Chapter 27
Matteo
Every head of family in the New York tri-state area is gathered in the same nightclub where my brother celebrated his induction. And just like that day, it all feels bittersweet.
“Look at the scowl on this man’s face!” Don Vitale chuckles, his drink sloshing dangerously close to the floor with each laugh. “You’d think he wasn’t happy with the coup he just pulled. Celebrate, young Donato. Every piece of your plan is falling perfectly into place.”
“He’ll celebrate when Vincent Romano is dead, and not a second earlier, isn’t that right, Matteo?” Don Cavaliere interjects, clinking his champagne glass with the Old Fox.
My jaw clenches at the way these men celebrate an accomplishment they had no hand in planning or executing.
Still, it’s neither their laughter nor their boisterous remarks that have me on edge. It’s knowing my woman is locked away back at my house while I’m forced to attend this party, once again parted from her.
Anna has been under my roof for over forty-eight hours, and yet it feels like I haven’t been able to spend any time with her at all. Not that she cares much for my company. In fact, every time I enter her room, she looks at me like she can’t quite figure me out.
Admittedly, her bewilderment is preferable to the hatred I expected to see swimming in her stellar blue eyes. Though it still pales in comparison to the loving look I yearn to see in them.
“Here, kid. At least drink something. You are the guest of honor, after all,” Don Rinaldi says, handing me a tumbler filled halfway with the most expensive whiskey Moretti has on his top shelf.
I stare at the amber liquid as if it personally offended me.
I don’t want to be the fucking guest of honor.
I want to go home. I want to tell Anna that it was me she’d been talking to all this time, not my brother.
I want to tell her that everything we said—everything we shared—meant something to me.
Because of those calls, I had beauty back in my life.
That’s what I want. To lose myself in her embrace. In her kiss. Not in this twenty-year-old Macallan. To hell with this eight-hundred-dollar whiskey. Anna is the only thing I want to get drunk on.
Cazzo!
“Now, now, gentlemen. Give Matteo some room. Let the man think rather than drink. The war is far from over,” Don Moretti says, placing an arm over my shoulder, leading me away from the celebrating crowd.
“The war hasn’t even started, and already they’re setting off fireworks as if it’s been won,” I snarl through gritted teeth.
“Let them celebrate this small victory, Matteo. In war, that’s all you get. Small victories here and there to keep you from abandoning it altogether,” he says, more lucid than anyone else in the room.
“You think they’d abandon me when the time comes to actually fight?”
“No, of course not.” He shakes his head.
“Not now that you’ve set this war in motion and given them something worth fighting for.
” He chuckles softly. “No. They’ll stand by you.
They have complete faith in your ability to lead us all into victory.
It would take some egregious act for their loyalty to ever falter. ”
Like being in love with the very woman I used to start this war?
My poor Anna. The Helen of Troy of mafia wars.
“Let’s talk about better things. Tell me again, how has Romano reacted to you kidnapping his daughter? Any more news on that front?”
“As expected, it took him a day to find out she was in New York. I just received word he’s flying over tomorrow night and that he wants a conferenza with my father.”
“Your father?” Moretti laughs. “Yes, good thing Carlo is still alive and well to attend that parley.”
“I knew I had kept him alive for a reason.” I smile, letting something colder slip through.
“Yes, you did. And good on you for that. When will this sit-down take place?”
“At the end of the week. Romano wanted it sooner, but Don Vitale needs more time to get his affairs in order.”
“And by affairs you mean—”
“His men ready to strike the Irish when the time comes.”
“Are you still certain Vincent will reach out to the Irish? That he’ll double-cross you? That instead of a sit-down, it will be a trap?”
“That’s how I would have played it in his position.”
“Not everyone is as clever as you, Matteo. Or as unscrupulous.”
“Romano is both. It’s his ability to stay two steps ahead that made him the Capo dei Capi to beat. Trust me, it will be his move.”
“And ours will be to rid the streets of the Irish mob once and for all.” Don Moretti smiles
“The gift I promised Don Vitale for his patronage.” I smile sinisterly back.
“Yes, though the Old Fox is still disappointed he couldn’t throw one of his daughters into the deal,” Moretti says with a chuckle.
I crack my neck, Anna’s face flashing through my mind with the remark.
“I have a wife. I have no use for another.”
