish here,” Moretti announces, obviously displeased with Rocco’s outburst.
I just offer him a nod and shake his hand as the two Moretti men leave my office. I do not want to get in the way of the father and son’s heated discussion, which I’m sure will take place the second they step out of my building’s front doors.
However, just as the two disappear from my view, Raffaele storms into my office like a bat out of hell. I don’t even register what he’s about to do until I feel the full weight of his fist hit my jaw.
“Fuck,” I hear Niccolò mutter over the ringing sound in my ears.
If the disrespect didn’t piss me off so much, I’d honestly be impressed that the kid even had it in him to throw a punch like that.
“No fucking way you’ll ever marry Anna! Over my fucking dead body!” Raffaele shouts, spitting on my face.
Anger starts bubbling inside me with his threat while Niccolò holds my enraged brother’s arms behind his back, preventing the little shit from swinging at me again.
“I will do what I must for the family.”
“Bullshit!” he shouts back, trying to wrestle free from Niccolò’s firm grasp. “You’re doing it for yourself. Everything you do is for you.”
“If that’s really how you see me, then we have nothing more to discuss.”
“Prove me wrong then! Let me marry her instead.”
“No!” I slam my fist onto the desk, harder than I should, considering I’m usually in control of my emotions.
“That’s what I thought,” Raffaele sneers at me. “This isn’t about what’s best for the famiglia. It’s all about control. You just have to be the one to give the big middle finger to Romano, no matter who gets hurt along the way.”
“If you’re implying I would hurt An…” But her name dies on the tip of my tongue when both my brothers begin to stare at me, confusion etched into their brows.
“Don’t even try that shit with me, Matteo.
I know you don’t give two shits about Anna.
She’s a pawn in your games. We all are,” Raffaele hollers, his face going red with rage.
“When did you start talking to her? Was that always the plan? Was that why you forbade me from reaching out to her?” he continues, needing to know the ins and outs of my relationship with Anna.
But like hell he’s getting any insight into it.
“Does she even know that she’s talking to you, or are you pretending to be me this whole time?
” I don’t need to answer that question for him to know the truth.
“You can never let me have anything! Not one thing! Not the life I want and now not the woman I love!”
“Don’t fucking delude yourself, little brother,” I reply arcticly.
“You don’t love Anna. You don’t know the first thing about love.
If you did, you wouldn’t have fucked half of New York while claiming she meant something to you.
No, dear brother. You still have much to learn about the world.
Love and loyalty are only two lessons on a very long list.”
Breathing heavily through his nose, he stares daggers at me, as if ready to tear my head off.
“I fucking hate you,” he snarls through gritted teeth.
He’s never said those words to me before, even if I’ve felt their sting in other ways. But now they’re here—his true feelings laid bare, out in the open.
I wish I could say I was surprised. It might have hurt worse if the reason behind his hatred wasn’t Anna and his unwillingness to let her go. Still, she’s not his anymore. Maybe she never was. I really couldn’t give a fuck. Anna is mine now, and not even Raffaele’s hatred of me will change that.
I walk over to him and forcefully grab his chin so his eyes can read the threat swimming in mine.
“Hate me all you want, Rafe, but hear this—Anna will be my wife, and you, baby brother, are going to make sure of it.” He tries to free his chin from my grip, but I only hold onto him harder, enough to bruise.
“I have big plans for this family, Rafe. And you will follow them diligently. Because if you don’t, if you prove to be more trouble than what you’re worth, if family loyalty means nothing to you, then I shall throw you in the same cell you found our father on the night you took the omertà.
Don’t fuck with me on this, Raffaele, for my patience with you has run dry. Capisce?”
I release him, his hatred giving way to fear, the bravado he previously held onto draining from his expression.
“Let him go, Nico. I doubt our brother has anything more to say. Isn’t that right?”
Niccolò waits a second to make sure Raffaele doesn’t retaliate before releasing his grip on him and stepping aside. And just as I predicted, Raffaele storms out of my office, much in the same way he thundered in.
“I think he believed you,” Niccolò says, eyeing the door.
I don’t tell Niccolò that it’s a good sign our brother took my threat to heart, because I meant every single word. Raffaele knows that I didn’t shell out an empty threat. I made him a promise instead.
If he gets in the way of my plans, brother or not, he will be dealt with.
How far it goes will be his choice.
“He didn’t mean it, you know?” Niccolò mutters with an apologetic shrug. “He’s just pissed. He’ll get over it. Just give him time.”
Instead of replying to Niccolò, I walk back to my desk and spin my chair around to look at the city I’m trying to protect. My younger brother’s tantrums are a distraction I cannot afford to waste time on.
“What are you thinking?”
Again, I don’t reply.
“You’ve been off lately,” Niccolò says quietly, suspicion lacing his tone. “Is there something I’m missing here? Something I should be worried about?”
My lips part for a fraction of a second before they thin again and shake my head.
“I just need a minute to myself, Nico. Let’s not forget we still have the Ferraro, Lombardi, and Marino problem to tackle. I need some time to think about our next move.”
That’s enough to ease whatever concern was weighing on my brother.
“If you need anything, I’ll be downstairs.”
I don’t offer a reply. Instead, I spend the rest of the afternoon staring into the city I love, wondering if I’ll end up losing everyone important to me, just to keep it under Cosa Nostra rule.
It’s obvious I lost Rocco’s support today.
And I never had Raffaele’s, so that was a given.
But if either Niccolò or Moretti were to find out that my vicious intentions toward the heart of the Romano clan have softened, I’d likely lose their support as well.
A boss is supposed to have a clear mind and a cool head at all times, and cannot make rash decisions based on… feelings.
Yet, instead of curbing whatever emotion is trying to grow inside me, I spin around in my chair, open my desk drawer, and grab my phone. I need to talk to the one person who seems to have a direct connection to everything that is suddenly bubbling inside of me.
Me: I’m struggling to find beauty in anything today.
I start to follow up on the message by telling Anna that lately, her friendship is the only good thing in my life.
However, I delete the entire sentence before doing something foolish like sending it.
Which turns out to be a good thing, because Anna is quick to read my text, meaning she must already be home from her part-time job.
What I don’t like is how my heart sinks to the pit of my stomach when my message is left on read. I hate it even more that I just stare at the damn screen for what feels like forever, as if staring at it would somehow summon a reply. Cazzo!
I toss the phone onto my desk and rake my fingers through my hair, tugging at the strands. The sting is a welcome distraction from whatever shit is happening in my chest.
Suddenly, the familiar sound of a notification freezes me in place. Ever so carefully, I retrieve the phone from the top of my desk and find a video waiting for me, with a text below it.
Anna: I hope you find some beauty in this.
My heart stirs at her words, only to ache when I open the video and see a faceless Anna at the piano, playing a song that feels as if it were written just for me.
No. Not just for me… but for us.
The melody begins charged with hope and intention, only to fade into something bittersweet, almost like an unreciprocated love song. I don’t want to think too much about which part of the song is meant for me. I’m almost certain I already know the answer.