Page 1 of Mafia King: Matteo
CHAPTER 1
MATTEO
My father, Luciano, is dead. After years of wishing the man was six feet under, I finally got my wish. My only question is—why now? Last summer in New York, he was in good health. He returned to Sicily, and by January, he was dead.
I only say he died of cancer because I suspect his death was hastened by someone close to him. I can’t tip my hand if that’s the case. I shudder to think what this may imply for my younger brother should something happen to me.
After the Catholic church service and funeral, everyone gathers at my father’s house. I’ve always hated this place. It’s where my mother died, and today, it feels colder than a prison cell in Siberia.
I find a good vantage point in the living room and stand like a soldier at ease. Watching my three uncles move about the room, I can’t help but wonder about their possible motives to eliminate my father.
They knew him best. It makes sense that one or more of them could easily poison his scotch. I hate its strong taste and smell, but it’s a great way to conceal poison. But everyone knows that women, not men, typically use poison. When his health started to deteriorate rapidly, I had medical tests run. The results left me with more questions than answers.
My father being poisoned is not how I imagined myself becoming the next mafia boss. A killer needs a motive, and I don’t know who has one strong enough to kill over it. The reasons for killing my father are too numerous to select only one. This makes the number of possible suspects limitless.
The men in ‘the family’ have dropped by to pay their respects. Most of the underbosses appear to be content with the pecking order. None of them has the drive to take over the organization. They stand around exchanging stories, but they aren’t the type to linger all day.
Before leaving, our Sicilian friends and employees pledged their allegiance to me. I’ll have to sleep with one eye open until I figure out who has the motive to take my birthright.
My mother died over twenty years ago, soon after the birth of my sister, Bianca. I remember it was a hot summer day. I came inside for the fresh lemonade Mom had made in the morning. I heard my parents arguing upstairs. I turned to leave when I heard the awful thud of her falling down the steps.
Her death was deemed an accident, but I have no doubt she was pushed. Believe me, my instincts are stronger than the smell of my father’s liquor.
With Mother gone, my only option was to create a family with my sister and three brothers as if Dad didn’t exist. They needed me, and it was the only way to survive. I needed money to take care of them, so I had no choice but to follow in my father’s footsteps. Hopefully, I will find redemption before I die.
I don’t want or need a wife. The closeness I feel for my siblings is enough to serve as companionship. Typically, an abusive situation either bonds families together or tears them apart. In a house with no parental love, we chose to bond. They are the glue that holds us together as a family. I’ll need to be more vigilant than ever to keep them safe.
Unfortunately, even with my formal education, I lack the necessary work experience to secure a legitimate job in a corporation. That’s why I run my own. I’ve managed to obtain two properties. One is a casino in Atlantic City, and the other is an upscale hotel in New York City currently undergoing renovations. The next building I acquire from Wu will be demolished. I’ll erect a colossal hotel there as well.
I aim to create and grow legitimate businesses so my siblings can escape the family curse. Dad was an old-school crime boss. Like the gangsters he grew up with, he liked extortion, fraudulent money-making scams, and racketeering.
My father clung to these business practices because they fed his ego. He was convinced he was the smartest man in the room. Even as a teenager, I knew he was full of shit. If I dared to challenge his opinion on anything, he beat me. Sometimes, he just beat me for no reason at all.
A good leader should never base their decisions on personal feelings. My father made the mistake of creating friction with other Sicilian clans over stupid bullshit here in Italy. Women wanted him for his money, but he never remarried, intent on keeping his wealth for himself.
As he got older, his sociopathic tendencies got worse, and he couldn’t remember the promises he made to men he couldn’t afford to piss off. To make matters worse, his alcohol abuse rotted his brain. When I looked into his eyes, I didn’t recognize him anymore. I often wondered if he had lost his mind.
My sister would never have left the house if I hadn’t intervened. Had she remained under his thumb, he would have married her to someone undeserving. If any man abuses my sister, I will put a bullet in his head.
Now she attends college in England. Because her name is Borrelli, she uses a different last name and is always surrounded by heavy security. Sometimes, she tries to ditch her guards and go to the store or a club like a regular person. As a result, one guard plays the part of her best friend, and the other lives in the shadows to ward off suspicious eyes.
Like so many politicians who overstay their time in office, my father stayed at the helm too long and should have stepped aside years ago.
On the other hand, I’m glad he didn’t hand over the reins too early. I’ve enjoyed my life in New York City without him hovering over my shoulder and micromanaging my every move. He had a flawed personality. I hope I never become him.
He left me a huge mess. We’re in debt, and it’s up to me to turn things around.
Dad believed every crime family was needed, even if it wasn’t a fair deal. The Russians, the Albanians, the Irish, and others were able to outsmart him in the end. We’ve been on a sinking ship—not so much here in Sicily, but in New York. I spent enough time there to learn about the city, the players, and the way of life.
I have no desire to live in his relic of a house here or New York. Every home is filled with outdated furniture. He’s never redecorated since Nixon was president. I’m sure it’s chock-full of clutter and reeks of the peppermint he took for his stomach. The basement is a fire hazard with a collection of old newspapers stacked from floor to ceiling. He was in his seventies and as outdated as a telephone landline.
Mom was too young when she was given to him, but he wanted to merge with her clan. I assume in the beginning, there was an attraction.
I’m not a trusting man. If I want to live to see tomorrow, trust is the last word that would be used to describe me. Trust gets men killed. It’s pathetic how easy it is to lure those we want to kill to a remote location under false pretenses. Remembering I’m at my father’s wake, I stifle my snicker.
My Uncle Giuseppe is making his way across the room towards me. He is my father’s oldest brother, followed by Luca and Antonio. Luca loves money, and Antonio is like Dad, craving power, as only a younger sibling living with the two of them can understand. It’s his way to survive, and being picked on for years makes him desire power more.
Uncle Giuseppe’s gait is off, possibly due to a bad back or hip. His high-waisted dress pants and bow tie make him look old for his age. He may as well wear Velcro sneakers to complete the look. He’s cheap, and he won’t listen to anyone. Thank God he was never in line for my job. But who knows? Maybe he helped Dad along to the gates of hell, and I’m next.
