Page 104 of Mafia King: Matteo
“It’s called age,” Gio says, lighting my cigar, then his own. We both take a puff.
“What about you, old man?” Niccoló says to Gio.
“I’m a minimalist.”
“I’m talking about the gym, not your choice of furniture,” Niccoló banters.
“I’m good. I don’t care to have the shit beaten out of me unless the job calls for it.” He takes another puff on his cigar.
“Just don’t overdo it, kid,” I say. I love my brother, and I would prefer him not to pursue this dangerous sport, but it’s in his blood. Telling him no is like pissing in the wind. He’s doing this because he has a death wish. He needs to recover from his grief, but instead, he’s behaving as if he has nothing left to lose.
I’m sure I’d feel the same if something happened to Alena.
We smoke and drink, and Niccoló becomes less talkative. I should be relieved he’s at the gym channeling his anger.
The week passed quickly. Alena is working. The wedding invites were sent, and everything seems to be running smoothly— although Niccoló’s presence is a rarity. Judging from his perfectly made bed, he sleeps many nights at the gym. I gave him the top floor of the house, so he won’t hear Alena and me fucking every night. Sometimes, I’m so happy that I feel like I’m rubbing my happiness in his face when I hold Alena’s hand, and he walks into the room.
This weekend began with Alena’s bachelorette party. Bianca arrived at the house this morning. The two hit it off as anticipated. Vito and another guard will take them to pick up Penny and Izzy for a day at the spa.
I have a minute alone with Alena before she leaves. “I love you. I want you to know I loved you from the minute I laid eyes on you. You’re on my mind all the time.”
“I don’t know, Gio. Should they be out?” I watch as the limo leaves the estate.
“It was a backfire last weekend. For all we know, there are no threats. Your father’s debt might have been paid in full with his death.”
“That’s too easy. Old business tends to turn up when it’s not expected. We need answers. Did the syndicate act locally, or did Moretti order it?”
“Moretti is the don. I would assume it would come from the top. However— some men don’t follow the rules. Whether he knew or not doesn’t matter. It won’t bring Chiara back. There was a motive behind Chiara’s murder because, without her, we can’t prove who was behind this. Without a witness, there is no crime.” I’m not too fond of Gio’s answer, but he tells it the way he sees it, and I know we’ve both arrived at the same conclusion.
“She was killed to keep the Cosa Nostra out of this,” I mutter, “and that would mean something is going on. They might be making a move to take us over.” I swirl my mid-morning coffee in the cup. It’s incredible coffee made from Hawaiian Kona beans, but it turns bitter in my mouth. War is never good. It takes lives and brings attention to us, and then we’ll have the Italian government and the United States working together to hit our assets and round up men on the wanted list.
Fuck.
I hate the fact that this is coming to a head. The timing is unacceptable. “I hate the fact that someone is watching us. Do you have men on Moretti and his son? The old man is bonkers. He can’t be trusted. We’ve never trusted the Cosa Nostra.”
“That’s true, and the old man is mean from what I hear,” Niccoló walks into the living room. I didn’t know he was home.
“What do you know?” I ask, turning to him as he walks in with a gym bag slung over his shoulder. He’s been using my older Mercedes, as I refuse to take the Lamborghini out of storage in winter.
“I guess so. I only know what I told you. I have no clue why she’s on drugs. It’s a hush-hush thing. She hasn’t left the house in months. There is a rumor she’s not sickly. I say we investigate and find out what is behind his fortress.”
“That’s creepy as fuck,” Gio states.
“What’s up with the son? I think I saw him briefly with Councilman Addler at the gala. I wonder what they are trying to gain with their campaign donation.” Federico pops in with a tray of pastries and drinks. Niccoló eats a chocolate-filled croissant, and I’m relieved he’s eating.
“The son, Vincenzu, is not the nicest man. I get the impression that he’s preferred over his father. He’s smart and has more common sense than the old man. He also likes boxing. I might run into him at some point. Maybe I will suggest we have a Sicilian cookout,” Niccoló says sarcastically.
“We have the house being watched, and Mrs. Moretti has not been seen,” Gio adds.
I receive a text.
“The woman is at Alena’s dress fitting. I turn to Niccoló. Can you investigate Moretti’s wife? We need to confirm the rumors.”
“I’m on it,” Niccoló says as he grabs a water bottle. “I’ll use your tech company. You say you have the best hackers. Let’s see what they can do.” He gives me a salacious smile, and I know he’s the man for the job. “I want to kill the man responsible for Chiara’s death. I’ll never forget finding her that way.”
I feel for my brother. I’ve seen the crime scene photos, and since she was beaten and stabbed, her death was painful. The pictures looked like a botched murder. I’m used to seeing a ton of fucked up shit, but that is a murder where I would have puked. I’m convinced it was staged to look like a robbery. She didn’t have anything worth stealing.
Niccoló leaves, taking a guard. Gio and I walk to my study, where I pace.
