Page 1 of Mafia King: Matteo (Borrelli Mafia #1)

MATTEO

My father, Luciano, is dead. After years of wishing the man was six feet under, I finally got my wish. My only question is—why now? Last summer in New York, he was in good health. He returned to Sicily, and by January, he was dead.

I only say he died of cancer because I suspect his death was hastened by someone close to him. I can’t tip my hand if that’s the case. I shudder to think what this may imply for my younger brother should something happen to me.

After the Catholic church service and funeral, everyone gathers at my father’s house. I’ve always hated this place. It’s where my mother died, and today, it feels colder than a prison cell in Siberia.

I find a good vantage point in the living room and stand like a soldier at ease. Watching my three uncles move about the room, I can’t help but wonder about their possible motives to eliminate my father.

They knew him best. It makes sense that one or more of them could easily poison his scotch.

I hate its strong taste and smell, but it’s a great way to conceal poison.

But everyone knows that women, not men, typically use poison.

When his health started to deteriorate rapidly, I had medical tests run.

The results left me with more questions than answers.

My father being poisoned is not how I imagined myself becoming the next mafia boss. A killer needs a motive, and I don’t know who has one strong enough to kill over it. The reasons for killing my father are too numerous to select only one. This makes the number of possible suspects limitless.

The men in ‘the family’ have dropped by to pay their respects. Most of the underbosses appear to be content with the pecking order. None of them has the drive to take over the organization. They stand around exchanging stories, but they aren’t the type to linger all day.

Before leaving, our Sicilian friends and employees pledged their allegiance to me. I’ll have to sleep with one eye open until I figure out who has the motive to take my birthright.

My mother died over twenty years ago, soon after the birth of my sister, Bianca. I remember it was a hot summer day. I came inside for the fresh lemonade Mom had made in the morning. I heard my parents arguing upstairs. I turned to leave when I heard the awful thud of her falling down the steps.

Her death was deemed an accident, but I have no doubt she was pushed. Believe me, my instincts are stronger than the smell of my father’s liquor.

With Mother gone, my only option was to create a family with my sister and three brothers as if Dad didn’t exist. They needed me, and it was the only way to survive.

I needed money to take care of them, so I had no choice but to follow in my father’s footsteps.

Hopefully, I will find redemption before I die.

I don’t want or need a wife. The closeness I feel for my siblings is enough to serve as companionship.

Typically, an abusive situation either bonds families together or tears them apart.

In a house with no parental love, we chose to bond.

They are the glue that holds us together as a family.

I’ll need to be more vigilant than ever to keep them safe.

Unfortunately, even with my formal education, I lack the necessary work experience to secure a legitimate job in a corporation.

That’s why I run my own. I’ve managed to obtain two properties.

One is a casino in Atlantic City, and the other is an upscale hotel in New York City currently undergoing renovations.

The next building I acquire from Wu will be demolished.

I’ll erect a colossal hotel there as well.

I aim to create and grow legitimate businesses so my siblings can escape the family curse. Dad was an old-school crime boss. Like the gangsters he grew up with, he liked extortion, fraudulent money-making scams, and racketeering.

My father clung to these business practices because they fed his ego. He was convinced he was the smartest man in the room. Even as a teenager, I knew he was full of shit. If I dared to challenge his opinion on anything, he beat me. Sometimes, he just beat me for no reason at all.

A good leader should never base their decisions on personal feelings. My father made the mistake of creating friction with other Sicilian clans over stupid bullshit here in Italy. Women wanted him for his money, but he never remarried, intent on keeping his wealth for himself.

As he got older, his sociopathic tendencies got worse, and he couldn’t remember the promises he made to men he couldn’t afford to piss off.

To make matters worse, his alcohol abuse rotted his brain.

When I looked into his eyes, I didn’t recognize him anymore.

I often wondered if he had lost his mind.

My sister would never have left the house if I hadn’t intervened. Had she remained under his thumb, he would have married her to someone undeserving. If any man abuses my sister, I will put a bullet in his head.

