Love and Chaos

by S. M. Soto

  Four cops on our fucking doorstep and more than likely a federal agent. Trouble is what that is.

  Keeping my face clear of any outward emotion, I raise a brow, waiting for them to make the first move.

  “We’d like to speak to Mr. Sabella.”

  My lips quirk. “You’re speaking to him.”

  One of the older cops, a pudgy white man with bushy eyebrows and a weathered face raises his brows. “You look a little young to be Mr. Sabella, so let me make myself a little clearer—we’re here to see Matteo.”

  My smirk deepens. “That would be my father and you just missed him.”

  There is not a chance in hell I’m telling them he’s here, incapacitated, in one of the medical grade rooms. That’ll lead to questions. I’m sure the only reason they’re here is because they somehow linked the Oz Park incident with us. Seeing Matteo like he is now would only be adding more fuel to the fire for them. Then they’ll have evidence of what could possibly be linking us to the massacre at the park. I can’t risk that, especially with Sophia here.

  “May we come in?” one of the female officers asks. She looks somewhere in her mid-thirties. A serious, no-nonsense look about her. The only other officer out of their group that doesn’t look like she’s stepped in shit is the young one. She’s a rookie, that much is obvious.

  I don’t recognize any of them as anyone the famiglia has worked with. Not that I expected to see our payroll bastards.

  “I think we’re perfectly fine talking right here,” I goad, crossing my arms over my chest. The older, pudgy officer glares.

  “We have reason to believe an incident at Oz Park yesterday afternoon and the bombing at the Grand Aster has something to do with your father and his business associates.”

  Ready to piss them off, I reply smartly, “I haven’t been made aware of the incident at Oz Park. As for the Grand Aster, why would my father or his business associates have any reason to ruin their own business?”

  Pudgy’s lips thin into a grim line. “Plenty of reasons, son.”

  “Racketeering being one of them,” the older female cop mutters under her breath. I narrow my eyes on her.

  “Unless you have a warrant to check the premises or speak to Matteo, don’t bother coming back. They—” I say, referring to the guards at the gate. “—won’t let you in.” With those as my parting words, I slam the doors on them and grit my teeth all the way back through the estate where Monte and Clarence are. Digging out my phone I dial Vincenzo. “Keep an eye on them.”

  “They’re leaving now, but they’re taking their sweet time about it.”

  Bastards.

  I end the call, flying up the staircase toward the north wing where Monte and Clarence are. When I get to Clarence’s room, since he has his own set up filled with monitors, I have them break it down for me, needing to know just how much deep shit we’re in. They’re both neck deep in their laptops, the glare of the screen shinning off their faces as their fingers fly across the keyboards.

  “Hit me.”

  “It’s not good,” Monte says. His voice is tight. That’s not a good sign.

  I steel myself.

  As long as I’ve been alive, I’ve never seen officers from the Chicago police department show their face at our house unless they worked for my father. This wasn’t one of those visits. They have something. Or they think they have enough—that’s the only way they’d feel comfortable stepping foot on our property. The Chicago police department is one thing. Small potatoes. Just a few bribes here, a few threats there, and the issue will disappear. But if the FBI is involved? It isn’t good news.

  “The FBI is involved,” Clarence supplies for Monte, and I drop my head back, glaring at the ceiling.

  Fuck.

  “How deep are they involved?”

  Monte sighs. “Pretty deep. Everything that has been happening—the Grand Aster, the explosion at Finlay’s warehouse, the fire at your property near the docks. They’re looking into everything.”

  I grit my teeth. This isn’t what I need right now. The likelihood of the police ever getting a warrant? None. We have every judge in our pocket, as for the FBI, mother of fuck that’s a problem. I motion for them to spin their screens around and show me the list of offenses they have against us.

  Racketeering.

  Mob ties.

  Arson.

  Murder in the first degree.

  “What do you want to do, boss?”

