by Nia Farrell
“Here,” Matteo reached for Dante and fanned his flexed fingers. “Give him to me.”
She surrendered the baby and immediately hugged herself, almost cowering—a protective pose that he’d seen too many times, usually after one of their prostitutes got roughed up by a john. Val was better at that kind of thing. He left Constanza to him and focused on his son.
“Hey,” he said. “It’s Papa. Mama’s been worried about you, but we’ll have you home soon. Are you wet? Hungry? Give us a few minutes, and we can take care of that. It’s the first raid I’ve been on with a diaper bag on board. I’m telling you, Dante, it had better fucking be the last.”
Dante’s cries wound down to a fret, listening to the sound of his voice. The baby managed to snag his finger and pulled it to his mouth to chew on it.
That’s when he saw the bruises.
He stepped to where Val was quietly questioning Constanza and showed her Dante’s arm. “Who did this?” he asked, his voice deadly quiet. “Show me who did this to my son.”
If he wasn’t dead, he soon would be.
From Constanza’s reaction, Matteo suspected that whoever had bruised Dante had done worse to her. Fucking Castellaris.
Val helped her up and kept hold of her arm, lending her his strength. He was only a cold-blooded killer when the family needed him to be. When he wasn’t dealing out death, Val had a gift for dealing with the living. He intuited people’s motivations and understood their needs. If he hadn’t become a vintner, he would have made a good psychologist.
Val guided her towards the three survivors. Matteo was right behind them with Dante. She inhaled sharply but didn’t cringe to see the broken arm of the first man they were working over.
“Is it one of these?” Val asked her softly.
Constanza swiveled her head. Her gaze locked on the last man in line. “Him.” She spat on the ground when she said it. “He’s the one.”
“Constanza, look at me.” Matteo waited until he had her full attention before handing her Dante. “I want you to take the baby. Go back to where you were. I’ll make sure that he never touches anyone ever again, capisci? You trust me to do that, right?”
She nodded stiffly.
“One more thing. Did you see who killed Bernardo? Was it any of these three?”
“No,” she said. “No. I don’t think he’s here. I think he left with the others. We should go before they come back. Please!”
The tone of her voice had gradually escalated and was edging toward panic now.
“Val, take them back. I’ll be quick.”
Not that he wanted to rush things, but he needed to be in the air before any more Castellaris came.
The first prisoner was sitting on a wooden crate that was built to hold guns. His right arm dangled, useless, at his side. Charlie was cutting clothes off the second one, preparing to start in on him.
Matteo tapped Nunzio’s shoulder.
The team leader gave him an update. “The first one’s already singing. The second just wet himself. He’ll give us whatever we ask.
Matteo motioned towards the third captive, the man he was about to kill. “How badly do you need him?”
Nunzio sliced a surprised glance at him. “I take it, you don’t recognize your guy. That’s Luciano Castellari. Heir to the kingdom himself. He’ll die before he gives up his old man. That’s what I’m thinking, anyway. I overheard your conversation. You’ve got a debt of honor. I won’t stop you from calling it in. Have at him.”
“Can you spare someone? I need him bound to the support post. He’s not going to sit still for what I plan to do.”
J.D. did the honors, securing Luciano to one of the large, wooden poles that reached to the roof.
Matteo had more than one blade on him. He drew his carving knife from its scabbard and approached Luciano, relishing the fear in his eyes.
“Big man,” Matteo scoffed. “Fucking coward, if you ask me. Hurting women. Hurting babies. Let’s see how you like it when someone hurts you.”
23
Matteo began with Luciano’s arm, gouging out a piece of flesh for every bruise that he’d left on his son. He made certain to avoid the arteries. He didn’t want Luciano to bleed out before they were done.
He started on body parts next. An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth. Luciano’s fingers would never hurt another child.
He’d never rape another woman.
Matteo left him choking on it.
Nunzio and his men were just finishing up with the other two. Matteo looked around the barn’s corpse-littered interior. There was a fortune in drugs and guns here. They couldn’t take them but he wasn’t about to just leave them behind.
