Chapter Twelve
Matteo
Once again, The Families had summoned me. Leaving Morena unsupervised was calculated. She would write. She would eat what I had left. She would sleep when the body demanded it. I looked forward to coming home.
I took the private elevator down. The driver was waiting. I slid into the back seat and gave the address of the neutral estate without looking up. The city slid past in grey morning light. My mind did not stay on the road.
It stayed on her.
On the way her long black hair had looked spread across my pillow.
On the exact shade of blue in her eyes when they went blind with the last orgasm I forced out of her.
On the soft, broken sounds she made while the cream turned every thrust into something she could not escape.
On the way her cunt had clenched around me like it knew who owned it.
On the thick, slow trickle of me that had leaked out of her onto the dark sheets after I pulled free.
My cock stirred hard against my slacks at the memory alone. I adjusted myself once and forced my attention back to the phone.
Three messages from Esposito’s people. One from Santino that simply read Be careful.
I was shown into a long room with a polished table and heavy curtains drawn against the daylight. The air smelled the same as it always did. Cigars. Expensive cologne. The faint metallic edge that never fully left these gatherings.
The Five were seated.
Esposito at the center. Greco to his right, Grimaldi to his left. Leo Moretti sat near the far end, silent, fingers resting loosely around an untouched glass of water. Santino leaned against the wall the way he preferred, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
I took the empty chair left for me and kept my posture relaxed. Ankle over knee. Hands steady.
Esposito did not waste time.
“The Families eagerly await your update, Matteo,” he said. His voice was dry, old, and completely without warmth. “You accepted the condition. The public consummation was noted. The doctor’s preliminary report reached us this morning. It is acceptable progress. We expect more.”
I inclined my head once. “We’re working on it.”
“I don’t think you understand the terms,” Esposito seethed.
Leo’s gaze rested on me a moment longer than necessary. He said nothing. He rarely needed to. The weight of his presence did the work for him. Santino’s silence from the wall carried a different weight, one that felt like family even when it disagreed.
They moved on to shipments, borders. I listened. I nodded at the right times. I gave the answers they wanted to hear. Crisis averted.
The entire time the image of Morena on my sheets sat behind my eyes like a second lid.
White clothes discarded. Cream and cum leaking from her.
The soft, helpless way her thighs had trembled around my hips while I held her open and made her take every inch.
The way she had looked at me after every orgasm, wrecked and wet and trying to pretend she hated how much her body answered to me.
My cock stayed half-hard through the entire meeting. I did not shift. Control was the only language these men respected. The formal portion was nearly finished when the door opened again.
Dario Rizzo walked in like a man who thought he had a place at the table.
Thick through the shoulders. Gold chain.
The sour edge of cheap cologne and whatever he had been smoking.
He was dressed better than the last time I had seen him, clean shirt, pressed trousers, but the effort only made the cheapness underneath more obvious.
Two of Greco’s men flanked him, not quite escorting, not quite restraining.
Dario’s eyes found me. The smile that spread across his face was small, satisfied, and entirely too familiar.
Esposito’s expression did not change. “You requested five minutes. Use them carefully.”
Dario stepped forward until he stood at the far end of the table. He did not sit. He looked at each of the older men in turn, then settled on me with open enjoyment.
“Gentlemen,” he said. His voice carried the same oily confidence he had used the night he tried to force my wife in a private room. “I appreciate the invitation. I only wanted to offer a small observation about the recent vacancy.”
The room went in the particular way that meant every man present was calculating exits and angles.
Dario continued, smiling, though a thin sheen of sweat had appeared at his temple. “The Vernizzi boys… Odd, isn’t it? All three. Warehouse on the water. Clean work. Professional. The official word is Bratva. A territorial message. Fair enough. But the timing is interesting, isn’t it?”
He leaned forward, eyes on me. “The line ends. The seat opens. And the same week the man who benefits most from that empty chair walks into After Dark, buys the girl who used to dance under my roof for thirty-five million, marries her naked on the stage, and fucks her in front of every don in the city so the alliance sticks.”