  “Find out who the agents are who are working on the case. Also, find out who the other cops are working with them. I might have to pay someone a little visit as incentive to keep their fucking mouth shut.”

  “That’s not all,” Clarence says, pausing at the scathing look on my face.

  What the fuck else could he possibly have that’s worse than this?

  “You told us to keep an eye on HawkFire and we have. You were right, getting out wasn’t going to be that easy.”

  My body fills with tension as I anticipate his next words.

  “New members have been recruited. Their targets are in Chicago. I don’t think that’s a coincidence. My guess is their targets are each of you. Whoever your liaison was or whoever was running the hub, they’re getting rid of all their collateral damage and starting fresh.”

  I grit my teeth together and I clench my jaw, grinding my molars. “Anything else?”

  “The item you wanted delivered discretely is here.”

  Some of the tightness ebbs away at his words and I nod at the only ounce of good news I’ve had all day.

  Raking a frustrated hand through my hair, I leave the room, walking down the dimly lit hall. I’m working out what to do—how to fix this when I realize I’ve walked near the east wing of the estate, where Matteo is. I’ve been checking on him when I find time. Just stopping in to make sure the fucker is still breathing. Right now is not a great time for him to die, and the bastard knows it.

  Things will change if he doesn’t pull through. Not only will I be responsible for keeping Sophia safe but also la famiglia. I didn’t even want to think about when that time came. The decisions I’d have to make. What ties I’d need to keep and the ones I’d need to sever. Shaking my head free of those thoughts, I push through the ornate heavy wooden doors into the room, turned into a hospital fit for a king. I try to ignore the paradox in my chest at seeing my father lying on the bed. He hasn’t been awake while I’ve come in to visit, and for that, I’m glad. I’m still not sure how I feel. There’s a part of me that doesn’t feel anything. This is a man I’ve wished my entire life I could be free of. But he’s also the man who raised me.

  Sure, he’s my father, the man my mother loved with all her heart. Someone who despite every horrible incident, I’ve always looked up to, looked at for recognition, even if I knew I’d never get it. I don’t know how to process this. I don’t even want to.

  When I see him so helpless, I think of me, a young kid fighting for my life in that basement. I remember each knife disappearing into my skin. Giovanni’s blows to the face, to the body. I remember killing for him, losing every shred of my humanity with each passing soul I stole. That hate, the indifference, and the coldness I’ve learned from him over the years. I think of all of it and it makes me feel…nothing when I see him in that bed.

  He can’t be trusted. I know that.

  And maybe it isn’t his fault. Maybe it’s my grandfather’s fault for no doubt doing to him what he did to me. And maybe it wasn’t my grandfather’s fault, but his father’s. Years and generations in the mafia will harden a man’s heart and in order to rule? To stay alive? I knew the sacrifice he needed to make. Hell, I even understood it. When I was younger, I didn’t understand why violence was so necessary in this life, but now I do. I wouldn’t have survived without it. It doesn’t make the pill any easier to swallow though.

  And then there’s my mother. It’s wrong to fully place the blame on Matteo for her death. It wasn’t his fault. That lies on his brother’s shoulders—Gabriele. An u
ncle I’ve never connected with. I don’t doubt things would’ve been different if my mother was still alive. It might’ve been easier, but even I know, she wouldn’t have been able to stop it. The lessons. The torture. It was bound to happen. All to make me stronger. To turn me into this. A replica of the Devil, living here on earth.

  The soles of my Italian loafers click along the marble floor of the room. It’s so still and silent, the sound echoes, reverberating off the walls. I pause by his bed, staring down at him. I can’t seem to get my throat or my mouth to work—not able to come up with anything intelligent to say. Even if he was awake, I’m not sure what I’d be able to say to him.

  He beats me to it.

  “Don’t tell me you’re crying over me now, stronzo.” His voice is raspy. Like he hasn’t used it in days.

  My lips twist into a cruel smirk. “Only tears of joy.”