“Burn it,” he told the team. “Burn this place to the ground.”
Nunzio cocked a disapproving brow. “Everything? It’d be a shame for all that coke to go to waste.”
Matteo was willing to compromise. “All right,” he said. “They can take whatever they can carry, as long as it doesn’t slow them down or overload the choppers, capisci?”
Nunzio grinned. “You heard the man. Move!”
The crates of guns were left behind. A fortune in drugs went with them.
Constanza couldn’t keep up, even with Val helping her. Nunzio finally picked her up in a fireman’s hold and sprinted the rest of the way. As soon as they were in the air and flying smoothly, Matteo dug into the duffle he was using as a diaper bag and pulled out what he needed.
“Let’s get you changed, Buddy,” he said. “I’m pretty sure I can do this.”
He’d seen it done a hundred times, but he’d never performed diaper duty. He was relieved to see that Dante’s bottom wasn’t a mess. Evidently, Constanza had had some things with her. Dante was wet but not poopy, thank fuck.
Matteo got a dry diaper on him with no golden shower and dressed him in a clean sleeper.
Next up, feeding the kid.
They’d been in such a hurry to leave, Matteo hadn’t thought about packing a bag or finding a car seat. Fortunately, Pop had. Buckling Dante into the seat, Matteo put a bib on him and showed his son three small jars of the baby food that Beth made in batches. Dante’s face screwed at having to wait.
Matteo pried up the first vacuum-sealed lid. It released with a soft pop. Just the sound made Dante’s little feet dance. Setting aside the lid, he dipped the rubber-coated spoon into the jar and tucked a bite into Dante’s eager mouth.
Dante waved his fists and opened wide for another bite. A few more spoonfuls and Matteo gave him a bottle of spring water.
The kid refused to drink distilled.
Dante ate a partial jar of squash and a little chicken before he started to nod off. The bib protecting his front was nearly spotless. Matteo was pretty fucking pleased with himself.
Damn if he wasn’t getting this dad thing down.
They rendezvoused with the Visconti helicopter to complete the last leg home. Val called ahead with an estimated time of arrival, then handed the phone to Matteo so that he could forewarn Beth about Dante’s bruises. Matteo knew his wife. She tried to not curse around the baby. Unprepared, she’d be letting swear words fly like beads at Mardi Gras.
Doc was waiting for them at the house when they got there. Beth stood with their brothers and father, wrenching her hands and worrying her lower lip. Like the obedient wife that Matteo knew she could be when she wanted to, she waited for him to bring Dante to her.
Matteo had tented the car seat with a medic’s blanket to protect the baby from the pre-dawn chill. By some miracle, the kid stayed asleep, lulled by the rhythmic thrum of the rotor blades. Unable to talk over them, Matteo transferred the seat to one hand, caught Beth’s arm in the other, and led her into the house. As soon as they were well inside the door, he flipped back the blanket and let her see Dante’s precious, peaceful face.
“Thank you,” she whispered, tears tracking down her cheeks. “Oh, thank you, Matteo! Thank you for bringing him home.”
Pop was right beside
her. His expression was more foreboding than grateful. “Doc will check them out. The baby first. Beth, go with Dante and the doctor.”
Rather than relinquish his son, Matteo started to follow Doc to the basement room that was kept stocked and ready for him to work in.
“Matteo!” His father called his name.
He knew what he wanted. Dom Visconti demanded a full accounting after these things.
This time, he would have to wait.
“Not now, Pop,” Matteo told him. “We’re seeing to Dante first. I’ll find you once Doc’s finished.”
He was expecting an argument. Instead, he got a hint of a smile and a nod of approval.
The infirmary was usually kept cool and ready to operate. Bullet and knife wounds were the norm. Doc could set broken bones here, too.
Tonight, the room was comfortably warm.
Matteo set down the car seat and freed Dante from the harness. The baby stirred when he lifted him out, but he didn’t wake up and start bawling.
Doc folded some clean towels to pad the stainless steel table. “Up here, please. I need his clothes off.”
