Page 6 of Mafia King: Matteo
“Not yet. I’ll have to be careful until I learn more. I have my men working on it. In the meantime, be cautious and discreet when sharing this information with others. Bianca is back at school, so that should take her off the game board. As for Pietro—I doubt he’ll be an issue to anyone as long as he can spend all day in his vineyard.”
“True. Jesus, I can’t believe it’s come to this, looking over our shoulders for a possible traitor in our own family.”
“I could be wrong,” I admit, pushing my plate to the center of the table.
“It makes sense. The men who work for us aren’t overly ambitious. But who knows? Times are changing, and it could be the start of a takeover by any of them,” Niccoló suggests.
“We shouldn’t rule anyone out. Our best option is to keep our loyal men happy and know that our guards will give their lives for us.”
“How long will it take for someone to get to them?”
I shrug. “I have no clue. However, if I’m taken out, make sure you find the bastards and make them suffer.”
“I will. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” he replies.
I stand. Niccoló joins me. I hug him. “Good luck, brother,” I say in Italian.
He returns my hug. “Good luck to you. I’ll be in touch.”
I stare out the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the gravel driveway and watch Niccoló climb into his white Ferrari. I’m humored by his refusal to drive the stereotypical red Ferrari most Italian men prefer. His security detail is split between two armored SUVs, one in front and one behind him, as they pull onto the curvy road.
What surprises await me in New York? After packing, I call the service that coordinates the crew for my private jet. As a safety precaution, I give a vague departure time for later today. I’ll show up unexpectedly.
I said my goodbyes to my siblings last night. Before closing the carry-on luggage, I shower and dress casually with loafers, jeans, and a dress shirt. September is warm—a reality of our changing environment.
When I was a kid, the tourist season in Italy used to end at the end of summer. Today, the tourist season lasts most of the year, with trains and ferries running more often during the summer months.
While my guard drives me to the airport, maneuvering the SUV expertly around the winding and hilly countryside, I text Gio.
I’ll be on the plane soon.
Good. The house is ready for you. Mr. Wu has been oddly quiet.
Fuck!
I should have let Antonio kill that motherfucker. I want his laundromat. We can clean money through it. But I want to turn it into a hotel and expand our empire. The building has height restrictions, but it’s a potential goldmine without them.
The pilot greets me, and within minutes, I’m airborne. I haven’t filled Gio in on what’s transpired. I’m particular about the information I share over phones, even encrypted ones. I prefer to be cautious, even if it’s not as convenient. I’d rather discuss important matters in person when the timing is right.
Have Antonio beef up security.
Gio: Trouble?
Always.
I get up and mix myself a Manhattan. It’s going to be a mind fuck switching from the laid-back lifestyle in Sicily to the busy streets of New York City.
Gio meets me at Teterboro airport with two SUVs to escort us into the city. It’s a city with an incredible nightlife if one knows where to find it.
“True, so where to? Home?”
“I’ve been stuck on a flight for hours. I want to get into character, and by that I mean find an enticing woman to fuck. I’m sure you know where I can make that happen.” Knowing Gio, who’s in his forties and never married, I’m sure he knows exactly where to find what I want. He wouldn’t be my best friend and advisor if he didn’t.
“I know of a place. It’s small, intimate, and by invitation only, but I can get you in. Don’t worry, it’s not a fuckfest of losers and one-timers.”
“Great. Thanks.”
“We are bachelors. We need to stick together. The city is filled with tons of women wanting to get married.”
