Page 87 of Mafia King: Matteo
“June is a perfect month for weddings, but we needed to move up the timetable. March will be great. We’ll have it in Florida, where it will be sunny,” I say, trying to finesse her into the timeline I’ve set. “I have a mansion on the beach.”
“Florida? How am I to plan this?”
“You aren’t. I hired a wedding planner. She planned some singer’s wedding—JLo or something like that. I can’t keep up with American pop stars.”
This causes her to pause.
“JLo?”
“That’s what I’ve been told. Only the best for you, Alena.”
“I don’t have a say in who I marry. Now, you have the wedding planned. Do I get to make any decisions over my life?”
“The most important one, yes.”
“The baby.”
“Yes.”
“You’re getting everything you want, whether I agree or not. Was it a request for a baby, or were you going to sabotage my birth control if I said no?”
Interesting. She’s managed to box me into a corner.
“I was hoping you would say yes.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” she continues.
“Can we discuss this at home?”
“Sure. And we’ll discuss Sophia as well. You never said I was working for your ex-girlfriend. Or that you are having dinner with her tonight.”
“My ex-lover, I don’t date.”
“Yeah, well, call it what you want. That woman is not nice.”
“That’s why you are wearing my ring—not her.”
Silence reigns for thirty seconds.
“Oh,” she whispers.
“Right. If that’s all, I have to go,” I reply.
“Okay,” she says and hangs up.
“The little woman is not happy with you.” Gio chuckles as he nods to the man with a face full of tattoos.
Juan, the leading gang member in my territory, is sitting. Otherwise, his pants would fall to his ankles. His jeans aren’t cheap, his sneakers are expensive, and the yellow color attracts attention. His organization runs our drugs.
His look is his brand. His subordinates respect him, and he loves to show off his wealth. We’re not all that different. I show off my wealth as well.
His teeth are capped, and the three gold chains on his neck are his trademark. He’s El Loco—Crazy Man.
“She’ll calm down,” I reply confidently. “What do you have for me, Crazy Man?”
“Addler owns a rental building. We’re always calling the city as he never does repair work, and it’s dangerous.” His legs are spread as he slouches in the chairs. His hands rest on his legs. “It’s not safe to live there, man. We’ve seen his assistant talking to the city’s investigator. He took an envelope, and no one came by anymore. We call and call, but without an attorney, there’s nothing we can do. Ain’t no one got money to fight him. I’d love to tap him.”
“He’s a slumlord?” I state. Why is this surprising? I should have known.
