Page 2 of A Life Chosen

Stefano, the boss’s personal handler, answered the door and let Mathias into the foyer, where he was unceremoniously frisked. After determining that he was clean, Stefano led him into the salon, where Mathias took a seat in one of the overstuffed leather chairs. Stefano stood by the door with his back to him as they waited.

When Russo arrived, Mathias was surprised to see him on the arm of a dour-looking nurse. There was a pained slowness to the boss’s approach, each step an uncharacteristic display of weakness. Mathias moved to greet him, clasping both hands in his.

“You’ve caught me on a bad day, Beauvais,” Russo grumbled as the nurse helped lower him into a chair. “High as a kite from these new pills they’ve got me on.” He let out a phlegm-filled cough.

While Mathias had nothing but respect for the man, there was no way around it—the boss looked terrible. Pale as paper, his skin sagged over cheeks speckled with angry red veins. His eyes were sunken and watery, framed by dark circles.

“Coffee,” Russo said, snapping his fingers at the nurse standing with Stefano by the door. As she disappeared into the hallway, the old man turned to Mathias. “Tony says you brought in over a hundred last month.”

It wasn’t the first time. Month after month, Mathias’s share of collections revenue vastly outstripped that of anyone else in the division. As a result, Tony had increased Mathias’s lending capacity and extended their reach into the greater province.

“Business is booming,” he said with a shrug, deflecting the praise.

Russo smirked. “Isn’t it?” Mathias pulled out his cigarettes and held them up, but the boss waved his hand. “Go ahead. One of us might as well enjoy himself. I can’t have a fucking smoke for the next two weeks. Doctor’s orders.”

Mathias placed one between his lips, ducked his head to light it, and took a long drag, aware of Russo following his movements enviously.

“We’ve been watching you. Who knew the son of Freddie Mancini’sgoomahwould make it this far?” He chuckled.

Mathias smiled indulgently, swallowing the familiar spike that rose in his throat.

“The world’s changing, I say,” Russo continued. “As much as we try to uphold the traditions of the old country, I don’t like to ignore talent. That’s how you stagnate, and then someone else moves in.”

The boss stared at him, and Mathias held his gaze. He was well aware of his own deviation from family tradition. His mother was French, set up for years on his father’s dime. Even if his old man could be traced back to Sicilian soil, Mathias would still remain the son of a whore.

“You’re ambitious,” Russo said. “I like that. Frankly, we need more captains like you. There’ll always be the question of your parentage, but you can climb higher yet.”

Mathias tapped the end of his cigarette against the ivory ashtray on the table beside him, keeping his hand steady as his thoughts whirled.

“Tony’s put you forward forsantista,” the boss announced. “He’s setting up a commercial branch within the division. Wants you to lead it.”

Mathias fought a grin. After all these years, Tony was finally giving him his due. The nurse walked in with two small cups of black coffee. She handed Russo his and placed the other on the table next to Mathias.

“Tony and I go way back. His recommendation means a great deal.”

Mathias nodded. “It’s an honor, boss.”

There was a long silence as Russo slowly sipped his espresso. “I’ve had some health concerns as of late,” he said finally.

Mathias stilled at the admission.

“Nothing serious,” the boss continued—a lie that would remain unchallenged. “But the whole situation has given me a chance to, shall we say, observe my own mortality.”

Mathias now understood why the man’s public appearances had been few of late. If rival groups were to find out about a possible power vacuum on Montreal turf, it would mean an end to the shaky peace the family currently presided over with a heavy hand. Here in the safety of his home, Russo was being candid, which could only mean things were already shifting behind the scenes.

“When these sorts of things happen, it can put ideas in people’s heads,” Russo said pointedly. “Succession is a seductive subject. I want to be sure I can count on you to follow the right people if the need arises.”

Stefano shifted at his post, eliciting a creak from the floorboards beneath his feet.

The right people?“Of course,” Mathias said.

Russo put down his coffee. “Good. There are those on the council that consider you an asset. Keep them close.”

This news had Giovanni written all over it. The man had taken an increasing interest in Mathias over the last few years. Giovanni Bianchi was head of the Quintino, a council of four that consulted directly with the boss. Besides Russo, the Quintino were the most senior members of the family, both in age and in rank.

“Of course we’re talking theory here, Beauvais. This old man has bounced back from worse.”

The sentence lacked conviction, and Mathias noticed how taxing even talking seemed for him. He nodded, stubbing out his cigarette.

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