Page 41 of Mafia King: Matteo (Borrelli Mafia #1)

MATTEO

I believe the councilman will eventually run for a congressional seat when he’s bored with the city. He’s on his second four-year term and will have to wait four years before he can run again.

He spared no expense on this event. The money raised could easily feed a third-world country for a year. Addler must have his eyes on larger budgets. He runs the district over Staten Island Shores and is working on converting an old landfill into a park.

It’s a noble cause, but I’m not convinced it’s feasible.

I’m sure Santino Moretti is drooling over it.

Moretti is in waste management. The public doesn’t realize what a money-maker old landfills have become.

Creating new ones is too expensive for cities as land is expensive.

Converting an old landfill is cheaper and requires the help of mafia-held companies with the infrastructure to make it a viable alternative.

Everything in a landfill is recycled. Old landfills are converted to new ones that collect methane on every level, creating clean energy.

Items are recycled and composted. The various sources of energy they provide are then sold back to utility companies, which charge a premium for electricity as no distinction between clean energy sources and fossil fuels is made.

I don’t see how the city can’t close down a landfill without opening another. This is why I’ve always invested in land. Land lasts forever, like the sky. I’m not surprised multibillionaires are investing in space. It’s the newest frontier.

Dmitry and I discussed my tech company, and I’m willing to share in its profit with his technological help. He’ll speed up the process of the new app.

I take Alena by the hand and excuse us from our friends. I need a word with Addler. I find him shaking hands with strangers. Alena is as polite as can be when she interjects into the conversation about his work, which involves cutting red tape for state benefits to go to low-income families.

“Why thank you, Ms.?”

“Alena Pasnov, this is my fiancé, Matteo Borrelli. He’s interested in helping more with your reelection. Do you have a minute?” She puts her hand through his arm and steers him away from prying eyes. It’s a crowded event. He’s expected to give a few minutes to his supporters.

“Ms. Pasnov, sure, I’d be happy to,” he replies.

Meanwhile, she steers him in my direction.

I take him aside from the woman wanting to speak with him about a needle exchange program for the city, and quickly state how I would like his support for my building when it comes up for a vote at the next meeting.

“I’m not into those issues. We need more public housing than hotels.” His frankness is appreciated, but he’s preaching to the wrong man. I’d love to punch him for being a pompous ass, but I need him.

I whisper into his ear, as the message is for him and no one else.

“I have intel that complaints about your apartment building are never looked into. I’d hate for a fire to rage through your buildings.

It would result in dozens of injured people trapped and dying from smoke and fire due to faulty fire alarms. The investigation would find you negligent.

Your career would go up in smoke. If you vote on my hotel variance, I can ensure that doesn’t happen. ”

The councilman’s jaw drops. He quickly recovers with a smile on his face.

“I’ll make sure I’m there to support you,” he says through clenched teeth.

“Thank you. Nice affair, by the way.” I smile and gather Alena to me as we return to our table.

“How did it go?” Alena asks.

“As well as I could hope for. It looks like we’re in.

He was shocked, but I can’t be the only one who knows he’s making money off low-income renters.

That’s why he’s making it easier for them to gain the financial assistance they need.

He’s collecting a nice paycheck off it every month.

You were fantastic. Thank you for helping. ”

“Don’t mention it. It was kinda fun.”

The music stops, we’re on our third drink, and the appetizers have disappeared. The event emcee announces it’s time for dinner, and we are to make our way to our table.

As I move through the crowded room, Congressman Nichols comes into view. I have a quick second to shake his hand and say my name before the crowd separates us.

Our table seats ten, and Congressman Savoy is seated with us. He’s a benign player to date, but who knows for sure? If he’s at the Sidovo-Volkov table, he has a connection to the Russians.

I understand Dmitry is taking over for Izzy’s father, and I wonder when this change will occur. So far, I’m finding more questions than answers tonight, and I was hoping for the opposite.

I looked at the table of honored guests tonight, and Vincent Moretti’s name appears on the list. It can’t be a coincidence.

I texted Gio to do a quick search on the Moretti children.

Perhaps the old man had a meltdown, waving his gun in public.

Given the recent turn of events, I’m sure the councilman has no wish to be associated with him.

Addler’s wife is nice-looking and works for a top law firm in the city. I don’t recognize the other names announced as they all reach the podium, and everyone praises the councilman and all the worthy causes. I know they will benefit from his leftover campaign funds after he wins his reelection.

On top of our dinner plates is an embossed card listing the evening’s ceremonial events—the introduction of the speakers, dinner, followed by dancing.

Izzy and Alena are talking, and I don’t have the heart to interrupt her.

I admire my future wife as she sits with her shoulders poised perfectly, and I obsess over her pert breasts, and I long to have her alone.

I don’t like large events. I hate public venues even more.

They aren’t safe. I feel naked without my gun.

The first course is served, and dinner music is played.

I keep my eye on Addler and Moretti. It’s easier to figure out the connections between people when it’s an event, as even the mafia mingles with the elite, and it’s not subject to scrutiny, as it’s in an open venue that anyone can attend—if they have the funds.

Dmitry leans into my shoulder. “In the back of the room is Cillian O’Donnell. It’s a long way for him to come for a fundraiser, don’t you think?”

“I don’t think I know. He’s looking for someone to pin the murder of his youngest son. There’s a larger play going on. I haven’t figured out what it is. Have you heard anything?”

“No. Only that he’s set up a reward for information in his son’s case. Ironic. Never gave a damn about the kid, he grew up a junkie, and now he’s obsessed with the notion it was a hit.”

“I find it sad.”

