Page 17 of Mafia King: Matteo (Borrelli Mafia #1)

MATTEO

“I have good news, boss,” Gio says. “Antonio found your father’s retired advisor, Mr. Gambino. I have his address and thought we’d visit him.”

“Great idea. Maybe this guy can shed light on my father’s transgressions and whereabouts before he left the city. That information could potentially lead us to the person or persons behind his suspicious death.”

My phone rings. Sicily.

“Fuck.”

Like, I don’t have enough going on.

I answer and listen to Uncle Luca drone on about how he needs a vacation. He’s warming up for the real reason behind his call. Leave it to my uncles to never get to the point. He thinks I have all the time in the world, while all he does is sit around drinking grappa all day.

“Yeah, well, if that damn Chinaman continues to drag his feet, you need to use an ice pick and chop things off one at a time.”

“Okay, Uncle Luca. I get the picture. Remember, this is New York, not Sicily.”

I chuckle. He doesn’t know Wu is dead. I’m keeping a playbook in my head of who knows what and when. One has to be sharp and a step ahead of the others to stay alive.

“Good. I’ll let you get on with that then,” he says. “Good luck getting anything done in that shithole,” he says, making a gagging sound to show his disdain for the city.

I hang up. I don’t have the energy to remind him that my businesses in New York make more money for the family than anything he has going on in Sicily.

It’s lunchtime, so I follow Gio into the solarium where Federico has laid out a spread.

We sit at the table and start with chicken gnocchi soup, followed by pane con la milza, a lamb innards and ricotta dish.

I bite into a toasted tomato and cheese sandwich that tastes like it came straight from an Italian panini press.

“Everything tastes incredible, Federico,” I say as he refills my wine.

“I’m glad you like it. Can I get you anything else?”

“Thank you, that’ll be all. And I won’t be here for dinner tonight.”

“Very well,” he says before leaving.

“We need to get a move on if we want to see Gambino today,” I say to Gio.

“I agree. He’s probably eating as well. He was old school like your father,” he says.

“You mean old. He’s past retirement age. We were supposed to visit him last week. We can’t put it off any longer,” I elaborate.

“True. I hope he will give us answers. The sooner we neutralize the threat, the safer you and Alena will be. Maybe hold off a bit on the announcement?” Gio encourages me to be patient.

“You worry too much.”

“Well, considering I have to keep you alive. You should be appreciative.”

“Noted.”

After we finish eating, Gio calls for a car and a driver. I put on my suit jacket and grabbed my long overcoat. I make sure the gun I put in my belt clip earlier is still there. It would be stupid not to carry a weapon, especially since we’re heading to a place we’ve never been.

Gio has the driver pull up, and I follow behind him as fresh snow falls. It will be nice to have Alena warming me at night. Well, depending on how pissed she is over our meeting. I haven’t seen her in days and wonder if she misses me.

I had paperwork with her father regarding the building and marriage contract. Now, Antonio wants to speak to me about his issue with Finn. It never stops. Put out one fire, start another, rinse, repeat.

We both know he wants to kill Finn. I don’t mind one less dealer dead. It’s easy to make his death look like an overdose. However, I can’t risk any blowback over it.

We make our way into the city’s Lower East Side near Soho. We walk up flights of steps as the elevator has a sign “Out of Order,” which seems odd as it’s in a well-kept neighborhood.

“What moron designs a building with only one elevator?” I grumble as we head to the stairwell. Gio pulls his gun and goes first before opening the stairwell door. He looks up and clears the corner before he motions for me to follow. “What floor?”

“Third.”

Why does it always smell like dead mice and urine in a stairwell?

On the third floor, we walk down an empty corridor until we arrive at number 323, Gambino’s apartment.

“You’d think he’d be living in a nice house with all the money he’s made over the years,” Gio stops when he notices the door is cracked open. Sensing a setup, he immediately goes into defense mode. His head is on a swivel as he checks our surroundings.

I peer across the railing behind me, and as far as I can see—I don’t notice anything unusual. Window cleaners are working; horns honk below, and there are snow-covered rooftops as far as I can see.

