Page 146 of Vicious Behaviors

“Caro Vincenzo! So happy you came,” Don Carlo says smoothly, as if this were a routinecapomeeting instead of a hostage exchange.

“Spare me your pleasantries, Carlo. Where is my daughter?” my father growls, while I discreetly scan the shadows for any movement, keeping my guard up.

“First, let me explain. I had no knowledge of what my son was up to. I swear to you, Vincenzo. This is all one big misunderstanding, and I’m confident that we will part tonight as the great friends that we are,” Carlo says, completely delusional.

“I do not care for stories or excuses. Raffaele will pay for his treachery. But I repeat… where is my daughter?!”

“Where she belongs.” Matteo steps forward, lips curled into a menacing smirk.

“I beg your fucking pardon?” Gio snarls, stepping forward as if he were about to rip Matteo’s head off with his bare teeth.

Not wanting this meeting to start off any worse, Dom quickly extends his arm over Gio’s chest to keep him away from the fucker in front of us. It wouldn’t help us in any way to kill thesebastardosbefore finding out where they are keeping Annamaria.

However, even faced with such open hatred, Matteo doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t so much as blink. He just looks right through Gio, as if he were nothing. As if he didn’t even exist.

“Easy, Giovanni. There will be plenty of time for bloodshed…later.However, since this is a meeting of equals, you must forgive me if you’re not the man I want to talk with. I prefer to speak with theCapo Dei Capihimself, rather than waste my time on hisconsigliere.”

“Stay in your lane, boy. Let the grownups do the talking,cazzo,” Gio snaps back, his voice dripping with venom.

Matteo only laughs.

‘This is a trap. We need to leave. Now,‘ the voice in my ear cautions, and I’m inclined to believe him.

Nothing about this meeting feels right. Nothing.

I scan the warehouse again, letting my gaze drift upward to the ring of catwalks on the second floor, hanging over the open space like watchtowers. When I don’t see any movement whatsoever, my hackles rise.

This isn’t right. This isn’t right.

I’m about to say as much when my father takes a deliberate step forward in Matteo’s direction.

“I wasn’t aware, Don Carlo, that you had left your role as boss of theCosa Nostrafor it to be led by children.”

Carlo fidgets, his gaze flicking nervously to Matteo, gesturing his fear for his own son.

“Things have changed since we last saw each other,” Don Carlo says, carefully measuring his words.

“What my father is trying to say,” Matteo cuts in, voice slick with disdain, “is that things have changed since the day we watchedyoukill my brother.”

“He was a traitor,” my father replies coldly. “And for that, he paid the price.”

“Ah, yes,” Matteo laughs, the nefarious sound grating on my nerves. “Because none of you here have ever betrayed thefamigliain any way, have you? Tell me,Don Vincenzo,” Matteo continues, mockingly. “Is it only the Outfit or God Himself who condemns any man who shares his wife with his two brothers?”

My father’s expression is carved into stone, giving nothing away, even if Matteo’s rant did strike a nerve. “Rumors. You bring me hearsay? You’ll have to do better than that to get my attention,boy.”

“Proof, Vincent.” Matteo’s sardonic grin chills the room. “I brought you proof.”

With that loaded grenade in his armor, Matteo tilts his head to Niccolò, who throws a manila envelope to the ground and slides it over to my father’s feet. Unwilling to let my father bow down to any of these men, I pick the envelope up and rip itopen. Inside are birth certificates, along with DNA records and paternity test results. At a quick glance, I see exactly the proof this bastard has uncovered. The documents prove that Jude and I are my father’s biological sons, while the twins are Giovanni’s, though none of us needed a piece of paper to tell us that. As for my sisters, both were fathered by Dominic.

I look up at my father, and in that one glance between us, he reads the truth in my eyes. This fucker can end us with a snap of his fingers if these documents ever see the light of day. Rage sears my chest as I tear the papers to shreds.

“Rip all you want,” Matteo sneers. “I have more copies. It took me years to get your DNA, to prove the whispers right. But now that I have it, tell me… how long do you think your loyalcaposwill let you wear that great big crown on your head, Vincent?”

My father doesn’t falter and instead surprises Matteo when he steps closer to all three Donato men. “Maybe as long as yourcaposwill remain loyal to you,” my father counters. “Let me remind you, Matteo, of your own illegitimacy. If memory serves me right, aside from Carlo Junior, you, Niccolò, and Raffaele were all born out of wedlock. Furthermore, you were born of your father’s mistress. He may have been forced to marry your mother after Carlo Junior died to ensure his legacy, and pretend you have a legitimate claim to his throne, butmafiosihave long memories, Matteo. They never forget a bastard.”

Matteo’s nostrils flare, rage flickering hot across his face for the first time since we walked into this godforsaken warehouse.

“Call me that again,” he growls, low and dangerous, “and I promise those will be your dying words.”