Page 31 of Mafia King: Matteo (Borrelli Mafia #1)

ALENA

I walk out of my condo, pulling luggage behind me. I hand Vito a cup of coffee and lock the door.

“You shouldn’t be doing this, but it’s nice you do. Just don’t let Matteo see you doing it, darling.” Vito takes the coffee, but I insist on rolling my luggage so he can drink it without spilling it.

“Okay. So, how is the weather today?”

“Bad as usual. But the car is warm. Busy day today?”

“I have no clue. I’m still figuring out what I’m supposed to do. It’s more busy work than I expected.”

“Well, the hotel floor is closed and looks like shit. I hope you get it fixed soon. It hurts my calves walking on the concrete floors. It’s like I’ve run twenty miles a day on that shit.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” I reply as I slide through the open door of the warm vehicle. He tosses my luggage in the trunk of the SUV. I wonder how many vehicles Matteo owns. He must be in the limo today. It’s always best to show up like you own the world when you meet with another Don.

I text Izzy on my way to work. She advised me her father is meeting Matteo today for lunch.

I hope it goes well. For the first time since I met Matteo, I worried about him.

I love Alexsei. He’s more of a father figure than he is a hardened criminal.

As a don, he is no stranger to being betrayed by his family.

Izzy and I hold a special place in his heart.

Perhaps he and I have more in common than I thought.

I hope I’m wrong about my father, but my gut tells me I’m correct in my assumption and that he might be planning to take over the bratva.

If that is the case, Matteo just fucked up his plans with our engagement.

I breeze through the doors at work. Penny greets me.

“Oh, my,” she exclaims. Her parted lips are poised as if she is without words.

“What? Is my lipstick a mess?” I ask.

She shakes her head no. “Your ring! My god, it’s stunning. I had no idea you were serious with someone. Who is the lucky man?” She pulls my hand to her face and eyes my ring like a juicy steak.

“Someone special.”

“You’re not telling me who he is?”

“For now, I want to keep it to myself,” I reply, and I wouldn’t be lying.

I don’t have a wedding date. Besides, I don’t want my new coworkers to think I’m rich because I’m not.

Matteo is. I didn’t earn it. I hate the fact that I need his credit card.

Who knows what my father did to scrape together money for a property in the heart of the City?

I’m not sure I want the details, but I’m concerned about his financial situation.

Why else would he want to take over the Russians?

I know his attempt would be futile. Dmitry’s syndicate, along with his brothers, is enormous. They opened the door to overseas resources, and it’s made us stronger. Alexsei loves his daughter, and what is his is hers, even though Dmitry will run it.

“Well,” Penny drops my hand. “It’s gorgeous. Flawless. Your man has money—that stone was not made in a lab,” she says, resigning herself to the fact that I’m not giving her any more details.

“How do you know?” I ask to throw her off.

“It’s a unique dark yellow. They are rare. Sure, most people can’t tell the difference in stones, but I have a knack for it. I used to work at a diamond clearinghouse,” she drops this on me. Now I’m shocked.

“It’s not such a big deal. It was boring as hell, but I made connections, and that’s how I got to where I am today.”

“That’s cool. I never knew.”

“Of course not. You’re not in human resources where all that is stored,” she replies as we arrive at the break room.

“I think I’m good. I have emails to go over. Has the carpet for the hallways been picked out yet?”

“I wish. The floors out there are disgusting. I mean, why can’t concrete floors be perfectly smooth? Did you see all the plaster on it from when they did the drywall? I mean, ugh.” Penny stirs milk in her now hot tea.

“Yes, not to mention that walking from the elevator must be bad for our knees and joints. What’s so difficult about picking out carpet?”

“Carpet sets the tone for the entire floor,” Sophia says as she passes by. She is wearing a Fendi dress, and her high heels are enviable. I’d break my neck over if I stood in them. She’s tall, so now, she’s towering over us. Is this her way of making us look small?

I glance at Penny. She glances down and brushes past me with her cup of lukewarm tea that she pulled out of the microwave before it dinged. I’d hate to be Sophia’s assistant. Penny is sunny and lets snide comments roll off her like water off a duck’s back.

She can handle mental cruelty. Me, not so much.

I follow them to the room where Nathan and Cindy discuss the carpet. On the table are squares of samples and some rolls of fabric. We gather around the table, and Sophia breezes into the room.

“Do you have news to share, Alena?”

“No,” I reply calmly.

“Oh, I think you do. If that stone on your finger is real, I’d say you have a fiancé.” She eyes me as she walks around the table. She’s trying to intimidate me into spilling my secret.

Now, everyone in the room is looking at me.

“Geez, that’s a rock,” Cindy says, adjusting her glasses.