Satisfied we’re not being watched, I nod for Gio to open the door. Thankful for the cold that led him to wear leather gloves, he nudges the door open with his foot and enters the room.

We find Mr. Gambino in his recliner with a shot to the head.

We exchange looks of concern.

“That’s a hit. But why?” I ask.

In the distance, we hear the loud horn of an ambulance followed by the sirens of emergency vehicles.

“If an ambulance is coming, so are the cops,” Gio murmurs, voicing his concerns.

“Someone wanted us to find him.”

“We need to go,” he says.

“Fuck.”

What if someone saw us?

“Have Antonio hack the surveillance and erase all the footage,” I order. It helps that he’s a great hacker and has others to help.

“Sure thing, we need to go that way,” Gio points and takes the lead.

We walk to the opposite end of the building to avoid running into the rescue crew and discover dangling cameras on both floors.

“They want us to know they were here,” I mumble.

“Whoever killed Gambino came this way,” I propose.

“The question is, who?”

We jog to our waiting vehicle, a block over to avoid detection.

The plates are all listed to offshore companies.

It’s not impossible for someone to build a profile and start connecting pieces that might point to us at some point in time.

In order to defeat our enemies, we keep an ear to the ground.

I wish our sources were as good as those in the Red Keep in Game of Thrones.

We do our best to know what’s happening in our families and what might affect our business by way of government intervention or newcomers who think they can usurp our power.

Today, the federal government requires all businesses to register with the Bureau of Financial Crime and provide identification. All the big players know how to get around the rules. Gone are the days of hiding money in the Cayman Islands.

Nowadays, clever criminals deal in cryptocurrency and operate out of underground bunkers with water-cooled computers or hide in abandoned buildings in places like Kosovo.

You will find call centers with hundreds of people working on dating sites everywhere.

Hackers are constantly creating new ways to trick people into clicking links to viruses that steal money from a victim’s bank account.

We made our getaway, and once inside the vehicle, we close the privacy divider between us and our driver.

“Someone knows our moves.”

“Antonio?” Gio asks.

“No. He’s in love and working on the details to stage Finn’s overdose,” I mutter as I stare out the window.

“There’s no way they’re tracking us. Just to be sure, I’ll have all the cars swept for bugs and have someone other than Antonio look at all our security footage,” Gio says.

“Let’s check the location of Antonio’s phone and car. My gut is telling me it won’t be easy to find the rat. Gambino knew something that someone wanted to cover up.”

“Like a murder,” he adds. “There is no reason to kill a retired mobster. His execution is meant to send a message. But why? We don’t even know what it’s supposed to mean.”

“True. I think it means my father’s death was orchestrated, and if one person knows why, someone else has to know, too.

Unless we run into a string of dead bodies and all possible witnesses have been neutralized, this could be part of a huge cover-up.

There’s no way a syndicate would kill off a retired man of the last regime unless there is a motive to do so. ”

“I’ll have one of our forensic guys go through your father’s phone. We need to reconstruct your father’s last months, if not the entire past year of his life.”

“His house sold for more than the listed price, which isn’t surprising.” I run my hand over my head. “His stuff is in storage. Do we need to go through his personal stuff? I never thought there was crucial information buried in his crap.”

Gio shrugs. “Let’s start with the phone and his computer. We might uncover something. Then again, he might have used a burner phone for everything with a clue. He had numerous phones, and Gambino was in charge of keeping track of them.”

“He didn’t like computers. It’s possible something was written in his mess of papers in my study or the boxes I threw in my garage.”

“Hmm, we would be further along in solving this mystery if you hadn’t started sleeping with that sexy Russian.”

“Well, that’s a pleasure you should consider so you aren’t stuck growing old alone.”

* * *

I snap the box shut. She will love the ring. I wonder how she will react when her father tells her she has to marry me, share my bed, and have my children. I hope our daughter takes after her with blue eyes and a sassy tongue.

I love how Alena’s eyes flicker with fear and simmer with lust when she banters with me. I’m not sure why I want to marry her. It’s not like I have time for a wife and kids.

I wonder if I’ll regret marrying an American-Russian woman instead of marrying an Italian.

