24. Matti
Matti
M y phone buzzes in my hand, Vin’s custom ringtone breaking the oppressive quiet in the room as I finish checking out on the hotel’s app.
Vin’s been kept just as busy, but never with me. Aurelio has us running around, putting out fires that feel like distractions rather than real problems. None of this has anything to do with what matters: resolving the Mikey situation once and for all.
Every day that we delay placing blame for Mikey’s death screams weakness in our world, and Aurelio knows it. He’s losing his edge—older, slower, but still vicious.
Unfortunately, perception is everything, and right now, the family looks soft.
Adding insult to injury, Vin’s been stuck in New York and New Jersey while I’ve been shipped off to every corner of the globe, from London to L.A. It feels deliberate, like Aurelio’s trying to drive a wedge between us.
Which he doesn’t have to do. Vin and I have barely spoken since he realized I kept it from him that Siena was Franco’s sister and a Bellamorte. But I’m not going to apologize for it. I did what I had to do.
If Aurelio knew about that, he’d be using it to his advantage, but he doesn’t. Still, it hasn’t stopped him from fucking with us. First, he put Franco in charge of our assignments without a word to us, and now this wild goose chase bullshit. It feels like sabotage, and it makes no sense.
“You alright?” I ask.
“The old man wants me to help Franco with a job.” Vin’s voice drips with contempt. “He wants me—a capo —to fucking help Franco. He’s not even an associate. I don’t help him. He serves me. This is bullshit.”
I shake my head, tension coiling in my chest. “How’s he assigning Franco to do anything? Franco’s still at the Edge, right?”
I know he’s still at the Edge. I’ve been watching the cameras there every waking minute. Watching Siena sleep. Watching her eat. Watching her read, chat with Olivia, daydream.
And I’ve occasionally checked in on Franco. Aside from making Olivia’s life hell, he hasn’t been doing much.
“I don’t know,” Vin replies, exhaling sharply. “I’ve been in Miami for two days.”
“For what?”
“A meeting.” There’s a pause, his tone dropping. “The guy didn’t show.”
“Because there was no fucking meeting.” Rage ignites in me, and I hurl the glass on the bedside table against the wall. It shatters, shards glittering in the faint light. “Fuck this. I’m coming home.”
“You clear it with the old man?”
“No. ”
“Good,” Vin says, a dark edge in his voice. “Then he won’t see it coming when we show up together and demand some goddamn answers.”
I nod, though he can’t see me. “I’ll meet you on the estate tarmac in two and a half hours.”
Adrenaline surges through me, replacing weeks of simmering frustration with raw purpose.
It’s one thing to fuck with us for not finding the flash drive like he wanted, but forcing Vin to answer to Franco?
Insane. Vin is next in line for head of the family, and it makes no sense to pull him off of the Mikey situation or to separate the two of us when we’ve worked closely together for years now.
Unacceptable. Aurelio’s playing games, and I’m done. We both are.
**
The Demonio family’s private jet touches down on the estate’s private island runway, the wheels kissing the asphalt with a jolt that echoes in my bones. As the plane rolls to a stop, I spot Vin waiting by a black SUV, his stance rigid, eyes narrowed against the humid air.
The cabin door opens, and I stride down the steps, meeting him halfway.
“The old man’s here,” Vin says without preamble. “He’s on the warpath.”
I shoot him a look. “Why?”
“Not sure, but Tommy said he thinks it’s because Franco is MIA.” Vin gives me a pointed look.
My chest tightens as I pick up my pace. “If he doesn’t think we have Franco, then he doesn’t think we have Siena. ”
Vin’s smirk is humorless. “Or he does. And that’s why he sent us both away, trying to force us to release them both.”
Fuck. I hate going into this situation blind. Ever since I saw that woman, my life has been fucked. A perfect mother fucking example of why women and business don’t mix.
All I can think about is Siena when I should be watching my own back. I need to get this bit of business taken care of and get back to the Edge and handle this shit myself.
“Let’s get this over with,” I say.
The ride from the tarmac to the main house is suffocatingly silent. The air is heavy, sticky with the perpetual fog that cloaks the island.
The Demonio estate spans a private island in the middle of the East River, so private that it doesn’t show up on maps.
On it are residences for Aurelio and everyone at the top of the family, including me, a private air strip, a golf course, and sprawling pools and outdoor lounge areas that no one ever uses.
I try to be here as little as possible.
The oppressive architecture of Aurelio’s mansion looms ahead of us, its dark facade a relic of another era.
Inside, the house is suffocating. Thick walls, faded wallpaper, and an omnipresent gloom cling to every corner. Servants glide through the halls like shadows, heads down, voices barely above whispers.
A maid in a crisp white set of scrubs is polishing the wood paneling covering the lower half of the wall in the hallway.
As we pass, Vin asks her, “Is he in?”
She nods but keeps her eyes lowered and never stops polishing.
We reach Aurelio’s office, its grand doors heavy with carved wood and gold detailing. I glance at Vin. He nods, and we push them open.
Aurelio sits behind his desk, his face twisted in frustration. “Fucking work it. Prendilo, stronza. Lavoraci! ” he growls in his thick accent, staring down at his lap.
Though I recognize some Italian here and there from growing up around the Demonios, I’m not fluent. Vin, on the other hand, is, and when I look at him questioningly, he closes his eyes briefly, his neck flushed red.
“Papa,” he growls.
“ Cazzo !” Aurelio looks up at us and snarls, swatting his hand at his lap.
A muffled rustling comes from behind the giant wood and stone desk, and a dark-haired girl lifts her head.