“I’m not one to drool over bling, but damn, Alena, that’s got to be heavy,” Nathan chimes in.

“I’d like to keep it to myself for now,” I reply demurely.

“Fine, well, we have work to do,” Sophia states before sitting at the head of the table and fawning over carpet samples.

Whew. I dodged that bullet.

We managed to pick out the gold and red carpet. I find it ironic that it would fit an Italian’s taste and a Russian’s. This leads me to daydream about my wedding.

I wonder when Matteo’s meeting is and hope that I’ll be able to have my best friend as my maid of honor. I never considered the possibility that I might have to choose between my father and my best friend. I do not intend to speak to my father, which complicates the formal wedding.

Is it possible to get married without my parents being present? Who will give me away? I’m sure Alexsei or Kirill, if I asked.

I’m in the break room, hitting the button on the vending machine and waiting for a bag of chips to fall off the hook, when my phone beeps.

The bag takes forever, then drops. I quickly retrieve it and pull my phone out of my jeans.

It’s casual Friday at the office, and for once, I’m glad I didn’t have to fuss over what I would wear.

I lift my phone and am disappointed when it’s Izzy, not Matteo.

I open my chips and read her text.

How are you? And did Matteo give you a ring? I forgot to ask

It’s a brilliant yellow diamond that wasn’t made in a lab.

How would you know?

Co-worker, but I’m still mum on the lucky man.

Good call. I know you’re probably nervous.

Shouldn’t I be nervous?

It’s normal to be nervous about weddings. Do you have a date?

No.

I gotta run. TTYL

Wow, that was short. When she becomes a mother, I doubt I’ll get even a few minutes of her time in a week. I’ll be by to see her often. I wonder if the gala event is a go, and if so, it might be the first time the four of us get together.

I text Kirill.

Dad pulled the trigger. Did you hear?

I’ve been meaning to call but was afraid to intervene. Concerned.

That’s cryptic.

I walk to the hallway, pacing. Vito observes me and allows for distance between us to give me privacy.

“Kirill,” I say when he answers his phone.

“What’s up with this quick engagement? Your father just told me. I wasn’t good enough—did you have to go with an Italian? Like your life needed to be more complicated.”

“What do you mean? What did my father tell you?”

“Is this the man you were fucking? If so, you’re being played. He must have known it was you that night at the club.”

“That’s not true. He followed me home afterward.”

“Sure, he would say that. Your dad doesn’t trust him.”

“Well, that’s the pot calling the kettle black,” I huff.

“Are you implying hypocrisy?” he asks, confused.

“Nothing. Forget it,” I reply to avoid escalating the situation until I know what side Kirill is on. I can’t let him in on my hunch. I need more facts. One incident can be explained. However, a string of them is not going to suffice.

I pop a chip into my mouth, then another. They are so damn addicting. My stomach grumbles. It hates me. I really should pack a lunch. The others usually bring food. We have a habit of short lunches and working the other thirty minutes.

“You don’t sound like yourself,” Kirill says.

“I’m adulting. What do you want from me? I have responsibilities,” I reply hastily.

“That’s true, I’m sorry. You’re one of my best friends, and I want to be happy for you.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you happy?”

“I have to go, Kirill. I’ll call soon.”

Am I happy?

Izzy was right in her assumption that I wanted more than to be eye candy for a capo.

I might look like I’m into the social climbing aspect of my world of socialites, but I don’t need designer clothing to be complete.

I like it and know how to shop, but now that I’ve become engaged to Matteo, I’m out of my element.

He’s still a few levels above me in how he holds himself and how confident he comes across.

I’m not sure I can pull that off, but I hope to one day.

After calling contractors for the carpet and submitting the purchasing orders for pillows, I walk with Vito to the elevator.

“The carpet has been ordered; it just happens to be on the agenda today,” I inform him.

“That’s great. I can’t wait. Is it nice?”

“I can’t imagine anything done under the Borrelli name that isn’t exquisite,” I reply.

He laughs at this. “You know Matteo better than you think,” he says.

We drive to Long Island, and Matteo texts me to see when I’ll be home.

I call him.

“How is my fiancée today?” he asks first.

“You still have your head, or you wouldn’t be talking to me, and I’d be a premature widow, so I assume it went okay?”

I hear him muffle his chuckle at this. That means it went well. I’m relieved, but I’m curious whether this is above board or if it involves clandestine operations in dark, lit rooms.

“Better than okay. And I have you to thank for it.”

“Okay, I’ll be there in…”

Vito shouts, “Thirty minutes.”

“Very well. Federico will serve dinner when you get here.”

I’m about to say he doesn’t need to wait for me, but he’s already hung up. I’m sure it’s better to discuss family matters face-to-face. So many things can happen with interpretations in a text, and who would know if we’re compromised?

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