by Mariano, Sam
Mateo holds up a hand to stop me. “I’m handling it. I’m not telling you about this because I need your input; I just thought you should know… Joey’s dead. I figured you should hear it from me.”
Reeling a bit from the surprise of this news, I pull back the folding chair I hung my jacket on the back of and sit down by the table. “I can’t fucking believe this.”
Mateo nods solemnly. “I know.”
Glancing back up at him, I ask again, “You’re sure it was Joey?”
“I’m sure he betrayed me. Adrian was sure. He wouldn’t execute without solid evidence, you know that.”
I do, I just don’t understand. I sit there for a minute trying to process what he told me. Trying to process the death of a family member. Joey and I were never real close, but he was still my brother. I guess he didn’t handle the burden of our family’s legacy as well as he could have, but he was young. Mateo and I have had a lot longer to adjust, plus we had to. Mateo was the eldest so a lot fell on his shoulders. Then when he took over the family, a lot fell on mine.
Being so much younger, Joey never really got a heap of family responsibility dropped on him like that. Maybe we gave him too much time to fuck around, maybe we should’ve taken him in hand and made him get serious by now, but it doesn’t make sense that it led to this. To betraying Mateo? Why?
“There’s more,” he tells me.
Pulling myself from my skeptical thoughts, I look back at him. “What do you mean, there’s more?”
“Not related to Joey. I don’t have all the relevant details right now, but one of my guys on the force tipped me off. Someone saw something at Rob’s house. One of the girls. Someone noticed something off and reported it.”
Now I shove back the chair as I stand up, scowling. “What the fuck do you mean, they noticed something? Reported what to who?”
“You know what to who, Dante,” he states. “They reported suspicious activity to the fucking cops.”
“What—Was it one of our guys, at least?”
“No,” he answers, his face solemn. “It wasn’t one of our guys.”
I don’t immediately know how to respond to a thing like that. After a moment of heavy, dread-soaked silence, I ask, “What the fuck does that mean?”
“It means they’re going to investigate. They haven’t had time to get to it yet, I know that much. That just means despite all this Castellanos shit we have going on, there’s one more task on your to-do list. You’ve gotta shut down Rob’s house, and you need to do it now before they get someone to investigate.”
Raking a hand through my hair, I mutter, “Jesus Christ. Okay. I don’t know where we’re gonna put all those fucking girls. I guess Ivan has some room, but Luca’s full. Maybe we can get Rob in a different house—”
“No,” Mateo interrupts. “You’re not understanding me. This isn’t a temporary measure. We’re not redirecting and redistributing. I want Rob’s house shut down. I want his arm of the operation shut down. It won’t be coming back, the other two houses won’t be taking on extra girls. Get rid of whatever inventory he has now and that’s it.”
I stare at my brother for the longest fucking minute. “Are you serious? You want to permanently shut down an entire house because of one fucking hiccup? What are we paying all that money to our guys on the force for if they can’t even handle one fucking hiccup—”
Raising his voice, Mateo says, “This isn’t a hiccup, Dante, it’s a fucking catastrophe. What good does it do?” he echoes, in disbelief. “All the fucking good. The reason I have a heads-up and we can get ahead of this instead of getting taken down in some fucking sting operation and going to prison? That’s what we pay all the money for.”
“Rob’s not sloppy,” I argue, as if I can somehow change the reality of this situation if I fight it hard enough. “There’s no way in hell he’d let anyone in the neighborhood see anything suspicious. Rob is fucking careful, that’s why he runs the house to begin with.”
Not nearly as upset as I am, Mateo states, “No matter how good, no one is perfect. He fucked up and someone saw.” He shrugs, but manages to make the gesture decisive. “It is what it is. All we can do now is handle it.”
Of the three houses, Rob’s house is the least profitable, but it still turns out a good chunk of change every year. Ivan’s house brings in the second highest profit, and Luca is the master—he doubles what Ivan makes because he doesn’t have a soul or a life outside of work, and he has no problem pulling double duty. Luca’s effectiveness is unmatched, and though I told Mateo he couldn’t take on more girls, he probably can if he has to.
