If I thought a night away from home would dull my fury, I find out the next morning just how wrong I was. Not just because I wake up with a crick in my neck from sleeping on the shitty couch in my office at Tanta, the cartel’s biggest club, but because the first thing I think about when I open my eyes is Tess.
“I’m not your wife.”
The fist of anger squeezing my heart crushes it once more just replaying those words in my head. They’ve been on a constant, endless loop in my mind since she said them.
I didn’t want to go home in the mental state I was in last night. I’d been so blinded by my rage that I’d feared going too far with her and actually hurting her. Visions of tying her up, of gagging her, of torturing her until she admitted to being mine had assaulted me almost nonstop since I’d left.
Keeping the monster away from her was in both our best interests. She already thought the worst of me and proving I was even more reprehensible than she could imagine wasn’t going to help my cause.
So instead I spent the vast majority of my day staring at my phone, looking at the dot that represented her location.
After Franklin assaulted her, I’d gifted her a gold necklace. What I didn’t mention was that it doubled as a tracking device. I knew if I told her about it, she’d refuse to wear it, so I’d said nothing. I’m incredibly happy about that decision now as I stare at her unmoving dot.
She hasn’t left the house since I stormed out yesterday. Today is Friday, she should have gone to work, but she didn’t.
She hasn’t missed work since our ‘honeymoon’.
I let myself hope that today’s exception is because of me.
I clench my phone so tightly in my fist, I’m surprised the screen doesn’t shatter.
She thinks she isn’t mine.
She thinks I could even think about another woman.
She thinks she doesn’t consume my every waking and sleeping thought.
I’m going to kill her father for poisoning her mind against me. I know he had to say a lot more to her than just playing a recording of our conversation. We were fine and then we weren’t, and it’s because of him.
It’s simple, really.
I love her.
So much that there’s nowhere for me to keep it. It overflows out of my heart and past my ribcage and spills embarrassingly out of me.
I would give it to her if I thought she wanted it, but last night’s argument proves she doesn’t. That she isn’t ready to hear it.
She’s softened to me over the past few months, yes, but she doesn’t love me back. Not yet at least, but I won’t stop until she does. I just can’t rush it. She’s like a skittish mare, ready to run away at the first sign of fear, and the last thing I want to do is scare her.
What if she disappears again? It’s a looming worry in my mind that’s never far away.
The door bursts open and Arturo stalks in, the severe expression on his face getting my immediate attention.
“Matteo Leone wants to meet.”
I lean back in my office chair.
That’s a surprise. I hadn’t expected the new capo to try and take the diplomatic route with me.
“When?”
“Now,” Arturo answers. “He’s here.”
Not the diplomatic route then. He wants all out war.
Adrenaline roars to life in my veins. I stand, reach into my desk drawer and pull out a second gun. I check the magazine to make sure it’s full and tuck it into the back of my trousers.
“How many men did he bring with him?” I ask, clinically inspecting the magazine of the gun already in my holster.
“None. He came alone.”
Surprise flares once more and I pause.
Matteo Leone has caught me off guard twice in under a minute now, which puts him way ahead of the curve. He has to know that coming here, and especially coming alone, is a death sentence.
“Alone?”
“He says he wants to discuss a truce.”
“He knows I’m the one who killed his father.”
Arturo shrugs, looking as uncertain as I feel. Being off-footed like this feels like we’re at a disadvantage even though he’s the one who’s defenseless and on my turf.
“What do you make of him?” I ask.
“Young. Cocky. Brash,” he states, adding, “Dangerous. Very dangerous. Easy to underestimate.”
I grunt in acknowledgement and tip my chin at him.
“Let him in.”
Arturo ushers in four more of my men, each with their weapons drawn as they stand at the four corners of the room. And then Matteo Leone saunters in, jacketless with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and not a care in the world. He’s got an easy grin on his face and pretty boy good looks. He looks more suited to the front pages of magazines than the Underworld and that, combined with his obvious youth at twenty-seven, makes him someone easy to look over. But I see why Arturo told me not to underestimate him when my gaze meets the cold green of his eyes. There’s an edge there that reveals he’s much more calculated and conniving than one might believe on first impression.
He’s been temporarily relieved of his weapons, so he walks in here at my mercy. Every gun in the room save my own are pointed at his head and yet he ignores them with ease. He gives the impression of not having a care in the world.
Alarm bells go off in my head that this is a trap, but I can’t see how it possibly could be.
He plops down in the chair opposite my desk and rests his elbows on either armrests, threading his fingers together over his stomach.
“Interesting tactic, showing up here.”
He grins, a quick flash of teeth before he says, “I’m not one to play childish games.” His gaze turns shrewd and he cuts straight to the chase. “You killed my father.”
He says it with about as much emotion as if we were discussing our tax returns.
The new capo of the Italian mafia isn’t what I expected him to be. I can already tell that he’s a different adversary than what I’m used to dealing with from the Italians, one that’ll require more brain power than usual.
I welcome the challenge. It’s about time.
“I did.”
He waves a dismissive hand between us.
“I should thank you for doing my dirty work. I’d been trying to think of ways to get rid of the old man. You went ahead and did it for me and I got to keep my hands clean.”
I lean back into my chair, looking at the man opposite me. If I was sitting in front of the man who’d killed my father, he’d already be dead.
“Not a fan of his?” I ask.
He barks out a laugh. “Not at all. He was bad for business. The famiglia used to be the crown jewel of the Underworld, and look at us now. Barely scraping by on historically earned respect and nothing more. I intend to restore us to our former glory and I finally might be able to with him out of the way.”
“And why would I let you do that when I could just kill you right now and knock another piece off your family’s board?”