Realizing too late what we’ve walked into, as the girl pulls her strapless top up over her bare chest, my jaw tightens. I turn away, giving her a shred of dignity as she scurries out through a side door.
“It’s my fucking house, coglione, ” Aurelio sneers. “If you don’t want to embarrass yourself, don’t barge in unannounced.”
Aurelio lets out a dark, mirthless laugh, his flat, cold eyes betraying no warmth. The jagged scar winding from his neck, over his chin, and across his cheek to the bridge of his nose catches the glow of his cigar’s ember, casting it in a sinister red light.
“Not that I didn’t know you were coming. You think my pilots don’t check in with me when they are suddenly rerouted here?”
Vin doesn’t flinch. “What’s our business with Franco?” he demands, his voice hard.
Vin purposely uses the word “our” instead of “your,” a subtle but pointed reminder to Aurelio that he doesn’t hold all the power. The choice doesn’t escape the old man.
Aurelio’s sneer curls into a smirk as he zips his pants, sitting with his knees wide in his leather chair. He’s over 350 pounds and as tall as Vin, and when he leans back in the chair, it protests with a loud creak.
With deliberate ease, Aurelio opens the humidor on his desk, selects a cigar, and lets his gaze flick between Vin and me.
“I don’t answer to you, Vincenzo,” Aurelio snarls. “But if you want the truth, Franco does what he’s told.”
Another insult to Vin, but Vin’s expression remains impassable. “He’s a liability.”
Aurelio slams his fist onto the desk. “Why do you care about Franco? He’s nothing. A Bellamorte. He serves his purpose.”
I didn’t close the big doors behind us when we came in, and I turn when I hear Tommy, Vin’s younger brother, come in.
Tommy nods at me and unbuttons his suit jacket as he settles into an overstuffed leather chair. Crossing one ankle onto the opposite knee, he runs a hand through his thick wavy hair.
Tommy is consigliere to the Demonio family and being groomed for politics, while Vin and I do work on the less legitimate side of the family. He’s also a few years younger than Vin and I.
Having spent his 20s getting a law degree followed by a Master’s in public policy and a PhD in international relations, he’s bookish and quieter than we are, though arguably more violent under the right circumstances.
Vin keeps his attention on Aurelio. “Papa, Franco is a fucking idiot, and giving him any information, much less a shred of power, puts us at risk.”
Aurelio settles back in his chair and looks up at the ceiling, muttering. “Why? Why am I cursed with a stupid son?”
Tommy stands quickly, moving in next to Vin as if to block him from lunging after Aurelio. Tommy is tall, lean, and cut with longer hair and clean shaven. But he’s got the signature Demonio hard jaw line and dark brown eyes, which are icy and coal black with muted fury.
I take a step closer to Vin as well, with the same intent: to make sure that he doesn’t attack Aurelio.
I’m doing it to make sure I don’t miss any information I need about Siena.
I don’t know what Tommy’s reasoning is, but he stands as though every muscle in his body is wound tight, ready to strike.
Aurelio continues, banging his fist on the desk and leveling a stare at Vin. “Why do you care about Franco? Franco is dealing with a nothing, a little mess with Mikey, niente di importante .”
Nothing important? What the fuck? Mikey was a made guy, one of our guys, and we need to make an example out of someone. It’s warpath time. Or it should be.
Arrogantly, Aurelio continues, stepping out from behind his desk. “Mikey was a bastardo, bad luck. I should have known when he married a Bellamorte troia that he was too stupid to work for me.”
Bastard. Slut.
I frown, realizing that if he doesn’t approve of a soldier like Mikey being with Emily Bellamorte, he’s going to hate it when me, one of his capos , starts fucking another Bellamorte. And it’s going to fucking happen.
Narrowing my eyes, I watch him closely for signs that he knows I’m… whatever I’m doing with Siena.
Vin clears his throat. “If the Bellamortes are bad luck, Papa, what are you doing with Franco? He’s a Bellamorte. ”
Aurelio’s eyes flash with anger. “Bellamortes are swine, peasants, servants. I use the Bellamorte boy.” He composes himself and tilts his head at Vin, his voice smug.
“And that, mio figlio , is why you do not need to worry about him. He will serve his purpose, and you will be back on top, doing Papa’s bidding again. ”
Vin stares at Aurelio with hatred in his eyes, and Tommy speaks up, his deep voice even lower than usual. “What purpose is that, Papa?”
Aurelio leans back against the desk, gesturing with his hands almost like a shrug. He brings the cigar to his lips slowly, as if he’s savoring his power, savoring the moment.
“He will take what I want from his troia sister who YOU let steal from me.” He jabs his cigar in my direction. “By any means necessary.”
Aurelio’s eyes lock on mine, his voice dripping with disdain. “And when I have what I want, I will kill them both.”
My blood runs cold. He knows. And he’s using Franco to get to Siena. Fuck. But Franco’s chained up, out of reach, and has been since the day Aurelio sent me and Vin into the wind and out of New York.
It hits me with a jolt that Aurelio intended to keep us out of town until Franco had done the job of getting the flash drive, but since he’s locked away, it never happened so he never sent for us.
Fucker. Seething fury leaks out of my chest and into the rest of my body, ready to launch me across the room at Aurelio. Tommy catches my eye and gives me a small shake of the head, letting me know now isn’t the time.
He’s right, but FUCK.
Aurelio pauses, clearly enjoying having all of the power in the room, the rest of us hating him but doing nothing to stop him.
Smiling languidly, the smoke from the cigar obscuring his scarred face, he says, “I will kill them both just like I killed Mikey and his troia wife.”