Page 36 of Mafia King: Matteo
Mom grabs the phone. “Sorry, dear. He’s in a mood,” she says.
“Mom, I didn’t do anything wrong. I thought he would be proud of me.”
“I know, dear. Don’t mind him. Come by for an informal dinner party next week. I’ll send you the date and time. It’s casual, but do your hair and dress nicely. Gotta go.”
She hung up before I could say goodbye.
Dinner? What is going on? The two of them are behaving strangely. I was just there for dinner.
If this isn’t cryptic, I don’t know what is. Dad has not been himself, and it sounds like he’s still stressed out.
I call Izzy. Neither of us has a clue what is going on with my father.
To forget my family’s weirdness, I changed the discussion to my first day at work and Izzy’s naps.
CHAPTER 13
MATTEO
“I have good news, boss,” Gio says. “Antonio found your father’s retired advisor, Mr. Gambino. I have his address and thought we’d visit him.”
“Great idea. Maybe this guy can shed light on my father’s transgressions and whereabouts before he left the city. That information could potentially lead us to the person or persons behind his suspicious death.”
My phone rings. Sicily.
“Fuck.”
Like, I don’t have enough going on.
I answer and listen to Uncle Luca drone on about how he needs a vacation. He’s warming up for the real reason behind his call. Leave it to my uncles to never get to the point. He thinks I have all the time in the world, while all he does is sit around drinking grappa all day.
“Yeah, well, if that damn Chinaman continues to drag his feet, you need to use an ice pick and chop things off one at a time.”
“Okay, Uncle Luca. I get the picture. Remember, this is New York, not Sicily.”
I chuckle. He doesn’t know Wu is dead. I’m keeping a playbook in my head of who knows what and when. One has to be sharp and a step ahead of the others to stay alive.
“Good. I’ll let you get on with that then,” he says. “Good luck getting anything done in that shithole,” he says, making a gagging sound to show his disdain for the city.
I hang up. I don’t have the energy to remind him that my businesses in New York make more money for the family than anything he has going on in Sicily.
It’s lunchtime, so I follow Gio into the solarium where Federico has laid out a spread. We sit at the table and start with chicken gnocchi soup, followed by pane con la milza, a lamb innards and ricotta dish. I bite into a toasted tomato and cheese sandwich that tastes like it came straight from an Italian panini press.
“Everything tastes incredible, Federico,” I say as he refills my wine.
“I’m glad you like it. Can I get you anything else?”
“Thank you, that’ll be all. And I won’t be here for dinner tonight.”
“Very well,” he says before leaving.
“We need to get a move on if we want to see Gambino today,” I say to Gio.
“I agree. He’s probably eating as well. He was old school like your father,” he says.
“You mean old. He’s past retirement age. We were supposed to visit him last week. We can’t put it off any longer,” I elaborate.
“True. I hope he will give us answers. The sooner we neutralize the threat, the safer you and Alena will be. Maybe hold off a bit on the announcement?” Gio encourages me to be patient.
