Page 3 of Mafia King: Matteo
“I always saw the rage in your eyes and worried that one day you’d snap.”
“Possibly, but it’s important I remain in control of myself. Who else would be here for you?”
“Thank you for that. I love college.”
“Good, I did, too. Stay vigilant. I’m investigating Dad’s death quietly,” I reply, moving away to work the room and shake hands. My presence commands the room.
I stop by a table with a hand-crocheted tablecloth, plates of cold cuts, and homemade delicacies. My other brothers, Renalto and Pietro, sip Grappa. I take a half-filled glass and raise it. We toast to the new era.
Who killed my father? Are they coming for me next?
CHAPTER 2
ALENA
I expected information on my arranged marriage tonight. Dad is stressed. He refused to come out of his office and missed dinner. I’m still in the dark about the family plans for my future—the uncertainty knots in my stomach. I’m free-falling into the abyss. Don’t they know I’m in limbo?
“I don’t think you are the pressing matter,” Mom assures me as we clear the table. I follow her into the kitchen and stack the dishwasher. Her housekeeper made dinner and left early, which rarely happens. Sometimes, I think Mom doesn’t want to be alone in this huge house without Dad, so she keeps the housekeeper after hours to have company. I’m sure nothing has changed over the years with Dad’s unpredictable work schedule.
“When am I not the brunt of his disdain?” I joke. I’m feeling neglected without my father bellowing his political opinions at me. He talks like I have no life experience.
If he only knew what I did at night, he might discover other ways to go around the world—if you understand the underworld of single life.
Mom gives me a look that could turn our house cat, Pickles, into stone.
“Fine,” I harrumph as I make a pot of hot tea. The kettle’s scream is shrill. Mom is not one for the latest technology. When I was younger, she constantly needed to keep up with the other housewives in the family. They shopped in the same stores, went to the same spas, and took the same vacations.
There was always an undercurrent of competition among the women to discover the latest trend on the social scene. Whether it was the newest luxury car or the best up-and-coming fashion designer, it was sweeter if someone scored an invitation to a new designer’s show.
They would sometimes crash the venue using our guards to pave their way into his show with his newest collection if no invite came. Everyone was judged by who had the most toys, cars, and the best wardrobe. To be the first to discover the next fad before it became all the rage meant you were someone.
Granted, many of them had an unfair advantage because their husbands were manipulating the underworld by investing in designers. It was how they controlled the market, creating shortages, so the prices went up, and the profit margins were huge.
I pour two cups of black tea and skip the sugar. I have no butt, in my opinion, and my boobs are too large for my petite frame. However, I have no desire for my hips and thighs to get any bigger. I hand Mom a cup and follow her into the living room.
I put my cup on the stone-topped coffee table and sit with her on the overpriced couch a designer picked out years ago. It’s stiff and uncomfortable, but the cream-colored leather goes well with the room’s dark blue accent pillows and rugs, and it’s an improvement over the teal in other rooms.
Mom turns on the TV to watch a reality show. One would never know she wasn’t born here, as she watches shows I can’t be bothered to spend a year of my young life watching. I hate waiting for endings, so a serialized show with one weekly release would drive me insane.
“So, what is going on?” I pick up my tea and sip. My interest is piqued. After the drama with my roommate Izzy and her stalkers earlier this year, life has become boring. The stalkers turned out to be men who were hired to hunt her down. Since then, I’ve discovered that having more information is better than less, especially in my world, due to my family’s connections. Secrets can be deadly. I wouldn’t want a hitman chasing me without knowing why.
Izzy never knew she was the product of a forbidden marriage, a love child. It would have merged the Russians and the Italians decades ago. The future is uncertain for her Italian family because her biological grandfather is a demonic old man who gets off on the pain of others. Izzy has nothing to do with them, but that might change when the baby arrives. Until then, it’s a wait-and-see situation that Izzy chooses to ignore. There are five leading Italian families in the city and the surrounding area. That pretty much covers my knowledge of the Italian mob, except for the Morelli’s. My best friend is related to them. It’s a fucked-up story.
“You might want to get a job, Alena,” Mom says during a commercial break. My mind wanders as I watch a woman in the show begin shopping. She obviously has an unhealthy addiction to her credit card. I can relate to some retail therapy being used to compensate for loneliness.
“Really? Dad would let me work?” This means I would have a reprieve from marrying until next year. These weddings are used as a showcase to the world that we’re wealthy and powerful. However, the wait-and-see attitude of the situation has been looming over me like a plague.
I downplay my anxiousness when I’m with my best friend, Izzy. She’s pregnant and basking in a love life that has recently upstaged mine. Something about hormones is all I remember. Besides, she’s married to a hot-blooded, handsome, and mysterious Russian who saved her life numerous times. I can’t fault her for falling in love with him. It would be impossible not to!
I’m relieved she found her family and will stay in New York City. She’ll be the queen of the Russian mafia soon. I never knew she was part Russian, even though she lived with me. I didn’t mind giving her a place to stay. She has always been a loyal friend who keeps my life out of her conversations, and in exchange, she got to live with me for free while she obtained her fashion degree.
My mother’s suggestion of work stymies me. Before getting overly excited, I press for more details.
“Did Dad approve this?”
“We’ve discussed it. There will be changes when Dmitry takes over, and we want to see what transpires before making any promises. The ever-changing environment and all that,” she says with a shrug. “Why not give single life a go? God knows I don’t like what I hear from your guards. Sex clubs? Really? I hope you use protection.” Her judgmental comments suggest that she receives very little attention from Dad. Most of the men have a woman on the side. I think Dad is a workaholic with little sex drive.
I, on the other hand, am promiscuous. Whether Dad approves or not is of little concern. I have needs, and I love sex. It’s one area where I’m in control. I decide where and when. It’s liberating; maybe that’s why I exercise my pussy muscles so much.