Beth slammed her fingers over her lips and started crying again when she saw Dante’s bruises. Doc frowned. “What condition was he in when you found him?”
“Crying. Fussy after he calmed down. His diaper was wet but not dirty. I changed him, put him in a clean sleeper, and fed him. He ate squash and chicken with some water. He fell asleep after that.”
Doc took his time, checking every inch of the baby, including his bottom. Matteo had Doc hum “home” to keep Dante calm during it all.
They got a verbal report when he was done.
“Other than the bruises and mild dehydration, he seems to be fine. I was worried about his elbow. A quick jerk will dislocate a child’s, but the joint tests fine. You can dress him now. I’ll look at Constanza next.”
Matteo reached for the sleeper and started putting it back on Dante, working in his legs, then his arms. It was a novelty for Beth to have him take the lead. You’d think that she’d be smiling about it. Instead, she looked uncomfortable. Dropping his gaze to her breasts, he saw why.
This was the longest that she’d been away from Dante. Watching him had triggered a natural reaction in a breastfeeding mother. Two dark circles marked the fabric where she was leaking.
Matteo lifted his gaze to meet hers. “Let’s get the two of you upstairs. You both look like you could use some mommy time.”
Beth looked down to where his focus had been. “Shit!” Her cheeks colored when she saw the wet spots on her blouse.
Matteo finished snapping the sleeper and handed their son to his mother. Snagging the car seat, he carried it upstairs with them and left it with Paolo.
“I need to talk to Pop,” he told Beth. “Go to my room and take care of our boy. I’ll come when I can.”
He found his father in his office. Val wasn’t there yet. He was probably still tied up with Constanza. Matteo couldn’t tell, with the live feed from the infirmary turned off. At least Pop was giving Constanza some privacy. Knowing his father, he’d seen and heard all of Dante’s exam.
Matteo filled him in, anyway.
“The baby’s good, except for mild dehydration and the bruising on his arm. Fucking Luciano Castellari.”
“Luciano?” His father’s brow creased with concern. “Inflicting casualties is one thing. Killing Dom Castellari’s only son…”
“He brought it on himself,” Matteo reminded him. “He took what was mine. He hurt my son. He hurt Constanza, too. Just guessing, I’d say that he raped her. I made him pay before he died,” he said grimly. “We torched the place when we were done. I had them start the fire around the post that was holding him up, just to make sure. I’ll have to hand it to Nunzio. It couldn’t have gone smoother. I let his men carry out some coke. Guns, drugs, bodies—everything else, we burned.”
“Unfortunate business.” His father rubbed the back of his neck. “I wish—”
A rap on the door cut him short. “It’s Val, Pop.”
“Come in.”
Val slipped inside, as silently as if he were on a solo hit.
“How’s Constanza?” Matteo asked him.
“Sedated for now,” he said. “Doc doesn’t know if she can go back to the house. Bernardo…”
“The cleaners have it looking like new,” their father interrupted. “She’s not going to see anything.”
“Not in real life,” Val agreed, “but her memories? One of her last was of Bernardo, lying in the family room with half his head blown away.” He turned to Matteo. “Until Doc says that she’s ready, you’ll need to find temporary help for the house and baby.”
It was unfortunate, but it couldn’t be helped. Constanza needed to deal with her grief and heal from her experience. He wasn’t sure that she could be trusted to take care of the baby until she’d taken care of herself.
“We’ll get extra help, but we’ll make sure that Constanza knows that she’s welcome to come back. She’s been good for us. I don’t want her to think that she’s worthless without Bernardo. We’re not kicking her out now that he’s dead.”
Pop nodded. “Bernardo was a good man. Now that he’s gone, I’m going to assign Franco to you. He’s experienced. Dependable. He’s got a personality that lets him fit in, and he can cook. It never hurts to have an extra cook around. I’ll send Angelo and Roberto, too. They can split shifts and monitor the live feeds. No man can be vigilant 24/7. I expected too much of Bernardo. I won’t make that mistake again. Moving your family to your house would take care of a number of problems. No bad memories for Constanza. Room for the extra help. Room for your family. You don’t want Dante growing up an only child. He needs brothers and sisters.”