“All right,” I mutter, running another hand though my hair in irritation. “I guess I’ll figure it out.”
“There’s nothing to figure out,” Mateo says simply, carefully, like he doesn’t quite trust me to follow orders. “It’s done. Collapse the house quickly and get the girls out of there. Reassign Rob to something else.”
“And what about the shipment of girls he was expecting? I have 3 coming in this week.”
That news shouldn’t displease him, but his irritation increases. “Goddammit. I guess you’ll have to redirect those three to Ivan or Luca, wherever there’s room. But the turnaround needs to be quick.”
I nod my understanding. “I’ll send them to Luca then.”
“Do whatever you have to do. Just wrap this shit up and no more new acquisitions. None. We need to clear out what we have and see where this investigation goes. I know this is usually your wheelhouse, but if I find out so much as one new girl has been brought in after these three, someone will be sorry.”
Sighing, I scratch my forehead. “This probably isn’t a good time to tell you Luca knocked up one of his girls.”
Dead-eyed, Mateo agrees flatly, “No, it probably isn’t.”
“I just figured with your insistence about no new acquisitions, I should probably explain that one. The Russian girl he knocked up is ready to pop, but this new one… she can’t be more than a month along.”
Squeezing the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes briefly, he says, “We’ll figure it out. Just pass along the order that no new girls are to be brought in, and for Christ’s sake, buy Delmonico a box of condoms.”
“It’d probably be easier if you looped me into the conversation with your guy on the force so he can keep me up to date on the investigation. Like you said, this is more my area of expertise than yours. If they do turn up anything, it’d be better if he could just tell me so I could handle it more efficiently.”
Mateo shakes his head. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll make sure any relevant information makes it back to you.”
“We’re wasting valuable time with a middleman, Mateo. It makes more sense to let me—”
Cutting me off, he looks me in the eye and informs me, “I am not a middleman. I’m the boss of this fucking family. I tell you what you need to know. That a problem?”
I stiffen, the muscles in my shoulders tensing as I stare back at him. Mateo doesn’t usually pull rank on me like that, especially when it comes to trafficking. I don’t think he gives half a fuck about this arm of operations, it’s just another cog in the machine to him. It’s my baby. Together with Luca, I have personally expanded the operation, turned it into what it is today. Mateo doesn’t do shit in this arena, and now here he is shutting it down and cutting me out of the conversation.
It is his call at the end of the day, but hearing it still pisses me off.
I shake my head once, stiffly. “No problem. Just trying to minimize the damage, that’s all. Shutting down Rob’s house is going to cost us. If the investigation dies or one of our guys can get it shut down quick, it’d be nice to know that. It’s entirely possible we could get the house back up and running—”
“No,” Mateo tells me, shaking his head. “Under no circumstances will the house resume operations. I need to see exactly how much it costs us, you need to see where you can redirect the people who worked at that house, but put the id
ea of re-opening it right out of your head. That’s not an option, regardless of what happens with the investigation.”
Scowling at him, I demand, “Why?”
“Because that’s the decision I’ve made,” he states, his tone making it clear he’s done discussing this. Reaching into his pocket, he draws out his keys and looks down at them. I take it to mean he’s ready to leave, but since Mateo doesn’t normally drive himself, I’m not familiar enough with the gesture to be sure. “There’s one more thing,” he tells me.
I scoff, looking down at the ground and then back up at him. “That’s not enough?”
“Like I said, it’s been a busy few days.”
“Well, what else is there?” I ask impatiently, still aggravated that he’s being so unreasonable about Rob’s house.
Without so much as a trace of sadness or displeasure, Mateo looks at me. That’s not what I expected. I suppose it’s possible he saved some good news to follow all the bad, but I don’t think that’s what’s coming. Despite the calm, misleading look on his face, I sense a sliver of malice in him now, and that wouldn’t accompany good news. I don’t know what he could tell me that would be worse than what he’s already said, though, let alone something he would derive any kind of sadistic pleasure out of.