  He grunts but doesn’t say anything more. Instead, his eyes trek up and down, taking me in.

  “I take it you haven’t killed the bastard yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  He nods or at least tries to. “Figured you’d want to play with him a little longer.”

  I debate on whether or not I should tell him about the FBI. It’s not that I care about him getting worse or his condition tanking, but something…something infuriating gives me pause.

  “There’s a problem.”

  Matteo’s denim colored eyes slowly drift to mine and they narrow. Like darts of ice shooting into my chest. “How bad?”

  I purse my lips. “Pretty bad.”

  Matteo growls and tries to prop himself up, to listen better, but he hisses at the attempt. I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to help him. He never helped me when I was in pain. When I was bloodied. He made me get up all on my own and now, he can do it too.

  “What is it, stronzo?”

  “We had visitors today. Authoritative visitors?”

  Matteo’s brows raise and the tan color of his face reddens in his brewing anger. “Oh really?” he asks, voice eerily calm.

  “Had my guys look into it. It’s not just the Chicago PD, it’s the FBI.”

  Matteo bares his teeth. That same anger I felt earlier passing over his features. He sits quietly for a beat, stewing in his anger before replying. “That is a problem. Are you going to take care of it?”

  There’s a challenge in his tone and I don’t fucking like it. My hands curl into fists at my sides. I flex the muscles in my back and edge closer to the bed. “I have a plan in mind, but what plan of action would you prefer?”

  “Well,” he sighs. “As much as I’d like to, we can’t just kill them all. It’ll raise too many red flags. Too many questions. Buying them off is risky. You need to find another in and by that, I mean the—”

  “Their family,” I finish for him. Already knowing what he wants. I remember we had an issue like this when I was younger. It wasn’t on a scale as big as this one, but it was the first time my father trusted me with a job, to go out on my own. I tried not to think about the little girl who grew up hating us and wanting revenge and I tried not to think of how I killed her later because of it. I’d need to be thorough, unlike last time. No bodies left untouched. No survivors. Nothing that could be traced back to us or could later bite any of us in the ass. My mind immediately drifts to Sophia and my lips press together in a grim line. She won’t like it. She’d hate the thought of me hurting them—using someone’s family as collateral. Matteo sees it, the war I’m waging inside, but thankfully he doesn’t comment on it. Because if he did, the need to slam my fist in his face would be all consuming.

  “I’ll handle it.” I keep my tone short. Grim.

  He nods in acceptance, or at the very least, tries to.

  I turn on my heel, striding toward the doors not bothering with a goodbye. We’ve never done it before, and I refuse to start now, just because he’s been shot.

  I stop just over the threshold, shooting over my shoulder, “I’m taking up the north wing of the estate. We’ll need the empty space for a nursery. I expect you to keep your distance.”

  “Not exactly like I can get up, is it now, figlio?”

  I smirk.

  He’s right, he can’t.

  Just before leaving, I place my hand on the door frame for support, the pads of my fingers digging into the wood as I force the words past my lips. “Thank you.”

  They’re harder to say than I’d like, but it had to be said. Prideful or not. He took a bullet for Sophia when I wasn’t able to get there in time.

  “Get the fuck out and quit going soft, Diavolo.”

  With a dark chuckle and a shake of my head, I push off the doorframe, out of the room.

  After leaving Matteo, I stop back in the kitchen, remembering I was in the middle of bringing Sophia food when I was distracted by visitors. Sandra, one of the many women here who takes care of the food, mentioned they already sent something up for Sophia a couple of hours ago. I hadn’t even realized I was gone that long.

  It takes everything in me to stifle my laugh at the look on her face as I push through the bedroom doors. She looks bored out of her mind as she watches TV. She’s probably wondering what the hell took me so long.

  Finally paying notice to my presence, she shifts her gaze to me and her eyes narrow when she looks at the expression on my face.

  “Stop laughing at me.” She scowls.

