A week has passed. The events of last week still haunt me, the ghosts of that night still whisper in my ear. I can’t believe that I had been so blind.
The weight of the past days still lingers, but the storm inside me has calmed—at least on the surface. I know Maria can see the fractures beneath, the unspoken thoughts that keep me awake at night, but she doesn’t push.
I am not a man who makes mistakes. My judgment and intuition have served me well for years. They have gotten me to this point in my life. So how did they fail me when it came to my wife’s safety? How did I not see the signs?
I do my cufflinks up and look at myself in the mirror. The suit is perfectly tailored to my body. My hair is gelled back, and I am freshly shaven for the gala. My dark brown eyes are darkened with worry of what is to come next. The war’s brewing in the background; I can feel it. All the other families are on high alert, waiting to see what happens next.
Tonight, I need to be seen. The gala is more than just an event, it’s a message. I need to remind everyone in the room who I am. Word traveled fast about what happened to Maria, and I know they are looking at me as weak. The great Matteo Davacalli hassled by a man who is meant to be more of a cockroach than an adversary. But that all ends tonight. They need to see my wife and I as a strong and unified front.
I am so lost in my own world that I don’t hear Maria come up behind me. Her sweet scent of vanilla wafts into my nostrils, drawing me back to the closet.
“Are you okay?” She comes to stand beside me, looking like perfection.
Christo santo. Jesus Christ.
She is a vision. Her beauty surpasses any woman I have ever laid eyes on in my life.
She is dressed in emerald silk that drapes over her body like a second skin; she is a walking temptation, a carefully crafted weapon. The slit in her dress teases glimpses of smooth, golden skin, and her lips—painted in a soft, sinful red—dare me to claim them.
Something in the center of my chest stirs, and I have to push back the need to pin her against this glass and have my way with her. We won’t ever leave our home if I indulge my greed.
“Yeah,” I say through the lump that has formed in my throat. I turn, taking a step closer, trailing my fingers along the exposed skin of her back. She shivers, her breath catching for half a second before she composes herself.
I love the way her body always reacts to me. It fills me with pride to know that I am the only man who has ever made her feel like this. And that I am the only man who ever will.
The heat that passes from my hand to her back intensifies the hunger within me. My eyes swoop over her lightly done face. Her lips part ever so slightly as my hand moves lower to sit on the top curve of her ass.
“Amore,” I murmur, my voice low.
She meets my gaze, her hazel eyes holding a flicker of amusement. “Matteo,” she returns, tilting her head to the side.
I smirk. I love how free and comfortable she is with me now. After the hospital, I was unsure of how this would all play out. I didn’t want her to question my intentions—to question my feelings for her. But as the days have passed, I can feel us just going from strength to strength.
“You look handsome.”
“And you look ravishing.” I dip my head low with every intention of connecting my lips to hers, but she presses her fingers to my lips.
“I have lipstick on, and I don’t want it to smudge.” She laughs when I lick her fingers, and she immediately retracts her hand. “Ew, Matteo. That’s gross.”
“You didn’t think it was gross when you were choking on my cock this morning.”
She blushes. “Please stop.”
“Never.” I give her ass a little light tap and she shakes her head with a blinding smile on her lips.
I pull her in so she is flush against me. I feel her warmth against mine, and the blood rushes down to my groin. When it comes to her, I am insatiable—I will never get enough of her.
“You look divine, amore.” I kiss her cheek instead to save her lipstick from being ruined. I watch the blush deepen in her cheeks before she dips her head low. “This color is made for you.”
She rolls her eyes at my playfulness. She’s one of the few who can bring out this side of me—the one that doesn’t live inside his burdens.
I let my hand linger on her back a moment longer, savoring her warmth before stepping away. “We need to leave before I start to do the things my mind keeps thinking up.”
She nods. “Yeah, we don’t want to be late.”
I offer her my hand, and she interlaces our fingers together. We walk out hand in hand into the shark-infested waters that are the gala. If this wasn’t necessary, I’d have kept her far away. But certain things cannot be avoided in this world.
We walk into the grand hall arm in arm after a long drive from our building. My wife squeezes my arm tightly as all eyes move to us. The soft violins serve as backdrop music as the crowd becomes nothing more than hushed murmurs.
I look over the sea of people, making sure to eye every single one of the men who dared think me weak. I didn’t get all the way to the top by simply lying down. If they’ve forgotten who I am, tonight will be their brutal reminder. My roots run deep in this city; I cannot easily be taken down.
“It’s going to be a long night,” my wife mutters as I usher her into the battleground.
“Stay close to me, and we will be fine.” I move my eyes over the area. I catch a few stares, but the majority of people avert their eyes and look elsewhere. “Two hours tops, and then we leave.”
“Okay.” She steels her back. “I can do this.”