Now she attends college in England. Because her name is Borrelli, she uses a different last name and is always surrounded by heavy security.

Sometimes, she tries to ditch her guards and go to the store or a club like a regular person.

As a result, one guard plays the part of her best friend, and the other lives in the shadows to ward off suspicious eyes.

Like so many politicians who overstay their time in office, my father stayed at the helm too long and should have stepped aside years ago.

On the other hand, I’m glad he didn’t hand over the reins too early. I’ve enjoyed my life in New York City without him hovering over my shoulder and micromanaging my every move. He had a flawed personality. I hope I never become him.

He left me a huge mess. We’re in debt, and it’s up to me to turn things around.

Dad believed every crime family was needed, even if it wasn’t a fair deal.

The Russians, the Albanians, the Irish, and others were able to outsmart him in the end.

We’ve been on a sinking ship—not so much here in Sicily, but in New York.

I spent enough time there to learn about the city, the players, and the way of life.

I have no desire to live in his relic of a house here or New York.

Every home is filled with outdated furniture.

He’s never redecorated since Nixon was president.

I’m sure it’s chock-full of clutter and reeks of the peppermint he took for his stomach.

The basement is a fire hazard with a collection of old newspapers stacked from floor to ceiling.

He was in his seventies and as outdated as a telephone landline.

Mom was too young when she was given to him, but he wanted to merge with her clan. I assume in the beginning, there was an attraction.

I’m not a trusting man. If I want to live to see tomorrow, trust is the last word that would be used to describe me.

Trust gets men killed. It’s pathetic how easy it is to lure those we want to kill to a remote location under false pretenses.

Remembering I’m at my father’s wake, I stifle my snicker.

My Uncle Giuseppe is making his way across the room towards me.

He is my father’s oldest brother, followed by Luca and Antonio.

Luca loves money, and Antonio is like Dad, craving power, as only a younger sibling living with the two of them can understand.

It’s his way to survive, and being picked on for years makes him desire power more.

Uncle Giuseppe’s gait is off, possibly due to a bad back or hip.

His high-waisted dress pants and bow tie make him look old for his age.

He may as well wear Velcro sneakers to complete the look.

He’s cheap, and he won’t listen to anyone.

Thank God he was never in line for my job.

But who knows? Maybe he helped Dad along to the gates of hell, and I’m next.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Matteo. I know you don’t give a shit, but he was my brother,” he mumbles.

“I guess you’ll miss him then,” I quip. This lecherous man walks around with butterscotch candy in his pocket and goes out of his way to be around young girls. Even his wife thinks it’s creepy.

My old man had me on the streets from the time I was seven, running numbers, and then it progressed to violence.

I loved my time away at college and wish I could have milked it longer.

I gave up on a law degree because my father wanted me to have a business background, so I took a few courses.

It was pointless. We don’t have to advertise to sell drugs or guns—those who want them know where to find me.

“As a matter of fact, I will miss Luciano. You, however, have never exhibited an ounce of empathy, even as a kid,” he says. “One day, Matteo, you will find someone, and maybe it will make you a better person. Losing someone you love is a terrible experience.”

“I doubt a woman can change me. I’m thirty-one, and I have no plans to settle down. I have my brothers and sisters. That’s enough.”

“Eventually, you need an heir. Otherwise, there will be a power struggle, and the infighting will destroy us.” He gives me a side-eye. He’s right, and he knows it.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Giuseppe.”

It won’t be a fight from my siblings, but it would be a free-for-all for greedy outsiders who want to take us over. This is a legitimate situation that could put a target on my beloved brother, Niccoló’s, back.

He would be next in line to lead if I were to die. To protect my family, I need an heir. History has taught us it’s easier to assume a throne when it’s not contested. There needs to be a direct path to the top. It’s a rule as old as time, and wars have been fought over less.

I hoped I had more time before conceding to the age-old tradition of matrimony. It’s a situation I dread.

