Page 55

Giovanna

“Knock knock”, Matty says as he hovers in the doorway to my office.

“Come in,” I say wearily. I’ve been working for about two hours already and it’s 9.45 am on a Sunday. Shortly I will have to deal with the unnecessary bullshit Elio has caused while everyone goes around treating him like he’s the Marino Don. Life feels a little unfair right now.

I motion for Matty to close the door and take a seat. “Matty,” I whinge his name like a plea. A plea for what, I’m not sure. Guidance? Support? Solidarity? I wouldn’t speak to anyone else like this, but as we’ve gotten older my second brother has become my best mate. “What do I do?”

Matty and I are so alike and so very different from our brothers. We get each other and don’t need to create noise to be heard. Like me, Matty is dedicated to the family and our businesses. When Elio is at Peacocks or doing lines off a stripper’s arse on a yacht in Sydney Harbour, the pair of us don’t stop hustling. We also have the stomach for violence that Elio seems to lack.

Matty grimaces showing he appreciates how difficult the situation is. “Fear and humiliation? Either that or chop off his cock and don’t let him leave the house.” He jokes, but there is some truth to it. Usually, violence or degradation are the two key tools for punishment in our world. Punishment and control.

“Francesca’s method of revenge was pretty effective last night,” I remark grimly. Effective and fucking hot. Seeing her undone like that was kind of earth-shattering. If she hadn’t been so upset, her wild eyes and uncontrolled screams might have had me bending her over the crushed bonnet of Elio’s car.

Matty cracks a rare unabashed smile as he remembers the scene we rushed to last night after the alarms started going off in the garage. “It was beautiful. Just need a soundtrack and some slo-mo.”

My stomach clenches at his use of the word beautiful even though I know very well that he was referring to the destruction she wrought rather than the woman herself.Why the fuck am I jealous anyway?Our other brother is going to marry her for fucksake.

“The way she just matter of fact told him she smashed up his car with her legs in the air…” I shake my head with a small smile.

“You just like that she had her legs in the air,” he winks and I run a hand over my face.

“Don’t beat yourself up, G,” he continues. “She looks at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters. Like she would die for you or be on her knees for you in a second. I’m impressed by how restrained you’re being, to be honest.”

That might be the most I have heard him say in one go since he got out of prison a couple of years ago. I was there to pick him up, the solid, harder-looking man who replaced my formerly lean and laid-back brother.

The real difference was in his eyes though. As I took his cheeks in my palms and searched his face for the pain I knew would be there, I suddenly saw what people mean when they describe someone’s eyes as “haunted”.

Matty had quickly risen through the prisoner ranks, his reputation as the son of the Don of Sydney bolstering his credentials. It wasn’t long before he had the run of the place, but ruling free criminals is one thing, ruling criminals in captivity is another.

Violence is the only true currency and the only true tool to maintain or challenge social order behind bars. Matty lived with the very real constant threat of murder by shanking or the fists of a rival for four years. He slept little and lightly, afraid to be vulnerable to attack. Not that he ever could afford to show so much as a sliver of fear.

It wasn’t until we sat together in the backseat of one of our SUVs, shielded by blacked-out windows, that his face crumpled. The ruthless mafia prince who scowled at everyone as he strode out of the prison in a sharp suit we had delivered in advance disappeared to reveal a broken man and the true pain and exhaustion he felt.

Elio drove us silently home while I held Matty’s head to my shoulder and rocked him while he cried. We didn’t talk. Matty cried, I held him, and Elio drove around Sydney in circles until we were all ready to put our mafia masks back on and face our father.

Free for the past two years, Matty is no longer broken, but he isn’t the same man he was. The most violent of my brothers, he is also the one I’m most protective of.

He regards me with gentle affection as he drops his truth bombs on me, but I shake my head with sad resignation.

“Yeah well, there’s no sense in me creating some Romeo and Juliet bullshit situation. What’s the point in torturing us both,” my glumness isn’t new, but expressing it is.

Massi arrives right at 10 o’clock with a grin on his face. “I can’t stop smiling every time I think about the moment Elio realised Ches had gone feral.”

“How is slugger this morning? She okay?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Fed up, but okay. Surprisingly she has no regrets. She’s gone to the gym.”

Even though I want to ask more, I don’t. I don’t want to seem too interested in Francesca. Talking candidly with Matty is one thing, but Massimo doesn’t have the same levels of discretion, especially when it comes to Francesca.

“Call him,” I instruct Matty when Elio still hasn’t arrived at 10.15.Fucksake.

“Bro, where the fuck are you?” Matty growls into the phone.

“Yeah, well hurry up.”

I raise my eyebrows in question.

“Still in bed,” Matty mutters.