Page 1 of Texting Mr. Stranger

CHAPTER ONE

MATTEO

“If the men could see us now,” Elio says as he strokes his paintbrush across the canvas. “Do you think they’d believe we’re the biggest, baddest pricks in the city?”

I laugh gruffly as my brother slowly brings an image of our late father to life. He passed last year, leaving the DeLuca Family in my control. I always knew I would take over the mantle when the time came, but the experience of learning to lead and actually leading are two savagely different things.

“Don’t beat yourself up, E,” I snap.

When he looks at me, it’s like the years melt away. He’s no longer my thirty-year-old little brother with a mop of dark hair and even darker eyes. His frame is leaner than mine, but there’s something almost intimidating in the glint of his eyes. Maybe it’s the fact he hates violence, but he does it anyway.

“I’m not.” He sighs, looking out the tall window of the great room onto the long lawn of our estate, the walls sealing us away from the rest of the city. “We can’t let people waltz into our city and spike everything from caffeine to weed to heroin with that TNT shit.”

We recently had a problem with another Family trying to make its move on us and tear the city apart for their own gain. Last night, Elio and I rode out with a dozen of our men.

“We made one hell of a statement at their bar, eh?” Elio says with an almost sad tinge.

“You’re getting morose.”

“I am?” he says with a sarcastic grin. “I didn’t know that.”

“You know you’re free to leave anytime you want. You could go to Paris and dedicate yourself to your art.”

“And leave you to handle this by yourself? We both know that will never happen. What do you think?” He gestures with his paintbrush. “Have I made the old man look happy and carefree enough?”

I ignore the jab. We both know that our father was anything but those things. There’s no point replying. Instead, I wander over to the window and watch the gardeners work in the midday sun. I’m dog-tired but can’t sleep after last night.

“What now?” Elio says after a long pause.

“The Gallos should know better than to try any crap after the statement we made.”

“No,” Elio says. “What now …for us?What’s next?”

“I don’t understand the question.”

“There’s something tragic about that,” Elio mutters.

I turn to him, wondering if he wants an argument. If anything, his expression is sad. “Maybe if you explained what the hell you’re talking about, I could answer.”

“Let’s say the Gallos have learned their lesson. Let’s say we’re in peacetime. What are we going to do?”

“What we always do. Run the Family. What else?”

“That’s work. Life can’t just be about work.”

“I seriously don’t get what you’re hinting at.”

He shrugs. “I’m just wondering if this is all life is. Violence. Pain.”

“You’re too damn poetic for me,” I grunt. “I just focus on one task at a time.”

“Yeah. Maybe that’s why I can’t remember the last time I saw you smile.”

I grit my teeth. Maybe that’s true, but I don’t see why he always harps on it.

“Are you going to swing on me?” he asks with another classic Elio smirk.

“Ha ha,” I snap.

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