“Can you not stare?”
After almost seven hours of flying, those are the first words my wife says to me as we begin our descent to JFK. Her tone is sharp, laced with irritation. “It’s weird and creepy.”
“I’ve been called worse.” I close my files and fasten my seatbelt, giving her a slow, amused smile. “Try a little harder, kitten.”
Her scowl deepens. “Don’t call me that.”
My brow lifts. “What? Not a fan of your new name? Funny, I didn’t think you had it in you to put a woman in her place like that.”
“I didn’t take you for the kind of man who lets women disrespect his wife,” she shoots back. “There should have never been a need for me to do that in the first place. If you hadn’t indulged her, she wouldn’t have stepped out of line.”
“Indulged her?” I let out a short laugh. “How, exactly?”
“You didn’t tell her to back off,” she huffs, frustration burning in her voice. “She was flirting with you, and instead of shutting it down, you answered her.”
I blink. “Maria, indulging her would’ve been bending her over this table between us. Did I fuck her? No. I simply responded.”
Her jaw drops slightly before she snaps her mouth shut. “Must you be so… so crass?”
I smirk, enjoying her discomfort. “I’m telling you the truth. But if it bothers you, I’ll take note of it and make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
She eyes me suspiciously. “Is that meant to be an apology?”
I shake my head. “No, because I’m not sorry. But I will make an effort to ensure women know their place around me.”
She clicks her tongue but doesn’t reply. The rest of the landing is spent in thick silence. She refuses to look at me, and I don’t press her. In time, she’ll learn to open up to me, to speak her mind in ways that don’t always involve biting remarks. Until then, I’ll keep gnawing at her, wearing her down until she bends.
When the jet comes to a halt, I waste no time getting up. As we disembark, I notice Stephanie, the flight attendant, watching me from the back of the jet. I don’t miss the glare Maria sends her way, and something about it makes my cold, thorn-pierced heart thrum with satisfaction.
She was jealous.
The cool summer air of New York greets me, the distant hum of sirens and city life filling my ears. I’m home.
Maria trudges behind me, her tension so palpable I can almost feel it pressing against my back. She’s out of her depth here, but she’ll learn. She has no choice.
Two large SUVs wait for us on the tarmac.
“Welcome back, Mr. Davacalli.” Emily, my housekeeper, smiles warmly. “You’ve been missed.” She turns her gaze to Maria. “Welcome to New York, Mrs. Davacalli.”
Maria steps out from behind me, hesitant but intrigued. “You’re the first person to greet me with a smile,” she says, extending her hand. “Maria. It’s nice to meet you.”
For the first time since we left Florence, I see the ghost of a smile on her lips. Her posture eases slightly in Emily’s presence, and I feel my own body loosen in response. I knew she’d take to Emily, but I’d been prepared for resistance.
“I have business to attend to,” I tell Maria. “Emily will take you to the penthouse and show you around. If you want to explore Manhattan, you may, but you’ll take Tony and Curtis with you.” I nod toward the two bull-like men by the SUVs. “They’re your security detail from now on.”
Maria’s gaze sweeps over them with thinly veiled disdain. “I don’t need them.”
There’s that defiance again. It makes her a pain in the ass at times, but I can’t deny how much I enjoy watching her fight against me.
“Yes, you do.”
She folds her arms. “You just want them to spy on me.”
She’s right, but I’m not about to admit that.
I resist the urge to sigh. “This isn’t up for negotiation, Maria.”
“I think Emily will do just fine.”
“Emily is not trained to protect you. No offense,” I add, glancing at Emily, who merely nods. “Her job is to manage the household, not keep you alive.” My voice is low, controlled. “Let me make this simple—you are no longer a Faravelli. You’re a Davacalli now, and with that name comes enemies.”
Maria’s jaw tightens, but she doesn’t argue. She knows I won’t bend.
I turn to Tony. “Take them to the penthouse. If she goes anywhere, you go with her. I want tracking updates.” My gaze shifts back to Maria. “I already put my number in your phone. It’s under ‘Matteo.’ If it’s urgent, call. Otherwise, a simple text will do.”
Her brows knit together. “How did you get my number?”
I lean in, brushing a whisper against her ear. “I have my ways. Behave while I’m away, kitten.”
She stiffens as I press a fleeting kiss to her cheek before stepping back. I acknowledge my staff once more and slide into the waiting SUV.
As we pull away, I pull out my phone and dial my son’s number.
