Page 12 of A Life Chosen

A slow smile spread across Mathias’s face. “What are you going to do?” he asked menacingly.

His father’s namesake shrank back as if slapped. Mathias held his gaze, suppressing the urge to lay hands on him. As a young boy, he’d fantasized about beating him senseless many times. Mathias waited for his father to intervene, but the man was silent.

So much for looking at things differently.Mathias had grown tired of the nostalgia. “He’s all yours.” Leaving his half brother gaping in the room, he walked past a glowering Sofia and out the front door.

In his car, as he was pulling away, Mathias took one last look at the house, and this time, he felt nothing.

Mathias wasn’t sure exactly when Giovanni Bianchi had sought him out. Giovanni deliberated at length about most things, so it would have been some time before he decided to formally make his acquaintance. The meeting itself, he did remember. Mathias had accompanied Tony to one of the regular division briefings when Giovanni pulled him aside for a nightcap. He’d heard things about the young captain and wanted to see if the rumors were true.

From there, they began a discreet exchange of information, fueled by their shared ambition. For Mathias, that meant a higher rank and his own division. For Giovanni, well, those aspirations could only be hinted at while the boss was still alive. The councilman needed his eyes and ears, the contacts he’d built around the city, and the alliances he’d forged with rival group heads. Mathias needed Giovanni’s clout. Son of one of the founding fathers from Sicily, the man had been born into family ranks. As an enduring member of the Quintino, he belonged to the small circle of people the boss trusted implicitly—more brother to Russo than counsel. He was a mage of the old ways and knew more about how the family worked than anyone else.

He also drank like a fish, the only man besides Belkov that Mathias had trouble keeping up with. Giovanni liked to let people know he was in control. He picked the drinks, ordered the food. The man, dressed in a tailored gray suit, looked like a young retiree, down to the slick side part and manicured mustache. Perhaps his unassuming appearance was the very reason Giovanni felt the need to remind everyone who called the shots.

The waitress brought out their fourth round of drinks, and Mathias’s empty stomach growled in protest. Yet it proved a welcome distraction from thoughts of his father, which had been surfacing unprompted since the afternoon he’d stopped by the old house.

They were back at Le Rouge, in one of the small meeting rooms far from the clamor of the crowd out front. Rayan waited in the hallway. Usually privy to most of Mathias’s business, he was not included in these meetings with Giovanni. To be of any use, they had to be strictly off the record.

“I know you’ve got a chip on your shoulder, Beauvais.” Giovanni leaned forward to clink glasses. “Hell, nogoomah’s boy has ever made it this far in the family. So you shake things up, get some attention. But now you’re asantista. That’s going to rub some people the wrong way.”

“Some people,” Mathias said, lifting his own glass and reluctantly taking another swig of scotch.

“We all know he was out of line at the meeting. Poor form. Only reflects badly on him.”

“No,” Mathias said, frowning. “It reflects badly on me to have the boss’s son show such disrespect.”

Giovanni spread his hands. “He shows disrespect to everyone. He disrespects the traditions, throws his weight around. Just wait. His time will come.”

Mathias raised an eyebrow.

Giovanni gave him a slow smile. “Ah, now we come to it. You’ve seen the boss. What did you think?”

Mathias set down his glass, picked up his cigarettes, and lit one. He couldn’t think of a way to answer the question without sounding disloyal.

“Exactly,” Giovanni said. “We need to be prepared.”

“The Quintino?” Mathias asked.

Giovanni nodded. “Ultimately, it comes down to us to agree on a succession plan.”

“Boss wanted to know if I’d follow the right people.”

“Russo does not want his son to head the family,” Giovanni said, taking the cigar holder from his breast pocket and placing one between his teeth. Mathias leaned forward to light it for him. “But Piero will make a bid. He thinks of it as his birthright.”

“And what does the council think?”

Giovanni exhaled, giving Mathias a knowing look. “Piero doesn’t have many friends on the council, or in the family for that matter. But the friends he does have are very motivated. They have a lot to gain from his rise to power.”

“So it’ll end in mutiny. A split within the group,” Mathias said, tapping the end of his cigarette in the ashtray. No longer dubious theory but a plausible reality. Those loyal to Russo would be pitted against greedy low-tier soldiers fueled by Piero’s promise of a sizable payout.

Giovanni held out his hands, the corners of his mouth turning down. “Not if we can get ahead of it.”

Mathias knocked back the rest of his drink. “What are you suggesting?”

“Allies. The rest of the city will sit back and let us kill each other, but whoever holds sway over our competitors will come out ahead. This is where you come in. You’ve made the rounds, haven’t been afraid to get your hands dirty. You’ve ingratiated yourself to many of the groups here.”

“I think you might be misinformed. I’m hated by most of the groups here.”

Giovanni laughed, waving his smoking cigar between them. “Hate and respect go hand in hand. And they do respect you. You’re not old Italy, and you work with an outsider. Somewhat removed from family politics. If the ship is sinking, you’re the one they’ll approach to start cutting deals.”

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