Chapter 43
Matteo
I’ve been summoned. Me! By Moretti, no less.
If I weren’t so exhausted by these last few months, I would have put him in his place. Because, unlike him, I’m out there, on the streets, fighting for my city. Fighting to keep my wife.
Moretti isn’t.
Yes, his men have been instrumental in keeping more Outfit men from entering our city. Rocco has been fearless in every fight we have encountered, but his father, the great Alfonso Moretti, has never seen a day of battle or the horrors we face on a daily basis.
Even Vitale, who is well over sixty, hasn’t shied away from the fight.
In fact, the Old Fox looks like new life has been breathed into him with each kill he’s managed to make.
I guess some men have a greater bloodlust to satiate than others, though I doubt that’s the reason why Moretti refuses to pick up his gun.
When I walk into his restaurant, I’m not surprised to find it empty.
He must have closed up shop while the war is going on.
Niccolò told me Moretti was less than pleased that Romano sent all his correspondence to me by leaving letters—and severed heads—at his doorstep.
My wife’s father has no idea where we live, but apparently, he’s got Moretti’s address down pat.
Just another source of resentment for Don Alfonso.
One of many, judging by the look on his face when I walk into the large dining area.
“Have a seat,” he says, less than amicably.
My jaw ticks at the order, but I do as he says. I lean back in my chair, looking relaxed and unbothered by the scowl ingrained on his face.
“You look upset, Don Alfonso. And here I thought you invited me here because you missed me.”
If my words were aimed to piss him off, then I’ve succeeded. But not in the way I wanted.
“I asked too much of you,” he says, shaking his head. “I blame myself for what’s happening to our beloved city. I truly thought you were the man for the job, the one who would break the chains the Outfit has placed on us. But now I see my faith was misplaced.”
“Funny you should say that, considering I’ve never seen you pick up a gun and contribute to the cause.”
“I made my contribution!” He slams his fist on the table.
“I chose you, Matteo. Picked you to lead the way.” He shakes his head, disgruntled.
“How quickly you’ve forgotten everything I did for you.
I backed your claim to the throne when the other Dons were still calling you bastardo behind your back.
I made them see you differently. I made you a king among men, one who was supposed to be worthy of his throne.
Worthy of usurping his useless father.” He lets out an exhale.
“And how do you repay my faith? My generosity? You broke the one rule that would tarnish your claim in everyone’s eyes. ”
And there it is. The real reason he refuses to fight at my side.
“I never said I wouldn’t kill my father. You assumed I wouldn’t. That’s on you. Not me. I was entitled to his death. He needed to die by my hand.”
“No, Matteo. You might have earned his death, but that didn’t give you permission to take it. Can’t you see what you’ve done? Half the men under you already know you have Carlo’s blood on your hands. The ones that stand at your side, fear you more than they respect you.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing. Fear can be a very powerful motivator.” I smirk.
“Fear can only get you so far,” he says, with a disappointed, almost exhausted voice.
“We might win this war on fear alone, but once the dust has settled, then those who once fought with you will fight against you. The fear of having another tyrant rule over them would be too great a risk for them to take.”
“And are you one of those men?” I arch a brow.
“Yes.”
I have to give him credit. He could have lied to me right now.
I lean into the table, my shark-like smile stretched wide on my face.
“Do you fear me, Don Moretti? Is that what you are saying?”
“I fear the blood coursing through your veins. I fear there is too much of Carlo for any good to come out of you.” His statement slaps the smile off my face. “A man without honor… a man that refuses to follow tradition for his own selfish reasons, can never be a worthy Don.”
“You think I’m unworthy?” My jaw clenches, just as my hands fist. “After all the lives I’ve taken, after all the sacrifices I’ve made, you think that I’m the one who is unworthy of my title?
While you sit here in your ivory tower, not lifting a finger to help?
Not doing a thing to see the Cosa Nostra victorious?
I’m the one who’s unworthy?” I seethe through gritted teeth.
Moretti leans back in his chair and tilts his head sidewise.
“How is your wife, Don Donato?” The mention of my Anna feels like an ice bucket to my system. “I hear that your marriage morphed from a strategic war move to a love match.”