Gold chandeliers cast a warm glow over the ballroom, illuminating the faces of politicians, businessmen, and criminals. I see Governor Raynes by the bar—a man whom I helped to fund his campaign. They move through the room with carefully rehearsed smiles, masking their true intentions beneath expensive suits and designer gowns.
The crowd parts like the Red Sea as we make our way to the bar. I hear the murmurs, and I feel the stares, but I hold my head high, and so does Maria.
“Maria!” Ginny’s voice rings out, and within seconds, she’s beside us, dressed in a crimson gown that screams confidence. Dario follows closely behind his wife. His expression is blank, but his eyes tell me that his mind is ticking away.
Ginny launches herself at my wife and envelops her into a tight hug. They both laugh, and when they pull apart, they wear matching smiles. It’s nice to see that she and Maria have found friendship. After what happened with Emily, I was scared she would close herself off.
Ginny grins. “Oh my God, this dress is stunning on you. Emerald is definitely the color for you. Matteo, your wife is a vision—careful, or the vultures might start circling.”
I scoff. “I would love to see them try.”
Ginny rolls her eyes. “How romantic. Have I ever told you what a walking cliché you are? You remind me of my husband. Brooding, silent, and rich.”
I quirk my eyebrow at her. “Funny.”
“It’s a joke, Matteo.” My wife laughs and presses her hand on my chest. The small gesture is enough to temper my hardness. I have been on edge since the moment we walked in here. “Smile, my love.”
“No.” I grab her waist and pull her in closer to my side. I press my lips on the side of her head and give her a slight squeeze. Having her near me helps to dull the sharpness in my chest. “Dario, I see you’re well.”
“Well enough.” Dario then moves his eyes to my wife. Surprisingly, there is a softness when he addresses her. “How are you, Maria? The last time we saw each other… things were pretty rough.”
Maria leans into me, her hand coming to rest on my chest. “I’m doing well, thank you. A lot better, actually.”
An awkward silence passes between us, but Ginny quickly fills it with a story about their vacation to Jamaica last week. After the incident, Dario thought it would be good for her to get out of the country for some time.
He was right. Ginny looks lighter now. The day of the Emily incident, Ginny had put on a brave face, but I knew better. She was hiding her true emotions for the sake of my wife. And for that I will be grateful.
“…the beaches were to die for. We need to visit together, Maria. You will love the…”
And then I hear it—a laugh I know too well. My head snaps to the left, and there he is.
Daniele.
He’s leaning against the bar, a whiskey glass dangling from his fingertips, his tie undone, his body language radiating ‘fuck off’ energy. His usual sharpness is dulled, his gaze heavy with intoxication.
Great. He’s drunk. My son has officially gone off the rails.
Maria senses my tenseness and she follows my eye line. Her muscles go rigid against my body as she sees my son. I know how she feels about the current situation, and she is wary.
The fibers in my arm twitch, and my jaw locks in place. I watch as he brings the glass to his lips and takes a long swig of the brown liquor. He slams the glass back onto the bar and points to the bartender to give him another.
“For fuck’s sake.” I need to get over there.
“Whatever you do, be calm, Matteo.” Maria tries to ease my irritation, but it doesn’t work this time. “He is your son, but he is working with Giacomo.”
“I know.”
Dario and Ginny both turn to look where we’re staring. I can feel the strain in the air, like it has teeth. I feel Dario’s eyes but I don’t dare look his way. I already know the judgment waiting there.
I release Maria with a murmured, “Excuse me.”
I only make it three steps before my wife’s hand grabs mine. I look back at her worried expression. Her eyes dart from Daniele to me and then back again.
“Matteo…” The plea in her voice is evident.
“It will be fine, amore. I just want to talk to him, like you said I should. I will be calm, I promise.”
She seems unsure, but she still drops my hand and allows me to make my way to my son. I have not seen this boy in weeks. And within that time frame, he somehow managed to plant doubt in Maria’s head.
I come up beside him and lean my elbows on the counter. At first, I want to come in guns blazing and drill into him for being so stupid, but my wife’s voice rings in my mind like my conscience telling me to keep things in check.
The boy reeks of whiskey and cigars.
“Daniele.”
He doesn’t acknowledge me at first. Just tips his glass back, draining the last of his drink before setting it down and looking to get another. He drank two in the five minutes it took me to walk over here.
“I see you’re doing well,” I say, my tone carefully neutral. Daniele is like a bomb. One snip on the wrong wire and he’ll blow. I need to proceed with caution.
Daniele lets out a sharp, humorless laugh. “I see they let the trash in again—I had hoped that a bullet would find its way into your chest by now, Papá.”
I hear a gasp from nearby, and several people turn their heads to us, but no one intervenes.
