Chapter 22
Matteo
Twenty-six years old
Today is Anna’s nineteenth birthday, and I’ve been in a foul mood from the moment I woke up. My volatile disposition only worsened when Raffaele kept throwing smug smirks my way during breakfast, each one a quiet little reminder that he got what I didn’t—time with Anna on her birthday.
Still, Raffaele isn’t the reason I’m on edge.
No.
I’m angry because my girl is hurting, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.
She’s been sending me pictures all day long of her spending time with the people she loves most. The gifts her family gave her. The cake her sister-in-law, Frances, baked. All the things that should have lit up her face.
Even as she smiled at the camera, however, I could still see the sadness behind her eyes. And when she sent me the video of her blowing out the candles, I knew in my heart that the wish she made was for me to be there with her.
For that reason, I’ve been barking orders all day, my temper shorter than usual. Even Niccolò notices I’m not myself today. Thankfully, he waited until my last meeting ended to finally broach the subject.
“You okay?” he asks as we step out of Moretti’s and onto the crowded streets of Little Italy, the noise of the city rushing back in around us.
“I’m fine,” I reply through gritted teeth.
“Really? Because your face is saying something different.” Rocco laughs at my expense.
Instead of a reply, I throw him a look sharp enough to wipe the smirk off his face.
“Jesus! When you look at me like that, I feel like I need to bathe in holy water or something,” he adds with a nervous chuckle. “What do you think, Nico? Maybe it’s time we start asking around for an exorcist to rid him of whatever demon is possessing your brother today.”
My arm shoots out, my hand wrapping around his neck. “I’m in no mood for jokes, Rocco. Don’t test me.”
“Matteo,” I hear Moretti call out, stepping out from his restaurant where we just finished business. “I strongly advise you to let go of my son. I know Rocco can be a pest sometimes, but he is still my son.”
I tilt my head to the side, watching the fear begin to overtake the green in Rocco’s eyes, and only after it has completely dimmed his light, do I let go.
“Jesus Christ… you’ve got a grip on you,” he chokes out, stumbling back, hands braced on his thighs as he tries to catch his breath.
I turn to Moretti standing behind me, my expression void of all emotion. “Never threaten me like that again, Don Alfonso. No matter who gets in my crosshairs.”
Moretti’s shoulder slump somewhat, looking more disappointed than angry.
Fuck… he should be. I’m out of fucking control right now. And I know it. The worst part is, so does everybody else.
Kiss me.
The memory of Anna’s breathy plea, begging me to kiss her, finally snaps me out of my uncontrollable temper. It reminds me that even though I can’t be with her today, in a few hours, I get to at least hear those words again.
However, it still feels like an eternity separates us. Between where we are now and the day I can actually press my lips to hers—if that’s even a possibility in my future.
No one says a word as I tip my head back and look up at the New York skyline, taking a moment to cool off.
“My apologies, gentlemen. It seems I’m not myself today.”
“No shit,” Rocco says with a grin, still rubbing the soreness around his neck. “No worries, boss. We all have bad days.”
It bothers me how easily Rocco shrugs off an offense like the one I just made.
Whereas I hold grudges at the slightest transgression, he just lets things slide off of him with ease.
Just another trait to add to the list of things I envy about him.
Growing up with a loving, protective father sitting at the very top of that long list.
“Matteo saw our father today,” Niccolò adds by way of explanation, Moretti’s furrowed brow evening out instantly.
“Ah. I see,” Moretti says, placing a consoling hand on my shoulder. “My condolences.”
“You’ll have more than enough opportunity to pay your respects after the fucker is buried ten feet under,” I say, squaring my shoulders.
“As long as you’re not the one doing it, then I look forward to that day,” Moretti replies.
Niccolò throws me a worried glance, but thankfully Moretti doesn’t pick up on it.
More than a few times, Niccolò has reminded me that I can’t be the one to end Carlo Senior. That, due to Cosa Nostra tradition, a Don’s hands must be clean of his predecessor’s blood if he’s to take his place as the head of the famiglia.
Part of me intends to let Niccolò, or even Rocco, kill the motherfucker. But then there’s the darker part of me. The one still scarred from growing up with him as a father. The part that bristles at the mere thought of being denied the chance to watch the light leave his eyes.