“You don’t have a wife yet. But I like your confidence.
Do you really think you can convince the girl to marry you?
Willingly?” I nod. “Then there shouldn’t be a problem convincing anyone the marriage is legitimate.
Vincent won’t be able to contest it.” Moretti pats my back.
“Though, just to be safe, it would be prudent to produce an heir as soon as possible.”
Still carrying the tumbler of Macallan, I down it in one go, then slam the empty glass a little too hard onto a nearby table.
“There, there, Matteo,” Moretti laughs, picking up on my discomfort.
“I know the idea of bedding the Romano girl may not please you, but remember what we’re fighting for.
The honor of the Cosa Nostra. Besides, my Rocco told me he saw her at the airport when he and Nico went to pick you up.
He said the girl is quite stunning. I’m sure you can manage an heir or two. ”
For all the respect and fondness I have for Don Alfonso, everything he’s just implied grates on my nerves.
“It’s getting late. I should go.”
“Late?” Moretti laughs harder. “It’s not even midnight.”
I clear my throat and force a smile.
“What I mean is, I still have work to do. I can’t afford to slow down now, not when we’re this close. I’ll celebrate after we win the war. Not before.”
Moretti’s grin softens as he places a hand on my shoulder.
“I’m sorry Carlo never saw your worth, Matteo. Since he was too blind a fool to ever say it, let me be the one to say it for him.” He squeezes my shoulder. “I’m proud of you, son.”
I don’t know what stuns me more—that Moretti said such a thing to me, or that I care. He’s not my father, and yet his words of pride matter more than I’d like to admit.
“I… um…” I clear my throat again.
“Yes, yes, go, Matteo.” He laughs, giving my shoulder another squeeze. “You have a kingdom to win back.”
I offer him a curt nod and get the hell out of there. Unfortunately, by the time I get home, Anna is already fast asleep. Ever so slowly, I walk inside, careful not to wake her. And then, like the creeper I apparently am, I just watch my girl sleep.
My fingers ache to touch her. My lips long to kiss her. And still, I stay rooted to the spot, knowing that watching her like this is all I’m allowed to do.
Anna isn’t ready for the truth yet. She still has to come to terms with losing the life she once had, the world she once knew. But with time, she’ll accept New York as her new home. Maybe she’ll accept me, too.
No. There’s no maybes about it.
I’ll win her back. I’ll win her love back.
I did it once. I’m sure I can do it again.
Or at least, I hope I can.
I’ll tell her the truth when I’m sure she won’t kill me for it. How this last year has been the happiest I’ve ever experienced. That her calls were all I looked forward to. That she brought real meaning back into my life—one that didn’t involve hatred and bloodshed.
Anna is my reason. My purpose. My heart.
And one day, when she’s ready, I’ll tell her as much.
Unable to stop myself, I lean down and brush a tender kiss to her temple.
“I love you, vita mia. Now and always. Never forget that.”
Anna’s eyelashes flutter, making my heart stop in my chest, but when she turns her back to me, still lost to sleep, I know my words didn’t reach her. Maybe one day. But not today.
I let out a breath and turn to leave my girl be. But as I start to leave the room, a frown tugs at my lips when I notice the untouched dinner still sitting neatly on a tray on top of her dresser.
Hmm. I make a note to speak to my mother in the morning to find out if Anna ate anything today.
I didn’t push her yesterday when she refused to touch the food prepared for her.
I figured she’d be too anxious to keep anything down after the harrowing experience of being kidnapped.
But those nerves should have settled by now.
She knows I don’t intend to harm her. I think I’ve made that abundantly clear.
The thought takes me back to yesterday morning, when she sat on my lap as I tended to the burn on her neck. Anna’s scent—light, floral, unmistakably hers—wrapped around me, quiet and intoxicating. So much so that I haven’t since quite shaken its hold on me.
However, it was the way she didn’t flinch when my lips pressed against her skin that really did a number on my head.
I didn’t mean to kiss her. It just… happened.
As if it were the most natural thing in the world.
A knee-jerk reaction. The kind that a man in love would make.
But it was the look in her eyes, the way she stared at me like I’d grown a second head, that snapped me out of my daze.
I need to be more careful around her. More cautious. Otherwise, I’ll do something reckless, like drop to one knee and confess my love. That would scare her even more than I already have.