“You’re drunk,” I state, eyeing the way he sways slightly as he reaches for another glass. I grab it before he can get hold of it. “Give him another and I will have your hands sliced clean off.”
The bartender’s eyes widen, and he nods frantically before taking the glass from my hand and walking away.
Daniele clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth. “You ruin all my fun, Matteo. Surely you have better things to be doing than bothering me. How about killing more of your in-laws?”
I step closer, looking around to see if anyone has heard his words. “I think you have gone a step too far, son.”
Daniele rolls his eyes, his breath fanning my face as he straightens to look me dead in the eyes. “And what are you going to do about it, Davacalli?”
I keep my expression unreadable. “I’m still your father. And I always will be.”
Daniele’s smirk is slow, bitter. He lowers his voice just enough for only me to hear. “Are you, though? The last I checked, we don’t share an ounce of DNA.” He tilts his head to the side. He looks me up and down in disgust. “You are nothing to me, Matteo. Not anymore.”
Everything inside me turns to ice. My heart clenches at his words, and I feel the guilt slowly creep out from beneath the surface. I don’t move, don’t react, but the toxic concoction of rage and pain fills my system. It sears through my veins and scorches every part of me.
I see the way he watches me—waiting to see if I’ll snap. He’s testing me. Pushing me. And it takes everything in me not to wrap my hand around his throat. But then there is another part of me that wants to pull him to my chest and remind him that he is my son—blood or not.
“Tell me, Papá, how well does your new bitch fuck? I should have taken her for a test drive before I left Italy; that body of hers is enough to make a man weak in his knees.”
“Daniele.” My blood rises in temperature. “Watch yourself.”
“Or what?” Daniele shoves me back, but I only stumble a few steps. The little jab is enough to earn us more eyes.
Before I can do anything, Dario is suddenly between us, a firm hand pressing against my chest. He gives me an eye, telling me that I need to keep my emotions in check.
“Oh, goody, the class monitor is here to save the day,” Daniele mocks. “Dario, I see you have decided to side with the scum of the earth.”
“Enough,” Dario says, his voice calm but edged with warning. “Daniele, I suggest you walk away before things turn ugly for you. Your father may not want to ram your head in due to his love for you, but I am not your father and will level you where you stand.”
Daniele smirks like he’s won something. He takes a slow step back before he does a dramatic bow. “Enjoy the gala, Don Davacalli. I would watch your step these days, though. People are feeling a little trigger-happy lately—me, to name one. It would be a shame if one of my bullets found its way into you or your wife.”
I let out a low warning growl.
Daniele’s smirk deepens. “I will be seeing you very soon, Davacalli.”
I watch my son walk away from us. With each step he takes, I feel the heaviness in my chest cement itself further.
My fists clench at my sides, and then I move my gaze to Dario. “Thank you.”
“I think it would be better that you don’t get into a fistfight with your son in the middle of this shitshow of an event.” Dario pats my shoulder. “We do need to speak about something, though.”
Immediately, I am on high alert again. “What?”
Dario watches me for a long moment before shaking his head. “Not here. Come.”
I look back to try and find my wife.
“Maria will be fine. She has Ginny, and I have guards posted all over here,” Dario reassured me. “This can’t wait.”
I take his word for it and follow him out of the ballroom. We make our way to a terrace, the chill of the New York air whipping against my skin. But the cold does give me some relief from the tension riddling my body.
Dario rubs a hand down his face. “Emily’s been spotted.”
“Where?”
“New Jersey,” he says. “She was moving with someone called Blade, a glorified henchman. He has ties to the Russian Bratva and Giacomo.”
“Fuck. Do we have an exact location of where she is? An address? She could be on the next plane out of the country for all we know.”
“I’ve kept my eyes on her. If she so much as breathes, I will know about it,” he tries to assure me. “We need to keep her alive for now; her time will come. The first one we need to go after is Giacomo.”
We exchange a look, one that says more than words ever could. We both want to put the bastard down once and for all. He came for our women and threatened their lives. No one does that and lives to tell the tale.
“We’re going after his trafficking ring,” Dario says. “We burn it down. Every contact, every operation. We make it impossible for him to do business and cripple him. Like we discussed earlier with Valerio. We now have an exact docking date.”
I nod once.
“The only concern we will have is your son.” Dario holds my gaze. “When it comes to it, Matteo, you will likely be on opposite sides with him. Meaning his gun will be pointed right at your head.”
That is something I am unwilling to accept. I will bring sense back into my son, even if it is the last thing I do.
“I will handle my son, Dario.”
His eyes tell me that he doesn’t believe me, but he doesn’t voice his opinions, thankfully. I am in no mood to get into it with anyone else tonight. War is on the horizon, and we need to all be ready.
We’ll strike first. And this time, we finish it.