“You’re mean-spirited. I don’t know who you got that from,” he says through a mouthful of antipasti he’s eating with his bare hands.

I’ve seen five-year-olds with better manners.

His creepy personality fits with his ugly mug.

He didn’t inherit the family genetics in the good looks department.

Like my father, he’s a schemer who always looks for an angle that benefits him.

I never trusted him when he made deals with Dad.

Whenever a deal went south, somehow Giuseppe came out without a scratch.

My father always bought his bullshit excuses.

Before I left for college, I found a missing shipment in an old barn on his sister-in-law’s farm.

I’m sure he hijacked the cigarette container in what I refer to as the smoke screen heist. There was no use telling Dad.

He would have believed his brother over me.

I didn’t want to attend college with a black eye and split lip. I could have fought him, but it would only anger him more. Maybe Dad knew, and it was his way of throwing his brother a bone after Giuseppe took a bullet for him when they were teenagers running amuck in the streets.

I can’t wait to get to New York City. I’m tired of this island and look forward to a change of scenery.

God only knows I’ve screwed every single woman here over the age of twenty-one.

Now that I’m older, I no longer go after the young ones who get clingy.

The most gorgeous woman here left years ago.

Her name is Sophia. We talk from time to time.

Maybe we’ll have a fling if I run into her as she works for me.

Marriage has always been off the table. I’m a skeptic, always have been, and always will be.

Why would any woman want to be involved in the life I live?

My hours are erratic, and my life is complicated, not to mention dangerous as fuck.

The moment a woman starts to call or text for anything other than sex, I block her number.

I don’t take pleasure in hurting women. I fuck like a buck—hard and fast. There are times when a woman is desired, and she serves a purpose.

One purpose only—to get me off. Meaningless sex is safe.

The women in the room flirt with Niccoló. The front door opens, and his girlfriend walks through it. The other women turn their backs in disappointment.

He is a handsome devil. He’s madly in love with Chiara.

Her father works the docks for us on the mainland.

He turns the other way when our shipments of cocaine hidden in cans of pineapple come in from South America.

We open the cans and transfer the cocaine to the inside of old machinery tires that we then transport to other countries.

“You should be happy that he’s gone. You’ve hated him since Mom died. That’s a long time to hate,” Niccoló says softly, watching Chiara walk toward us.

“You were young. You didn’t see how he treated her. If someone treated Bianca like that, I’d kill them. Mom was an angel.”

“That’s one thing we can agree on,” Niccoló says. “I hope you’re still going to join me in New York. You understand.”

“Yes, I do. Maybe we’ll run away and get married,” he chuckles.

“Don’t make any emotional decisions. Think things through. I have to speak with Bianca. We’ll talk later,” I say abruptly as I head to my sister.

She grew up with help from our mother’s aunt.

Dad had to have a girl, and Mom had a late-in-life baby that about killed her.

I’m not sure about her death, injuries sustained from the fall, or whether she broke her neck.

The result is the same. Money gets Dad out of trouble more times than I can count. It’s what we do.

Dad didn’t reserve his drinking for the evenings. As the child who took the brunt of the beatings, I could predict his moods from the number of empty wine and vodka bottles in the recycling bin.

I kiss my sister’s soft cheek. She hugs me.

“Are you okay?”

“Sure, it was bound to happen, right?”

“Yes.”

“I’m glad it wasn’t by your hand.”

“What do you mean?”

“I always saw the rage in your eyes and worried that one day you’d snap.”

“Possibly, but it’s important I remain in control of myself. Who else would be here for you?”

“Thank you for that. I love college.”

“Good, I did, too. Stay vigilant. I’m investigating Dad’s death quietly,” I reply, moving away to work the room and shake hands. My presence commands the room.

I stop by a table with a hand-crocheted tablecloth, plates of cold cuts, and homemade delicacies. My other brothers, Renalto and Pietro, sip Grappa. I take a half-filled glass and raise it. We toast to the new era.

Who killed my father? Are they coming for me next?

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