He let the silence stretch. A few of the older men shifted. Greco’s eyes narrowed. Leo remained perfectly still. Santino’s arms stayed crossed, but the tension in his jaw was visible even from across the room.
Dario’s gaze never left mine. The cocky edge in his voice sharpened, trying to cover the fear tightening his shoulders.
“Coincidence is a hell of a thing. Almost like someone who knew the Vernizzi bloodline was a dead end decided to speed the process along. And now that same someone has the perfect little hole collared and breeding. Efficient. I can respect efficiency. She always did look best when she was scared and wet.”
The crude words landed exactly where he intended them to. A couple of the older dons exchanged glances. The insult was deliberate. He wanted a reaction. He wanted me to lose control in front of the table so he could claim he had gotten under my skin.
I stood.
The movement was slow. Measured. Every eye in the room tracked it.
I walked the length of the table without hurry until I stood close enough that Dario had to tip his chin up to hold my gaze.
The gold chain at his throat caught the low light.
The faint scar from the knife I had turned against him sat under his shirt.
I could smell the fear under the cologne, sharp and acrid.
Dario tried to hold the stare. His mouth twisted into another ugly little smile, but the color had pulled from under his skin.
“You put your hands on my wife,” I said.
My voice stayed quiet enough that only the men closest to us could hear the exact words.
“You put a knife to her throat. You spoke about cutting her. You tried to take what was mine. And now you walk into this room and imply that the man who holds the Vernizzi seat is a liability while talking about her like you have a claim. You’re a laughable little man. ”
Dario’s throat moved. The bravado cracked further. Sweat slid down the side of his neck.
“I’m just saying what half the city is whispering,” he tried, voice thinner now.
“The warehouse was clean. Too clean for Bratva muscle. And the girl, my girl until the auction, ends up the exact solution the new seat needed. I’m not accusing.
I’m observing. Observation is free. Besides, she always did get wet when men talked about using her.
You should have seen the way she used to shake on that secondary stage.
Pretty little thing. Does she cry when you fill her, or does she just take it quiet like a good whore? ”
The last sentence came out too fast, too desperate, the scumbag in him trying to reclaim ground even as his hands started to tremble at his sides.
I stepped closer. Not enough to draw attention from the full table. Enough that he had to tip his chin higher. Enough that the fear in his eyes finally overtook the crude performance.
“You are finished speaking,” I said. The words were soft.
Absolute. “Any further speculation about the warehouse will be treated as an attack on the seat itself. Any further mention of my wife’s body, any crude word, any implication that she was ever yours, will be answered personally.
You will leave this estate. You will stay away from After Dark.
You will stay away from every holding connected to the new seat.
And if I hear your name attached to even one more rumor, there will not be enough left of you to identify. Do you understand me, Rizzo?”
Dario’s breathing had gone shallow. The gold chain at his throat jumped with every rapid pulse.
He looked at the older men for support and found none.
Esposito’s face remained carved from stone.
Greco watched with cold interest. Leo’s silence was heavier than any threat.
Santino’s eyes never left Dario’s face. And Grimaldi was busy on his phone.
Dario swallowed hard. The cocky edge collapsed into something raw and cornered.
“Yeah,” he said, voice cracking. “I understand.”
“Good.” I did not move back. “Now get out of my sight before I decide the Families would prefer a cleaner solution to the problem you just became.”
Dario turned and walked out between Greco’s men.
His shoulders were tight. The back of his neck flushed with the particular humiliation of a man who had just been told what he would do and found he lacked the spine to refuse in front of witnesses.
The door closed behind him with a soft, final click.
The meeting resumed as if the interruption had never occurred. Shipments. Borders. The usual quiet threats. I returned to my chair, posture relaxed, expression blank. Inside, the violent thing under my ribs paced like an animal that had just been shown a target and told to wait.
My mind went straight back to Morena.