That is, until he opens his mouth.
“Dad’s dead.”
23
Colette
When Dante comes home, I can tell something is wrong almost immediately. At first glance I assume he just had a long day, but when I look again, I can tell by the look in his eye he’s been pushed well past his breaking point. He’s done with this day, and something must have happened to make it so.
Knowing there’s a mob war apparently going on that he’s a part of, I’m a little afraid to find out what it is that happened. I don’t even know how to ask without him shutting me down, telling me it’s business—and therefore none of mine.
We don’t talk right away, not with words anyway. Even though I know he’s unlikely to open up without at least some prying, I follow him to the bedroom. I have to. I’m like a magnet, helpless to resist the possibility that he’s exhibiting some sort of vulnerability. I’ve always been a sucker for it. Dante is a fortress, hard and cold and impermeable as hell. Before I left, I didn’t even think it was possible to hurt that man. He seemed invincible to me, above mere humanity. I worshipped him when we were together, celebrated his strength; I was in awe of him.
It’s really something knowing that while nothing else may be able to hurt this man, I did. I’m not proud of it, I didn’t want to hurt him, but I truly didn’t know I was capable.
Now I get the feeling something else has, and since I know he’s unbreachable, I know it must be something bad.
I sit down on the edge of the bed and watch wordlessly as he rips his clothes from his body like they’ve pissed him off. I have no idea what to expect on the heels of whatever is radiating off him so I don’t know what to brace for. He seems angry, so he’ll run hot, but how? Will he rage, or will he fuck me? I’ll let him if he needs it. I may not necessarily like him right now, we may even be at war, but I don’t have it in me to turn him away if he really needs me.
He’s not hard when he strips off the last of his clothing, but I can’t keep my eyes off him. Dante has the sexiest back, so strong and broad, and covered with tattoos on top of it. I haven’t paid much attention since I’ve been back, but now that I have an unobstructed view of his back and he’s not trying to fuck me, I see that he did get a new tattoo. My lips curve up faintly at how fitting it is—a bird cage with the door open and his treasured pet escaping.
Me. He put me on his back.
With a sigh, I stand and move up behind him. I touch his shoulder and feel him stiffen beneath my fingers, then I press my open palm to the newly inked skin.
I could say something inane like, “this is new,” but I don’t say a word. He knows and I know, and words are irrelevant. He looks back at me over his shoulder and my heart skips a beat when his dark gaze meets mine. I swallow, slowly drawing my hand away from his back. Even though I’m the one who approached him, I’m overcome with the sensation of being cornered and I need to put space between us.
I can’t break his gaze but I drop both hands and take a step back. It’s the wrong move, or the right move, I’m not sure anymore. He turns on his heel and advances on me, causing my heart to speed up.
He advances faster than I back up and before I know it he’s grabbing a fistful of my hair and yanking me against him. I gasp at the impact. Heat from his body scorches mine and crawls up my neck, causing my face to flush. I still feel like I should turn and run, but before I can even consider entertaining common sense, Dante strikes, crushing his lips against mine and pulling me so tightly against his hot skin, I feel like I’m on fire.
I let him ravage my mouth, knowing if I didn’t he would anyway. I let him rip my clothes off with an unmatched aggression. I grimace when I hear threads tear, remembering how I used to buy two of my favorite items because he’s such a brute, I could never trust he wouldn’t destroy one of them in his haste to get me naked.
I guess that’s Dante. He’s too brutish, too impatient, too rough. He destroys delicate things before he realizes he’s done it, and if I had any sense, I would’ve left him the first time I realized that.
Dante hauls me into the bathroom and turns on the shower. Where he wasn’t hard before, he certainly is now. He catches me eyeing his dick when he turns back to me. I flush, but his face doesn’t betray even a trace of amusement or pleasure at having caught me.