“Should I want to know why you visited your father today?” Moretti asks, curious.
Because I wanted someone to feel my pain… and he’s the only one who deserves it.
“No,” I say flatly. “He’s still breathing. That’s all you need to know.”
“There’s a silver lining in there somewhere, I guess.”
Is there? It doesn’t feel like it. Every day I let that pile of human waste remain alive feels like a punishment. Though this last visit did scratch an itch.
When Pietra finds out what I did to my father today, I’ll never hear the end of it. I’m pretty sure I already have a few texts from her, too. But I don’t need to read them to know what they say.
What’s the point of her keeping him healthy enough to avoid another heart attack if I’m just going to beat the shit out of him every time I’m in one of my moods?
“How about you call it a night?” Moretti says with a smile, the same bright one Rocco must have inherited. “After a visit like that, you’ve earned some downtime. Even if it’s just to burn off some steam.”
I need a release, alright, but I doubt I’ll get much of it tonight. Not when the woman I love is in another state. And not when my asshole of a father is still drawing breath.
We say our goodbyes, then get into Niccolò’s car and drive home. Knowing I’m not in the right frame of mind tonight, Niccolò keeps his eyes on the road, forgoing any conversation.
I check my watch and see it’s a quarter to midnight. The day is almost over, and I haven’t even been able to hear her voice.
Usually, at this time, I’d already be on the phone with Anna. But with her celebrating her birthday, she couldn’t exactly excuse herself from her own party just to call me. That would raise too many red flags and undermine everything I’ve worked hard to avoid, mainly getting caught by her family.
“You want me to come up? Grab a drink?” Niccolò asks when he pulls up outside our building.
“No. I think I’ll just answer a few emails and then go to bed.”
“Are you sure?” he asks, restlessly tapping the steering wheel with his fingers.
“I’m sure. You go on ahead.”
Friday nights usually mean Niccolò is itching to head to his underground fight club to crack some skulls with his bare fists. Normally, I would alert him of the dangers of getting into a cage to fight some nobody, but tonight I don’t have the energy to chastise him about it.
I step out of the car, surprised when Niccolò doesn’t start the engine right away. I lean down to the window, waiting for him to say what’s on his mind.
“You can’t kill him, Matteo. Whatever he said to you today… just remember… you can’t kill him.”
The thing is, our father usually doesn’t even have time to open his mouth before I’m already on him, punching, kicking, cutting.
But I don’t correct my brother’s assumption.
If he knew how many times I’ve come close to doing exactly that, he’d probably hide our father from me, just to make sure I didn’t end up killing the bastard in one of my blind rages.
I give Niccolò a curt nod, and it’s enough to ease his concern. Then I step onto the curb and watch him merge into the late-night Manhattan traffic.
Striding through the lobby of my building, I make my way to the elevator. When the doors close and I catch my reflection, confronted with my ragged look, I let out an aggravated exhale.
I should be walking on sunshine. Most men don’t get to talk to their girls at night the way I do with mine.
The intimacy we share is beyond anything most people will ever experience with their significant other.
But one thing they get to do that I don’t is touch their woman.
They get to hold her. To kiss her on her goddamn birthday. Cazzo.
Even if it weren’t Anna’s birthday, even if it were just a regular day, I’d still feel on edge. Ever since our calls turned physical, it’s getting harder and harder to stay away from her.
The irony of it all is that these night-time calls are all I have.
All I will ever have. Once they end, I’ll have nothing.
The second I steal Anna from her family, the last thing she’ll want is for me to touch her.
To hold her in my arms. To kiss her lips.
To whisper in her ear how in love with her I am.
She will cease to be my Anna. When that day comes, I’ll be met with an entirely different Annamaria. All that awaits me is curses and words sharp enough to cut. Words meant to make me bleed.
Maybe that’s the real reason for my sudden temper. Because I know the woman I’ve fallen for will hate me for all eternity. And I’ll have to live knowing I earned every bit of that hate.
“Matteo?” my mother calls from the couch the second she hears me walk through the door.
“Buonasera, Mamma.”
“Buonasera, figlio mio.” She smiles warmly, pressing a quick kiss to my cheek.
The weight pressing against my chest eases at the sight of her smile.