He gives an easy smile. “You can, if you want. There’s an endless line of Leone cousins waiting to become capo after me so you’ll just be replacing me with someone far less amenable to working with you.” He rubs a hand over his jaw, considering me. “There’s room enough for both of us. If we work together, we can pull each other towards the top and maximize our profits.”
“I’m already at the top,” I point out, unsure why I’m even entertaining this conversation with a man who is at best related to the people responsible for Adriana’s death.
“Take my family’s situation as proof that getting to the top is far easier than staying there. If the two of us stand shoulder to shoulder, we can fight off those encroaching on our territory. We could expand beyond the UK, which I know you’re interested in.”
This isn’t an impromptu drop-in. Clearly the man did his research on me before coming here. That explains why there was no immediate eye-for-an-eye killing retaliation after Augusto’s death.
Matteo takes in my blank expression and adds, “I have something to offer you that’ll sweeten this deal.”
“Go ahead.”
“I’ll help you find your sister’s killer.”
My eyes narrow on him at the same time as I hear the sound of a safety clicking off a gun from behind me. I look over my shoulder and see Joaquín with a livid expression on his face, his gun hand shaking as he points it at Matteo.
The man in question barely flicks him a look, remaining unaffected by the danger aimed at him.
“Why would you do that?” I ask, not correcting Joaquín for his protectiveness.
“I don’t want a rogue individual in my organization any more than you do and, unlike my father, I won’t protect him. I’ll help you get to the bottom of what happened and will hand any culprits over to you. I won’t interfere with whatever punishment you choose.”
“What do you want in return?”
Matteo spreads his arms, the very image of congeniality.
I see him for the chameleon that he is.
“A truce. No more bloodshed. No more going after members of my family. This ends today. If I walk out of this door without an agreement, then it’s war. But if you can agree to those terms, then I’ll overlook your crimes against my family up to this point.” He smiles. “I think you can agree my offer is extremely generous.”
I examine him, trying to see the lie in his eyes.
He’s right. His terms are almost charitable in their leniency. I wouldn’t forgive crimes against my family for so small a price.
The smile fades, his lips pulling down into a flat, serious line as he clenches his jaw. The muscle in his cheek twitches.
“And,” he adds after a moment.
There it is. I knew it was too good to be true.
I lift a brow at him. “I knew this wasn’t a selfless pursuit.”
“Never claimed it was,” he quips back.
“What do you want?”
Sharp, intense eyes pierce mine. Whatever it is he wants me to give him, he’s ready to go to war for it.
“The woman in the gold dress.”
I stiffen, my shoulders straining against my shirt. That’s just about the last thing I expected him to say.
His fists clench when he notes my reaction.
“What?”
“At Callum Tellier’s gala a couple months ago, there was a woman there in a gold dress. I saw her hug you.” His eyes glitter angrily in the most palpable display of heated emotion I’ve seen from him. “I assume she’s one of yours. I want her.”
He leans forward and for the first time, I see the man behind the mask. Cunning, scheming eyes, determined set of his jaw, ruthless expression on his face.
This is what he came here for. This is what he set out to achieve, to walk out of my office with.
This is what victory looks like to him.
It’s not about a truce or an alliance. No, those are secondary objectives.
This is about Valentina.
The vehemence in his tone is completely at odds with his previously easy going demeanor.
Alarm bells go off at the way he speaks about my little sister. “How do you know her?”
He stands and stares down at where I’m seated.
“That’s not relevant, nor is it any of your concern. What is, is the fact that I want her and I will have her. Give her to me and you have my word that I’ll help you find out what happened to your sister,” he announces.
✽✽✽
Later, I’m sitting alone at the bar before Tanta opens for the night, trying to nurse my bad mood with a fifth glass of whiskey. No matter how much I drink, I can’t make the images of my wife go away. They’re engraved into the backs of my eyelids. Every time I blink, she’s there. Tempting me, luring me to her. Hitting me like a goddamn earthquake and jumbling all the pieces inside me.
My phone is in my other hand. I watch the blinking, unmoving dot that is her location. I’ve been staring at it for hours.
Meanwhile, I’m sure she hasn’t even spared a thought for me since I stalked out yesterday. I grunt angrily and bury my face back in my glass.
“What are you still doing here, jefe?” Arturo asks, walking up to the bar and sitting on a stool next to me.
“Drinking.”
“I can see that. Are you going to sleep here again tonight?” When I look over at him, he explains, “Marco told me, although I could have guessed based on the shit mood you’ve been in since yesterday.”
“Careful,” I warn.
He snorts and waves at Sofia, the bartender, to pour him a drink and refill mine. “Isn’t there a certain blonde anxiously waiting for you to go home?”
“Nope,” I clip, picking up my glass. The ice clinks loudly.
Silence stretches as he takes a sip of his drink.
“I don’t believe that.”
I twirl my glass haphazardly on its side, my eyes glazing over. Alcohol loosens my tongue until I’m doing my version of spilling my guts. Part of me feels like a frustrated teenager for being unable to resist talking about my girl troubles.
“We argued.”
“Because of her father?”
I glare at him. “How the fuck is it that you seem to know everything all the time?”
“I overheard part of their conversation,” he admits. He turns his head towards me, looking into my eyes when he adds, “He fired her, Thiago.”
My blood turns to ice, my features slackening in fury. “I beg your pardon?”
“He told her she has until next Friday and then she’s out.”
To know Tess is to know that her job is the most important thing in the world to her. The fact that he could so easily fire her, that he even has the power to do so, sickens me.
Rage churns in my gut on her behalf. No wonder she was that angry yesterday. She may have been arguing with me about important things to do with our relationship, but that wasn’t the underlying issue.
Like a roaring beast, my protectiveness rises to the surface once more, called to action by this injustice against her. I won’t let it stand.
“Call the lawyer,” I ask Arturo. “I want him here in the next thirty minutes.”