  I laugh anyway, unable to help myself. Sophia shoots me a glare, but I still see the playful gleam in her eyes. She pats the bed next to her and I slide in, wrapping my arms around her, rubbing her round stomach.

  “I’m already feeling better.” She tries, sinking into me, and I chuckle, pressing my lips against her hair, inhaling the fruity scent of the shampoo and a smell that is distinctly hers.

  “No, you’re not,” I breathe into her hair. “But I know a way to kill time while your hip and your head heal.”

  She shifts, looking up at me with questions gleaming in her eyes.

  “And what would that be?”

  “Start buying stuff and decorating.”

  Her brows shoot up, her tone surprised. “Really?”

  I furrow my brows. “Of course. Why do you sound so shocked?”

  She shrugs, darting her gaze down to the sheets, avoiding me. Her hands fidget in her lap and I expel a sharp breath. Here we go.

  “Just say it, Soph.”

  “Well, every time I’ve brought it up before, you never seemed keen on decorating or picking a room here, so I just thought, I don’t know…this would never happen, I guess?” she sighs, shaking her head, her chocolate locks spilling around her shoulders. “I’m just worried. I don’t want anything to happen to him. And I’m scared doing this is like a bad omen.”

  I slide my hand into her hair, cupping the nape of her neck. “Nothing will happen. I promise you that. Over my dead body.”

  She twists out of my hold, jabbing her fist in my chest. “Don’t say things like that, Creed!”

  “All right. I’m sorry. But I think it’s time. I wasn’t intentionally putting it off before. I just wasn’t sure the estate was the right place for us.”

  “And now you think it is?”

  I blow out a heavy breath. “No. Not really. But I’m needed here, and the estate is already like a fortress. The only person I’d need to keep an eye on is—”

  “Matteo,” she supplies for me, understanding lacing her tone.

  Part of the reason I avoided a discussion about a nursery was because I didn’t trust Matteo. Having Sophia and the baby so close to him is risky. Especially when I don’t know his true intentions. But as much as I hate to admit it, her brother was right, do I really want to risk less security somewhere else? At least here, I can keep my eye on him and Giovanni.

  “Exactly. But it’s time. It’s been long overdue. Don’t people already have this shit planned out by now—a nursery? Names? Themes? The works.”

  “Most people don’t live our lives.”

  I nod becau
se she does have a valid point. We’re different, and so is our relationship. That much is glaringly obvious.

  “While you’re healing, I’m going to have Magdalene and the rest of the staff prep the north wing. There’s a master sized room and three open bedrooms. We can have the room next to the master be his nursery.”

  I drop my gaze down to hers at her silence, taking in the intense expression on her face.

  “What is it?”

  She shakes her head, shrugging. “Nothing. I just…you’ve really thought all this through. I was just thinking he would stay with us. I mean, I don’t know if I can leave him in a room all by himself. What if something happens to him? He’ll be so tiny, maybe he should stay with us?”

  My lips turn up at the corners and I smile down at her. “Is that what you want? Him with us?”

  She nods. And I can see that’s what she truly wants. The idea of leaving him in his own crib bothers her.

  I press a kiss to her forehead. “All right. How about this? The room next to ours can be a nursery. Whatever theme you want for him. It can be used for his clothes, a crib—” at the expression on her face, I’m quick to correct myself. “—for when he gets older—dressers and anything else he might need. In our room, we can keep a spare crib, too. If necessary.”

  She smiles, tracing her fingers along my chest through the material of my shirt.

  “I like that idea. Now,” she sighs as she absentmindedly rubs her stomach with her other hand. “Let’s talk names. What are you thinking?”

  The contented grin on my face deepens. “You first.”

  “What about Gabriel?”

  A deep pit settles in my stomach and I’m quick to shake my head. “That was Matteo’s brother’s name.”

  I feel her stiffen. Her eyes going wide with worry. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking I—”

  “It’s fine. You didn’t know,” I reassure her. “What else do you have in mind?”