“Eventually,” Matteo said, regretting the time that he’d lost with Dante. “And I agree about moving us to my house. But now is not the time to be making more babies with the Castellaris starting shit and Reaper still out there.”
“Reaper’s waited this long,” his father said. “He can wait a little longer. Eventually, he’ll surface. When he does, we’ll end this. Right now, we have to focus on our neighbors to the south. Dom Castellari has lost his son and heir. He’ll want revenge but he’s going to have his hands full. People in his organization will be jockeying for the position that’s just opened up. His enemies will see this as a chance to move in and take over. Not us. I don’t want Kentucky. But if someone wants to challenge Dom Castellari for control, they’ll never have a better time to strike. We must be watchful and patient. Brace ourselves for retaliation but know that it might take months or years to come. Everything depends upon how things play out on the other side of the river.”
His father was right. Matteo wondered if Dom Visconti had foreseen a future need when he’d given him a house with a basement apartment in addition to the servant’s quarters in one wing. Constanza could take one of the rooms upstairs. Instead of a mother-in-law, the soldatos would share the apartment.
“I’ll let Beth know about the move. She’s a smart girl. She’ll see the sense of it.”
“She’s sharp,” his father said. “You did all right with that one.”
“I did. Thanks, Pop. Is there anything else you need from me right now?”
Giovanni Visconti smiled at his son. “No. No. Go. See to your family. Breakfast is in half an hour.”
Matteo rapped softly on the bedroom door before opening it. Dante was in the middle of the bed. Beth was stretched out beside him.
“Hey,” she whispered, smiling softly. “I don’t know how long he’ll sleep. He’s usually up in an hour. How’s Constanza?”
“Still with Doc.” Matteo toed off his shoes and lay down on the other side of Dante, bracing himself on one forearm to talk over the baby’s head. “Val doesn’t think that she can go back to the house. With everything that’s happened, I’m moving us into my place. It will be a fresh start for Constanza if she chooses to come, and there’s room in the basement
apartment for the extra men being assigned to us. We’ll have three—Franco, Angelo, and Roberto. If Constanza agrees to come, too, it could still be a while before she’s back up to speed. It may be the two of us taking care of things until we find someone to help with the house and baby. Do you think we can handle that?”
“Oh, Matteo.” Beth choked up. Her sapphire eyes grew glassy with tears. “A week ago, I might have had my doubts. You’ve always kept yourself separate from us and never let us come too close. But tonight—tonight, I watched you be the father that Dante needs you to be. You asked if I think we can handle it. I say yes. Yes, I do. Seeing how you were with him, I think we’ll do just fine.”
Matteo blew out softly. “Yeah,” he said. Dante’s kidnapping had been a wakeup call. Beth’s declaration of love had been another.
Reaching over the baby, he stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “Can you keep a secret?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, unequivocally, without any hesitation.
“When I’m old and look back, I’m sure that there will be things that I regret, but taking you won’t be one of them. Do you remember, when I kidnapped you, I told you that I was sorry? Well, I’m not,” he said firmly. “I’m not sorry anymore.”
About the Author
Author’s Biography
Nia Farrell is the author of one of The 50 Best Indie Books of 2016, a 2016 Golden Flogger Finalist, and a founding member of the Wicked Pens. A multi-genre writer published in nonfiction, poetry, music, articles, and children’s books, with one documentary screenplay under her literary belt, she’s an old soul and a period reenactor who’s been into corsets for centuries, although she wears them more to Civil War events these days.
Nia has been involved in the metaphysical community for over twenty-five years. She is a Reiki Master and crystal healer whose work encompasses this and other lifetimes. In her book Something More, BDSM and submission are tools for healing post-rape PTSD, earning a nomination for Best BDSM Book of the Year, Ménage Category, in the 2016 Golden Flogger Awards. She was nominated for Favorite MC Author, The Best of the Best 2017.
