2. Matteo
Matteo
The popular statue of Lady Justice holds a sword and scales to display fairness, justice, and morality. I place a gun on those scales; that’s the extent of my morality. It’s what I was born for. It’s who I am. I don’t know how to be anything else.
I have no wish to be.
The ticking of the watch on my hand grows louder as I sit as still as possible, waiting for the man in front of me to make a decision. The conference room smells faintly of polished wood and expensive cologne.
Numbers don’t lie. Contracts don’t shift beneath your feet. The terms are clear and expectations clearer. There’s no ambiguity in a well-structured deal.
Unlike people. They’re usually much harder to predict.
“Mr. Vitale, I have to say, the projections are… ambitious.”
I close the file in front of me and meet his gaze, unimpressed.
“Ambitious?” I question evenly. “I offered you terms and I can assure you I have every intention of meeting each one of them.”
Across the table, Daniel Mercer, a graying man in his mid-fifties, shifts slightly in his seat. He’s the kind of man who has built his reputation on cautious decisions. My type of person to do business with.
I slide the document in my hand toward him.
“The logistics are already in place. Distribution is secured. All you’re doing is stepping into a structure that’s already functioning.”
“That’s exactly what concerns me,” he replies. “You’re asking for a significant investment without full visibility.”
Inwardly, my eyes roll. He thinks transparency equals control, but it doesn’t. It just means they’re being shown what they’re meant to see. What I allow to be seen.
“You’ve had access to everything relevant,” I say.
“Relevant to you, perhaps.”
I lean back slightly in my chair, fingers steepling as I study him.
“You’re questioning my integrity, Mr. Mercer?”
His smile is tight. He’s very aware of my reputation. He knows exactly who I am. It would be stupid of him to enter into business with me without that information.
“I’m just trying to make sure everything is done according to the books,” he states.
A poor choice of words. For a brief moment, I imagine reaching inside my jacket. My gun is there. I could end this conversation permanently and it would take less than a second. Less than a second to end Mercer’s sorry existence.
My expression doesn’t shift as I consider it briefly. And then I let it go.
Violent displays aren’t exactly my thing. Although… it’s a beautiful thing when executed in the right manner. I’m not a child throwing a tantrum and shooting a man in the head simply because he disagreed with me. There are better ways to deal with… disagreements.
“I don’t deal in half-measures,” I say calmly. “If you want full visibility, go looking somewhere else.”
Silence stretches across the table. I watch the expression on Mercer’s face as he thinks it over. Considers it like he’s got another choice. He doesn’t.
I already knew it before I walked in here. His third-quarter shortfall is $3.8 million. His board doesn’t know yet. His silent partner is three months from calling in that debt; Mercer has no liquidity to cover.
I found that out in twenty minutes sharing a cigar with Salvatore, which tells me everything I need to know about how well he’s actually managed it.
He thinks he’s negotiating. He’s not. He’s being absorbed.
It’s his pride on the line, though. His business.
I fight the urge to tell him I’ll take good care of it when it inevitably falls into my hands and under my control.
His fingers tap once against the table. He exhales slowly.
“You’re confident this will return at least twenty percent within the first year?”
“At minimum.”
Another pause. Finally he nods.
“Alright,” he says. “We can proceed.”
I slide the contract toward him, already reaching for the pen. He hesitates for half a second before signing. Ink on paper. It’s final and irreversible.
The meeting ends shortly after. I don’t linger.
Outside, the air is cooler, sharper against my skin as I step onto the pavement. I think over the past year, and all that’s happened since my brother’s wedding.
Old habit kicks in before the door closes behind me. I run the Mercer deal the way I run everything, one final audit before I file it away. Asset identified. Vulnerability mapped. Terms set unilaterally. Signature obtained.
The man thought he had a choice. He didn’t. He had the illusion of one, which is better; it keeps them cooperative long after the ink dries.
I file Lindsay Beaumont the same way, without meaning to.
Asset: Exceptional. Beauty and brains. The kind of mind that follows her target the way I follow money.
Through walls, through shell companies, through the seventeen layers of legitimate business I’ve built to keep people like her at bay.
She is, by any objective measure, the most dangerous variable currently active in my life.
Vulnerability: The mayor. Valentina. The belief that justice is a system rather than a transaction.