Italy’s mainland culture has changed drastically compared to the island of Sicily.

The more remote the area, the more we remain the same, and time seems to move more slowly.

Small seaside Sicilian towns are the same as when I was a child.

I’m sure she’ll forgive me for surprising her. I have no idea why I’ve been toying. That’s not true, either. I find her to be a worthy opponent. I love her banter. Her snappy retorts amuse me. She even makes me laugh.

It’s not as if I have time for a wife. However, some doors need to be opened, and I’m confident she will be helpful.

I grab a tie and drape it around my neck, then tie it. I look at myself in the mirror before I slip into my Italian shoes.

There is a quick knock on my open door.

“Ah, Federico,” I say as he hurries into the room.

“I just want to know if you need anything before you leave.”

“No, I’m fine. Thanks. However, a woman will be here shortly. I think you’ll like her. Her name is Alena. She’s going to be my wife.”

His eyes open wider in surprise.

“Very well, sir. I look forward to getting to know her.” He nods.

“Take the night off. I’ll see you at breakfast.”

“Thank you.” His heels tap together before he leaves the room, and Gio sails into my room.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Yes.”

“This is a ballsy move if I ever saw one,” he says with concern.

“Did a black cat walk in front of you today?”

“No, why?”

“You are brooding, and it reeks of pessimism. Do you doubt my ability to control my wife?” I turn away from the bureau mirror to observe him.

“No, I’m afraid she’ll be your greatest weakness,” he replies.

“I seriously doubt that. I find her body to be perfect for fucking. She’ll be moving in, so please make sure Federico has someone make the room look a bit less manly. I don’t know, maybe add some flowers or whatever shit women like.”

“Have you considered Alena’s safety? You could always get the building back by using negotiation or war, but she’s a liability that isn’t made of bricks.”

I turn and narrow my eyes on Gio. “I am aware of this. I’m the one who runs his hand over her firm and supple body. Everyone needs to know that I’m the only man who will fuck her until she’s limp and filled with my cum. She’s mine, and anyone who touches her will die.”

“In that case, I’m sure she’ll like it here. It’s not the dank museum she grew up in.”

I shudder at the memory. “That mausoleum needs to be torched, and if her father does anything to undermine me, I’ll torch it myself,” my voice rises in anger. The thought of seeing him again so soon is not a pleasant one.

“It will be a short dinner, I assume,” Gio states.

“It better be short. The only pretty thing in the house is Alena.” I turn on my heels. “She is the crown jewel. Who knows? Maybe in time, we will conduct business with the Russians.”

“Stranger things have been known to occur,” he grins as he strokes his goatee.

“Good. I’m glad you’re on board. We’ll make sure she has a guard with her at all times.

Her days of gallivanting around the city like a cat in heat are over.

As my fiancée, that behavior is… unacceptable.

She has to pay more attention to her surroundings and realize she lives in a world where men will harm her to get to me.

Her father had her on a long leash. If I have to, I will keep her chained to the damn bed. ”

“I’ll have Antonio put someone on her.”

“No, I want Vito on it,” I snap, surprising myself.

Lately, I’ve thought more about Alena’s safety than my own. Damn. I can’t get enough of her. I spend half the night figuring out how to fit her into my next day without it appearing obvious.

“You don’t trust Antonio?” He’s always quick to discern what I’m implying.

“I do. However, his father is my uncle, and it would be an easy avenue to undermine me if Antonio didn’t know he was being manipulated.

With my family, I have more questions than answers.

For now, I’d rather err on the side of caution.

I want someone who is removed from the clutches of Sicily.

Vito is American-Italian, which makes it more difficult for someone back home to reach him. ”

“That makes sense. I see you thought this through,” he replies tersely. I’m sure his nose is out of joint because he feels left out.

“It just came to me—honestly, I like the kid.”

“Exactly, a kid,” he points out.

“You’re getting up there, old man,” I tease.

Gio’s dark hair is shorter than he used to wear it, and silver is beginning to outweigh the darker hair on his head and goatee.

I nod in the direction of the door. “Time to get this deal finalized. Let’s go.”

* * *