That’s odd.
“Are you okay?” I finally ask, troubled by his lack of response.
“Yep,” he says, rather coldly. “I did what he couldn’t, you know?”
I tense up, thinking he must be referring to Declan even though I’ve asked him not to. “What are you talking about?” I ask guardedly.
“I brought you back. When Belle ran away from my dad, he couldn’t get her back.”
Rearing back a little, I frown. “Your dad?”
I now have absolutely no idea where his head is at. I’ve met Dante’s dad, but not the version of him he once was. I’ve heard the horror stories about Matt Morelli and his obsession with his first wife. I know she hated him and ran away with a man she actually loved. I know he found her and massacred her and the family she dared create without him. I know he’s a psycho, so my crazy, murderous apple didn’t fall too far from the family tree.
I don’t know why we’re talking about him, particularly in this capacity. I realized long ago that Dante and I don’t see things the same way, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised he’s less horrified by his father’s atrocities and more competitive about having done better. While I tend to agree with Mateo that their father is a vile, despicable monster, Dante… doesn’t see things that way. It hasn’t mattered, though. Since their evil father fell sick and Mateo cloistered him away from the rest of the family, the vengeful old man is more or less harmless.
“You don’t hate me as much as she hated him.”
I think he’s insisting on that more for himself than for me, but I don’t say anything. I wait to see where this is going.
Turns out, it’s not going anywhere. Dante has said his piece, I guess, given me the only glimpse I’ll get right now of whatever war is brewing inside him. He grabs my arm and drags me into the shower with him. The hot spray hits me as I move around to the other side. Dante pushes me against the tile and leans into me, covering my body with his. His hand drops between my thighs, his fingers covering the sensitive flesh.
“This is mine,” he states.
I swallow, but don’t agree or disagree.
He doesn’t need me to. Without breaking my gaze, he moves his hand to my heart. Almost defiantly, he informs me, “This, too.”
My heart aches and it’s harder to hold his gaze. It’s starting to hurt, and not the good kind of hurt. I swallow, torn between continuing to let him get
away with murder just because he might be sad, and holding him accountable. My head conquers my heart and I reach up to remove his hand, telling him simply, “It was.”
Dante doesn’t accept my rebuff. “It still is. Always has been, even when you were gone. You ran from me out of fear, not because you didn’t love me anymore.”
“You say that like it’s normal,” I remark, looking way from him.
Bringing his hand to my jaw and guiding my gaze back to his, he says, “In my family, it is.”
“I’m not part of your family,” I tell him, even though the words feel wrong in my mouth. We may never have married, but at the time I felt as much a part of Dante’s family as I would have as his wife.
“Yeah, you made that clear when you left.”
Given this could easily stray to unfriendly waters and it seems like he has had a hard enough day, I ask, “Do you really want to talk about this right now, Dante?”
“You’re the one who doesn’t want to talk about it,” he states, still with that mean look in his eyes. Unease moves through me. I want to be there for him for some ungodly reason, but I don’t think he’s seeking comfort now, I think he’s spoiling for a fight.
I don’t want to fight with him, so rather than let him misdirect whatever anger someone else has triggered in him, I reach my hand out and lightly drag my fingertips across his toned abdomen. I meet his gaze and hold it, then let my hand drop a little lower until it’s wrapped around his cock.
My distraction is adequate.
There’s nothing tender or loving about the way he fucks me, but I didn’t expect there to be. Not this time. This is more a catharsis than lovemaking, a fucked up form of therapy for a man who doesn’t like using his words to express himself when he can use his body instead.
I’d like to think of it as generosity on my part, but the pair of orgasms he gives me tell a different story. When we emerge from the steamy shower, he lets me grab a towel and start to dry off, but then he reconsiders, yanking it out of my hand, dragging me into the bedroom, and tossing me on the plushy king mattress where he proceeds to draw a third orgasm out of me.