Alena finally gives me her attention. Discussing the food took all of a minute. Then, she decides we will have a contest by rating the costumes that parade past us. I can’t turn down a contest, but I have no clue how we’ll decide who wins. I ask the server passing by for more drinks.

Across the room, I see a familiar woman standing a few tables away. She’s tall with jet-black hair, green eyes, and a body that men will lose their hearts over.

I excuse myself and make my way to her.

“Fancy seeing you here. You didn’t tell me you were in the States,” I say.

“It’s early spring break. A handsome billionaire picked me up on the slopes in France. I’ve been curious about New York, so I had to see what all the fuss was about,” she says as she slips her hand through my arm as I escort her to the bar.

“How did you get in?” I ask as she orders a drink from the bartender.

“New acquaintances. It appears we’re in an alliance with the Russians. That’s scary,” she replies.

“You have no idea. I don’t know if I need to sleep with one eye open, considering I’m marrying into them, or if I need to keep a gun on me even in the bathroom.”

She smiles. “I’m fascinated by the woman who changed your mind on marriage. I’m looking forward to having a sister-in-law.”

“She’s a handful, like you. Now run along to your billionaire and keep your ears open.”

“Always,” she says, kissing me on the cheek.

I veer off to return to our table, and Alena gives me the universal look that tells me I’m in the doghouse.

“Who was that?”

“Someone I know. How is the beef?” Our dinner has been served, and I have skillfully deflected more questions.

“Excellent. You would know if you were here when it was hot. How do you know the woman who looks like a model?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” I say, acting coy to tease her.

Honestly, I’m surprised my sister is here.

She’s studying special arts in Switzerland and is working her way into the circles where we need to make friends—with billionaires.

As far as I’m concerned, there are only a few who came by their wealth legitimately.

Legitimate businesses often employ shady tactics to extract money from unsuspecting consumers and business partners.

We both have one thing in common—we are self-serving.

Alena turns enough to give me the cold shoulder after the visit with my sister, but I’d rather Bianca remains anonymous as she might be working an angle. At the least, she’s making contacts.

My little Angel is jealous. I can’t dampen the smirk on my face. She cares for me. Perhaps she loves me. I find it amusing, but I know I’ll have to come clean before I’m allowed to fuck her again.

I notice men passing by, and their eyes go to my wife. I dive into my food like a starving man to avoid bashing in faces.

Alena pulls her phone out of her purse. She sends a text and leans into me. “Mom says Dad hasn’t returned from a meeting tonight. She’s worried.”

“He might turn up. It could be traffic. Who knows?”

“I played it off. What do you think?”

I glance at Dmitry to my right. He has an excellent alibi if a top figure in the Russian bratva goes missing tonight.

“Jury is out on this one. We both know Alexsei will not let a traitor have a second chance. Besides, this event is the perfect alibi for all concerned.”

“I agree. I feel bad if that’s the case, but he created the situation.”

“That he did,” I reply. Things are heating up across the city. The Irish are intent on pinning Finn’s overdose on someone. The Russians have a traitor at the top, I’m getting married, and then there is the death of Chiara.

I can’t imagine she’d hurt anyone in the family. We loved her, and she was one of us. She was sweet and caring, and I welcomed her into the family because she loved my brother and made him happy. Now, I’m second-guessing her integrity. What am I missing?

Dinner plates are cleared, and the music turns to an upbeat song to encourage dancing. The emcee encourages the guests to dance, and the music is lively. I’m sure he wants to turn this into a festive party, so we all leave wearing a smile and nursing sore feet.

Great. However, it’s time I show the men who have spent the evening eye-fucking my future wife who she belongs to.

I stand and pull her into my chest. She wants to resist me, but I overpower her without causing a scene and tell her she’s to dance with me. If she doesn’t, there will be a punishment.

“You wouldn’t,” she says, her voice enraged.

“Really? How well do you know me?” I insist.

“As well as you know me.”

“Then I say we call a truce until later. Let’s give all the men eye-fucking you a picture of a happily engaged couple. It’s time they learn to keep their eyes on their wives.”

“And what of you?” she asks defiantly.

“I only have eyes for you,” I reply honestly.

“The woman you spoke to at the bar was beautiful.”

“Do you believe I would be interested in anyone else?” I ask with lust in my eyes. She’s in my arms. I move around the dance floor as she tries to keep up.

“We have a deal, Mr. Grey.” She didn’t have to remind me to be faithful to her. I was committed the minute I saw her.

“We do, and I’ll never break it. You are my Angel,” I say as I kiss her crimson-red painted lips. I pull her closer to my chest. She’s the sole focus of my attention. “Follow my lead.”

“I’m trying,” she replies as she steps on my foot. She giggles and buries her head in my chest. A chuckle bubbles in my chest, and she tosses her head back to see the smile on my face. We laugh over her awkwardness on the dance floor.

“I think you had too much champagne with dinner.”

“It was the martinis. Remind me to stay away from them.”

“Can you dance?”

“Nope,” she says, overly enunciating the ‘p.’

“So, who is she?” Alena asks.

“My sister, but don’t announce it. You’ll meet her next week.”

“Bianca? Here? How did she attend?”

“Those are questions for another day. Are we good, my love?”

“We are.”

“Great, because I didn’t want you to be pissed all night.”

“I wasn’t jealous,” she protests.

I know that her words are a cover, judging by the daggers she shot at me as I interacted with my sister. That was the real story. By the time we made our way around the large dance floor for two songs, my Principessa was ready to go home.

We leave before the event officially ends. Dmitry and Izzy left before us. Gio greets us at the door and scans the road as we walk down many steps into the cold night.

I hold Alena close to me to fend off winter’s chilly wind when I hear a familiar boom and instinctively throw my body over Alena to protect her.

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