Page 98 of Mafia King: Matteo
“I’ll make sure I’m there to support you,” he says through clenched teeth.
“Thank you. Nice affair, by the way.” I smile and gather Alena to me as we return to our table.
“How did it go?” Alena asks.
“As well as I could hope for. It looks like we’re in. He was shocked, but I can’t be the only one who knows he’s making money off low-income renters. That’s why he’s making it easier for them to gain the financial assistance they need. He’s collecting a nice paycheck off it every month. You were fantastic. Thank you for helping.”
“Don’t mention it. It was kinda fun.”
The music stops, we’re on our third drink, and the appetizers have disappeared. The event emcee announces it’s time for dinner, and we are to make our way to our table.
As I move through the crowded room, Congressman Nichols comes into view. I have a quick second to shake his hand and say my name before the crowd separates us.
Our table seats ten, and Congressman Savoy is seated with us. He’s a benign player to date, but who knows for sure? If he’s at the Sidovo-Volkov table, he has a connection to the Russians.
I understand Dmitry is taking over for Izzy’s father, and I wonder when this change will occur. So far, I’m finding more questions than answers tonight, and I was hoping for the opposite.
I looked at the table of honored guests tonight, and Vincent Moretti’s name appears on the list. It can’t be a coincidence. I texted Gio to do a quick search on the Moretti children. Perhaps the old man had a meltdown, waving his gun in public. Given the recent turn of events, I’m sure the councilman has no wish to be associated with him.
Addler’s wife is nice-looking and works for a top law firm in the city. I don’t recognize the other names announced as they all reach the podium, and everyone praises the councilman and all the worthy causes. I know they will benefit from his leftover campaign funds after he wins his reelection.
On top of our dinner plates is an embossed card listing the evening’s ceremonial events—the introduction of the speakers, dinner, followed by dancing.
Izzy and Alena are talking, and I don’t have the heart to interrupt her. I admire my future wife as she sits with her shoulders poised perfectly, and I obsess over her pert breasts, and I long to have her alone. I don’t like large events. I hate public venues even more. They aren’t safe. I feel naked without my gun.
The first course is served, and dinner music is played. I keep my eye on Addler and Moretti. It’s easier to figure out the connections between people when it’s an event, as even the mafia mingles with the elite, and it’s not subject to scrutiny, as it’s in an open venue that anyone can attend—if they have the funds.
Dmitry leans into my shoulder. “In the back of the room is Cillian O’Donnell. It’s a long way for him to come for a fundraiser, don’t you think?”
“I don’t think I know. He’s looking for someone to pin the murder of his youngest son. There’s a larger play going on. I haven’t figured out what it is. Have you heard anything?”
“No. Only that he’s set up a reward for information in his son’s case. Ironic. Never gave a damn about the kid, he grew up a junkie, and now he’s obsessed with the notion it was a hit.”
“I find it sad.”
Alena finally gives me her attention. Discussing the food took all of a minute. Then, she decides we will have a contest by rating the costumes that parade past us. I can’t turn down a contest, but I have no clue how we’ll decide who wins. I ask the server passing by for more drinks.
Across the room, I see a familiar woman standing a few tables away. She’s tall with jet-black hair, green eyes, and a body that men will lose their hearts over.
I excuse myself and make my way to her.
“Fancy seeing you here. You didn’t tell me you were in the States,” I say.
“It’s early spring break. A handsome billionaire picked me up on the slopes in France. I’ve been curious about New York, so I had to see what all the fuss was about,” she says as she slips her hand through my arm as I escort her to the bar.
“How did you get in?” I ask as she orders a drink from the bartender.
“New acquaintances. It appears we’re in an alliance with the Russians. That’s scary,” she replies.
“You have no idea. I don’t know if I need to sleep with one eye open, considering I’m marrying into them, or if I need to keep a gun on me even in the bathroom.”
She smiles. “I’m fascinated by the woman who changed your mind on marriage. I’m looking forward to having a sister-in-law.”
“She’s a handful, like you. Now run along to your billionaire and keep your ears open.”
“Always,” she says, kissing me on the cheek.
I veer off to return to our table, and Alena gives me the universal look that tells me I’m in the doghouse.
