Page 52 of Mafia King: Matteo
Fine.
He was mysterious. Now, I find him to be bossy—and bordering on cryptic.
Yes, I should have been more careful running around town like I’m normal. Dad should have made me have a guard. It’s funny because the last time I thought men might be after me, they were hunting Izzy. But in my defense, I had no way to know that my father had put me in danger. He pissed Matteo off, and now I’m paying the price.
Dima knows where Matteo lives and has emailed me the floor plans of his house. He picked them up from City Hall. It’s a palatial estate. If I didn’t know Matteo had the most enormous cock I’ve ever encountered, I would have assumed his home was to compensate for a small dick.
Lucky for me, that’s not the case.
The ring on my finger reminds me that last night wasn’t my imagination. My pussy glistens with the merest thought of him. He can drop in on me whenever he wants because I work for him.
I want to punish him and shock him like he did me. As the new don, I assume he will be highly cautious with every decision he makes. Each step has to be thought out, and he must have a plan to keep the organization profitable. He has to keep his men happy and confident in his leadership.
Chaos and distrust in the syndicate can lead to mutiny. I’m wise enough in the ways of the bratva to know that if there is dissension in the ranks, the don’s life is at risk.
I wrestled with my father’s secret, swearing to keep it under duress. What if my father is planning to take over the bratva? What if this was his first attempt to convince potential members that he could bring in deals? Dmitry is next in line to become Don. Is my father working behind the scenes with his agenda?
I can’t risk anything happening to Dmitry or Izzy. They are my family. My heart is heavy with concern. Izzy never trusted my dad. Did I miss something?
Once again, I find my future in a holding pattern. I know whom I’m marrying, but I don’t know what my future holds. What does he want from me? Why did he have to have me?
I will be married to the Italian don, and if the bratva falls, Matteo could easily step in and take over. There would be a war, and I would be in the middle of it. I pray it will not come to that.
Matteo is as skillful at politics as he easily made me feel like his chew toy. It took him less than two weeks to recover his building and wrap me into the deal. Before meeting him, I would have gone with my parents’ choice of a husband. Knowing what I do now, I don’t trust my father’s motives.
Dima texted me more information. I read what he sent, and I find it odd that there is no cause of death listed in Luciano Borrelli’s obituary. I wonder how he died.
There were no wars at the time, and no shootings were reported in Sicily. It’s not like he was too young to die. He was sixty, the age at which dons usually retire, one way or the other.
My next thought leads me to question Luciano’s death. What if he was murdered?
And if he was murdered, who did it? Death is a retirement that doesn’t include a pension. There is no trace of him on social media, and Dima didn’t find any records that might be useful to me, like marriage certificates, children, or family deaths in Sicily. I doubt I’ll ever see an authentic record of Matteo other than his passport.
I know how foreign countries work. To obtain any records, a substantial amount of paperwork and bribes are paid over the counter in fees, while the untraceable ones are paid under the table.
It’s clear that Matteo has my safety in mind, and instead of being annoyed, maybe I shouldn’t resist my guards in light of the current situation.
I finish my hair and pull a ribbed cotton Ralph Lauren dress over my head. I tug on black boots that zip on the inside of my leg. The boots are shiny, a retro look from the 70s.
I’m marrying a man more powerful than my father. I smile because my father can’t mistreat me anymore. Matteo will not tolerate him abusing me now that I’m under his protection. I saunter out the door and walk to the elevator, knowing there are perks associated with Matteo’s status.
I arrive in the parking garage, and it looks as if this is the limo that we fucked in last week. Did Matteo send this vehicle to remind me of our midday tryst?
My dark red lips curl into a smile as the man, who introduces himself as Vito, opens the door for me.
“Good morning, Ms. Pasnov,” he says without meeting my eyes.
“Hello, Vito.”
He’s dressed in a black suit. At six feet tall, he’s shorter than Matteo, but he has dark hair and eyes that don’t even give me a once-over glance. That’s strange.
“I won’t bite,” I joke.
“I know. My job is to keep you safe, and the boss wouldn’t like it if I were too friendly.”
“Oh,” I reply thoughtfully. I remember the night at the club, and Matteo didn’t like Kirill being too close to me. I never considered Matteo’s threats applied to men in his employ. Doesn’t he trust them? It’s clear that Vito understands what’s expected of him.
Now, I worry about Matteo going off on someone over his possessiveness over me. And by “off,” I’m assuming he would kill. I know first-hand how strong his hands are and the depth of darkness in his eyes, which is a darkness I hope I will never witness in action.