“My wife has nothing to do with what we’re talking about,” I defend.
“Ah, but you see,” he says, leaning forward, clasping his hands on the table, “she does. She is the very proof of how your selfishness far exceeds any duty you have for the Cosa Nostra. Tell me, Matteo. Did you decide to marry her before or after you were already in love with her?”
I’m fuming now.
“Tread carefully with your next words, Moretti,” I snarl, with a murderous look in my eyes.
“So it was before, then,” he says somberly, as if I’ve just confirmed all his suspicions.
“I’ll admit one thing. You played us all for fools with perfect precision.
It took me until your wedding day to realize Romano’s daughter wasn’t just a pawn in our war games, but the very prize you meant to claim all along.
Anyone with eyes could see you loved her.
But not many understood what that meant.
Your selfishness has put the whole famiglia in jeopardy, and it will continue to do so if you place your wife above it.
If there was ever a time to tell me that my misgivings about you are wrong, it is now. ”
I know what he’s asking. If push comes to shove, would I put the Cosa Nostra’s interests above my wife’s? And the answer is a resounding no. My silence says it all.
“That’s what I feared,” Moretti laments.
I can see it in his green eyes that he’s genuinely saddened by what my answer will force him to do.
“You’re going to tell the other Don’s about how I killed my father, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
Again with the fucking honesty.
“When?”
“When I feel it’s more prudent to do so. We can’t be divided now. Not with how the Outfit is retaliating against us for stealing their principessa. We need to remain a united front if we are ever expected to win this war.”
In other words, once the war is won, then he’ll tell the world that my tainted hands are unworthy to hold the crown.
I get up to my feet, Moretti mimicking the move. I extend my hand for him to shake, surprising him. “You’re an honorable man, Alfonso. I’m sorry we stand on opposite sides on this matter.”
He clasps my hand in both of his. “As am I, son. As am I.”
I offer him a curt nod and turn my back on him, knowing that once I leave here, Moretti will cease to be my ally and turn into an enemy. He’s going to do everything in his power to dethrone me, while I must do everything in my power to keep the kingdom I bled for.
As I step onto the street and look around the busy sidewalk, while the skyscrapers of my city look down at me, I no longer have that burning need to claim it as my own.
As long as I have Anna, everything else fades into the background.
It’s just noise. Noise that no longer holds any melody for me.
My desire to rule New York doesn’t come close to the love I have for my wife. It’s almost nonexistent in comparison.
I do know one thing. Anna would breathe easier if I didn’t have such a large role in the Cosa Nostra.
In fact, if I could somehow have no role at all, she’d be thrilled.
But that’s not how our lives work. I took the omertà, which means there’s no way out for me.
And once Moretti tells the other Dons about my treasonous act of killing my father—my so-called predecessor—sides will be drawn.
Another war is on the horizon. If we win, I’ll have to remain Capo dei Capi of every New York family to ensure my family’s safety, killing friends and foes alike. But if we lose, I’ll make my wife a widow before we even celebrate our first wedding anniversary.
“Boss,” Rocco calls out to me with Niccolò walking beside him.
“What is it?” I ask, pinching the bridge of my nose, needing this day to end already.
“Just got word our men captured three Outfit soldiers. One of them was seen with Marcelo Romano a few days ago. We think he might know where their base in the city is.”
Fuck. My. Life. Cazzo!
“Okay. Let’s move then. I should talk to this soldier myself. Where are they now?”
“I can do it, boss. I can interrogate him,” Niccolò says before Rocco is able to tell me their whereabouts.
Niccolò has been temperamental lately. Ever since Anna and I came back from the Hamptons, he’s been in a pissy mood.
No. He was already in a sour mood before then.
A fact made clear when he outed my wife’s family’s dirty laundry on every news outlet there is.
I didn’t punish him for it, but I sure as shit wasn’t happy he went behind my back and did such a thing.
Things between us haven’t been good since then.
And me going off on a honeymoon has only increased the rift between us.
“Are you questioning my interrogation skills, brother?” He shakes his head, but I don’t miss how his jaw ticks. “Good. Now get in the fucking car. You too, Rocco.”