Page 20 of Mafia King: Matteo
Angelica dons her coat and makes herself presentable as I speak to Gio through the open window and give him instructions.
He pulls to the side of the road, opens the door facing the sidewalk, and retrieves the bags from the trunk.
“Thank you for the lift,” she says, thanking my driver.
“No problem at all,” Gio says before returning to the driver’s seat.
I stick my head out the window.
“What about me?”
She leans down and kisses my lips. It’s a kiss that could easily lead to round two.
“Behave yourself,” she says before she turns on her boot heels and walks away.
“Damn, that’s cold,” I murmur to Gio.
“It’s safer this way. Besides, we need to get to Wu,” he says.
“Right. Let’s go. Any word on her real name?”
“I’ll tell you as soon as I find out.”
It takes thirty minutes to get to the building, where Antonio has Mr. Wu strapped to a chair. He’s been worked over, yet he’s determined to defy me.
“Mr. Wu. You’re being disrespectful.” I take off my suit jacket and roll up the sleeves on my shirt.
I punch him in the gut.
“Who owns your property?”
“I not tell you,” he replies in broken English before spitting in my face.
“That’s the last time you get to do that.” I look at Antonio.
“It appears his property has been signed over to a shell corporation. However, we’ve loosely linked it to the Sidovo family over the years.”
“The Russians?” I exclaim. “How the fuck did that happen?” I glare at Antonio. Love made him weak. He lost his focus. He should have killed Wu before Christmas.
Wu is chuckling.
“I’m sorry, Matteo. We had him under surveillance and didn’t pick up any meetings with our rivals.”
I extend my hand. Antonio places a 9mm in it.
“I hope you hid your family well, or I’ll kill them all,” I say, enjoying the terrified look on his face before I squeeze the trigger.
“You didn’t want to torture him?” Gio asks.
“He’s been through more torture than I could ever deliver. Did you see the scars on his hands and arms? He most likely escaped a work camp as a child in China. They survived on will alone. You’re talking about communist work camps,” I say.
I pick up a rag from the floor, wipe my prints off the gun, and hand it to Antonio. “Clean this shit up, and don’t be lazy. Trouble is coming, and I need you to be alert, or it will cost us our lives. Do I need to be concerned about your future performance?”
“No, sir. I’ll make sure I don’t make any more mistakes,” Antonio says.
His father, Carlo, is the youngest of my father’s brothers. He’s the only uncle I like. I have to keep an eye on Antonio and his old man. Art of War—keep your friends close, your enemies closer. Looks like we’re going to be fucking—kissing cousins.
I’ve considered Carlo the least threatening as he was mothered more than the others and only had slight infractions with the family. He likes to bet but has the lock on running numbers, like a lottery and illegal betting. He runs numbers in his head and has a photographic memory, so nothing is written down. With no paper trail, everything he does is deniable.