Leverage: Her father’s office has signed off on permits for four shell companies I own.
He almost certainly doesn’t know that. She doesn’t either.
The moment she pulls that thread, she’ll find his name on the same documents as mine, and that will cost her far more than a RICO case.
I haven’t decided whether to let her find it or bury it.
Both options are useful, depending on what I want from her.
Terms: Not yet set.
I pause on the pavement and notice I’ve just run a full acquisition assessment on a woman who wants me behind bars. I’ve stayed away from her, mostly because the way she makes me feel is unnatural.
But she walked up to me at the compound while she was visiting Valentina and served me a fucking subpoena. Cute.
The only problem I have with acquiring Prosecutor Beaumont, unlike all of my other assets, is that I have no idea yet what I intend to do with her once she’s mine.
Once she’s mine.
I don’t bother questioning the thought. Because that woman has tested every ounce of my patience, and unlike my normal enemies, I enjoy her efforts.
I file that away for another time because now, I have family business to deal with.
A year ago, the Don made a proclamation. A proclamation that frankly makes me uneasy.
He wanted the Shadow found. And once found, it was clear what would happen. The Shadow made a mistake. He declared war by taking a shot on someone the Don accorded protection. And for that, the Don wants to kill him.
Shadow’s been hard to track down, unsurprisingly, but rumor has it that he’s in Jersey for a few days. The men are talking full advantage of that to try to find him.
This would be fine if it were anyone else. But the Shadow is my brother, the same way the Don is. They’re both my brothers. And I can see a war looming that isn’t going to end well.
I’m usually responsible for making the hard decisions that keep every member of my family safe. I keep the peace, working from behind the scenes to ensure everything goes smoothly.
The Don trusts me, and I can’t afford to betray that trust. But I’ve been caught in what feels like an impossible situation.
The scales are tipping. It’s pretty clear for anyone with eyes to see. They’ve been pretty well balanced so far, but with the introduction of all the new players, I’ve been left to deal with the unforeseen consequences.
So I make the calls I’m supposed to make. I organize the men, prepared to deal with the fallout. In the process, I wonder when protecting the family stopped extending to our eldest brother.
Salvatore and I will still have the conversation. He will explain his decision to me and I will counsel him as best as I can. But it will be a cold day in hell before I order my men to kill Dante.
A year ago, I could have been assured that he would heed my counsel. But things have changed since he met Valentina, my new sister-in-law. My brother has drifted away from me. And I’m not sure how to feel about that.
I don’t hate Valentina. When Salvatore claimed her, she became a Vitale, just as well as the rest of us. She’s family, but she has a hold over him that I don’t understand.
The common man would call it love. And I’m sure it is. Therein lies the problem. I don’t understand feeling something like that for another person.
Love through blood is a concept I’m familiar with. I feel it with my brothers and with my son. Love through choice, however, feels like something people use to explain their erratic, irrational behavior. In my opinion, it never really lasts. The best version of it was the one I saw with my parents.
But I consider that a rare occurrence. Something not everyone can attain.
I’m glad Salvatore has a queen. He seems happy about it and regardless of anything else, I want my brothers to be happy. But owing to that fact, the scales have been tipped. Things have changed. And I’ve never been too comfortable with change.
“Boss!” someone calls.
I glance upward at the sight of Roscoe approaching. He’s a huge, beefy man and just a little shorter than me at 6’3”, so he cuts an extremely imposing figure. I’m unimpressed as he comes to stand in front of me.
“What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be at the house.”
“I heard about the witch hunt. Thought I’d come over and lend some manpower. According to Marko, we could catch the Shadow tonight before he leaves the country.”
The Shadow’s something of a legend in the Cosa Nostra. Someone to be feared and respected. I guess there’s bound to be some excitement about taking down someone that powerful.
At the end of the day, men will always aspire to tear down their betters. Which is why as their betters, we can’t afford any slip-ups.
“He’s not going to be caught,” I state. “Dante’s not dumb.”
Roscoe has nothing to say to that. Using the Shadow’s actual name must have reminded him that he isn’t just anyone. He’s a Vitale, same as me. People tend to forget that. Which is probably the crux of this entire situation.
“Leo?” I question.