Page 27 of Mafia King: Matteo (Borrelli Mafia #1)

Anna returns and appears to be more comfortable with us now that she has witnessed Matteo smile at me. Matteo asked if he could order our food, and I agreed. Anna murmurs she’ll return with the appetizers.

I sip more champagne.

“I’m amazed you’ve not run into trouble, but I’m glad I happened to come along when I did.”

Anna returns, quietly slipping fried calamari and fresh shrimp before us along with the appetizer plates.

I let Matteo taste the food first. I’m starving, and the warm calamari melts in my mouth when it passes my lips.

I wonder who they get their fresh seafood from.

I wouldn’t be surprised if it didn’t fly in from Sicily daily.

Matteo has an eclectic taste. He’s a perfectionist. He thinks things through.

It’s a quality I admire about him. He’s a man who knows his mind.

He has an eye for detail, and it shows in everything he does, particularly my ring.

“I also have staff. You’ve met Gio, but I have a chef at the house. His name is Federico. I’m sure you’ll like him. He cooks for us and oversees the house. He acts as a butler on occasion. If you have any questions on what to wear or where to obtain something, he’s very knowledgeable.”

“Good to know. Is Federico from here?”

“Sicily. He’s been here before. He knows me and my routine. I trust him, and so can you. However, if a situation occurs that you don’t trust, always go with your gut instinct. It’s there to protect you.”

“I can’t wait to meet him.” I slip more calamari into my mouth. It’s not easy to eat with my hands in front of Matteo. I’m self-conscious and wipe my fingertips on my napkin.

I’m curious to know more, but I’m more concerned with my future.

“What am I to tell people at work?”

“Oh, well, you can leave it a mystery until the announcement comes out. Then the city will know.”

“You mean, even you can’t finagle an early release date?” I tease.

“I save my energy for bigger battles.”

“Of course,” I reply, suddenly feeling like I’m not a priority. How can I compete for his time? I’m just me.

The waitress clears the dishes and disappears without a word.

I hope Federico is friendly.

“Is everyone afraid of you?”

“No. Why?”

“You have a presence about you that speaks more than words.”

“It may be that I’ve had to handle myself from an early age.”

“Do you have a big family back home?” He’s from Sicily, and most of his family will probably still reside there.

“Yes, and you’ll love them. I’m the oldest. Then there are my younger brothers, Niccoló, Renalto, and Pietro. The baby is my sister, Bianca. My mother died at her birth.”

“I’m so sorry. That had to be tough.”

“It was. It made me tough. I don’t know what I would do today if things were different. My father built and ran this empire. I imagine I had no choice but to follow in the family business. I learned quickly.”

“Of course, you were all over my dad’s dirty deal. I don’t think anyone gets the better of you.”

“Touché.” His perfect lips curl into a shallow smile. Far be it from him to let anyone know he’s happy.

“Me? I don’t know about that. I’m not savvy with games or politics. I love to decorate. It makes me happy. I like being creative.”

Our food arrives, and it smells divine. He ordered Fra Diavolo for me and Fettuccini Alfredo with seafood for himself.

“The extra plates are for us to share if you like,” he floats the invitation to me.

“Of course, I can’t eat all of this. This place is amazing.” I put some of my pasta on a plate and slid it toward him.

“It is. I hope you’ll conclude it’s the best Italian food you’ve ever eaten. I will have to take you to Sicily one day. The pasta here is homemade. My grandmother back home still makes it fresh daily.”

I wondered how he knew I’d never been anywhere foreign except London, and I reminded myself that he knew everything about me. He probably knows what my favorite color of underwear is. I wonder if anything escapes his intense and intriguing mind.

He slides a plate of his food to me. We dip Italian bread in olive oil. I nibble at the bread before I twirl pasta on my fork.

“How old is your sister?” I ask.

“She’s twenty and going to college in Switzerland.”

“Do you like having a large family?”

“I can’t imagine my life without them. We’re very close. So, our wedding will encompass many invites and all the main players, councilmen, and congressmen.”

“We can’t elope?”

“Don’t you want a big wedding?”

“Most women dream of it, but I’m fine with something small.”

“I will indulge you when I can, but this is a show of power and the merging of two houses. I need to meet Alexsei Sidovo and make sure there are no hard feelings. I didn’t come to him first. He might feel slighted that I didn’t.

I’ll tell him that we fell in love at first sight and that I didn’t want to wait. ”

“To cover for my dad,” I murmur.

“Yes, I have more to share with you, but not publicly. The walls have ears.”

“Right.”

How did I become entrapped in this clandestine operation?

Oh, my fucking father.

The man I trusted. The father, I thought, was so generous.

Now, I realize he was only generous enough to hold it over my head and guilt me into complying with his demands.

Matteo may want to take care of me, but I will keep my job.

I don’t want to be dependent on a man again.

This week has taught me that there is a price to be paid for others’ generosity.

The worst part is that it’s not the stranger beside me who used me, but my family.

The realization was hard to accept, as I was so angry at Matteo for playing games with me.

However, my parents told me my college and condo were paid for. I suppose I should find out if the condo is mine. It’s probably another lie.

“I’m curious about something.” Why not ask the man with all the answers?

“What, Angel?”

I notice this has become a term of endearment if I’m reading him —and not his other personality, which is dark and unforgiving.

“Is my condo paid off?”

“Yes, it was bought with cash. Why do you ask?”

“Just curious. Is it in my name?”

“Yes. Are you planning on running away to it when you are pissed off at me like last night?”

“Just curious. I’ve learned the value of checking the validity of things people tell me.”

“You mean your father?”

“Especially him.” I raise my eyebrows at the irony of Matteo being my confidant and my father being out in the cold. We have something in common.

Matteo’s eyes linger on my face for a long minute as if trying to figure out what I’m thinking.

I hope I’m not an open book. I can’t show feelings for him. I can’t love him. I can’t afford to trust the wrong person again. It’s easier if I don’t trust or love anyone but Izzy.

I will rely on myself. I will fit in with Matteo’s world and make him proud of me. That’s the role I have to play.

I observe Matteo as his eyes move around the room.

Men in suits walk past the table and nod to him.

He does likewise. I wonder if this is the meeting place for the Italians, but somehow, I pictured a small, out-of-the-way place like in The Sopranos.

Granted, Tony Soprano was smaller, and it was a fictional story, but most of the big deals in the city are cultivated in tiny bowling alleys, pizza shops, and dive bars.

I realize that many places around the city are fronts for shady business deals.

I find it funny that they talk openly in Italian in front of people who are eating. Who knows what they are talking about? How many places around the city are under the Borelli shell corporations?

Matteo tosses a significant tip on the table before we leave. He helps me put on my coat before we leave. The staff opens the restaurant door, wishing us well, and Gio escorts us to the vehicle, opening the door for us. It’s as if a movie crew has cued everyone.

I’m overwhelmed by how attentive Matteo was at dinner. He gave me his undivided attention, and I felt like a Queen being fawned over. I’m walking on a cloud between the attention and the humongous ring on my finger.

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