Straight to voicemail. Again.
“Hi, you’ve reached Daniele Davacalli. Leave a message.”
I exhale sharply. “Danny, I’m getting worried. Call me back.”
I pocket my phone and stare out at the city as we weave through the streets of Manhattan. Daniele is my heir, the only one meant to inherit my throne, but he’s slipping further away. He could be on a beach somewhere, drink in hand, or he could be plotting his next reckless move against me.
Either way, I need to find him before someone else does.
The SUV pulls up to my business headquarters. Among all the illegal dealings, I run a few legitimate fronts to clean my money. This place is one of them.
As I step inside, the atmosphere shifts. People tense, bodies pressing against walls to clear a path for me. Their fear is almost tangible, and I welcome it.
Gretchen, my receptionist, rises from her desk, her face flushed. “Mr. Davacalli, I didn’t know you’d be in today—”
“Spare me the flattery. Bring me the files on the west harbor’s layout. And a double espresso from Brooklyn, piping hot.”
Before she can reply, I step into the elevator and hit the top floor.
The doors open, and I am met with people milling about. When they see me—just like at the reception—they all press their backs against the walls, making way for me to walk. The wedding band on my finger feels like a large billboard, drawing everyone’s attention.
My assistant, Marcus, rises from his chair, ready to greet me. “Welcome back, Mr. Davacalli. I trust you had a good trip?”
“Hello, Marcus. You gained some weight while I was away—lose it,” I grunt under my breath. “Before you start allowing people to bombard me, I need a few minutes alone. Hold my calls and keep my door shut.”
“Of course, sir,” Marcus says before I disappear into my office.
I walk in, and the scent of mahogany and cigars hits me. The familiar aroma settles deep in my senses, wrapping around me like a comforting embrace. For weeks, I have been bombarded and forced out of my areas of comfort. It feels good to be somewhere that still feels like mine.
“Welcome back to the kingdom.” I stare out of the large floor-to-ceiling windows that make up the majority of my office. “Long may the king reign.”
I never once thought of myself as a king. I never wanted to rule. I just wanted power, and that goal has never changed. I want my name to be the most powerful and most feared there ever was.
Flashes of my son assault my mind, reminding me again of how strained our relationship has become. He is my heir, and his name rests on my throne. But he won’t even return my calls. How can I convince him to wear this crown?
I am only in my chair for a few seconds when the door opens without permission. Valerio struts into my office with the arrogance of a fool, his hands in his pockets, a toothpick clenched between his teeth. I wait for him to take a seat on the other side of my desk before I reach for my landline.
“I’m sorry, sir. Mr. Delchini pointed a gun at my head and told me he would drop me dead if I didn’t let him in.” Marcus’s shaky voice filters through the receiver.
I sigh in disappointment. “I should fire you. But I won’t—for now. If you allow anyone else in, Marcus, I will personally put a bullet in your head.”
I don’t wait for him to respond. I hang up and turn my attention to my second-in-command. Raven-black hair, deep Mediterranean skin, and eyes that could drop the panties off a nun. Valerio Delchini.
“A gun to his head, really, Valerio? The kid is only twenty-one.”
Valerio rolls the toothpick between his teeth. “He’ll need to learn about the world soon enough. The kid nearly pissed his pants when he saw the barrel. You should fire him for being so much of a pussy, if you ask me.”
“What do you want, Valerio?” I lean back into the thick leather of my chair. “I’m currently trying to enjoy a moment’s peace, and you are disrupting all of that with your… presence.”
“You wound me.” He feigns hurt feelings.
“Out with it or leave, Valerio.” I rub the side of my head, trying to ease the headache forming behind my eyes.
“You’re married.” The words tumble from his lips all at once. “To a woman half your age.”
“She is not half my age. Almost, but not exactly.” The technicality doesn’t make it any better.
“Give or take five years.” The sarcasm drips from his voice. “You married Marcello Faravelli’s daughter after killing his son? Do you have any idea how unhinged that is—even for you?”
The words are a slap to my face. “That was an accident and something we will not discuss. It’s done, and my penance is paid.”
“It still doesn’t negate the fact that it was your finger that pulled the trigger, Matteo. Do you have any idea the kind of shit this could bring? It was bad enough you wanted Daniele to marry her, but now you? What happens if he ever learns the truth?”
“He won’t find out.” I will make sure of it.
“There’s no guarantee of that. Daniele knows the truth, and as we both know, your son can be quite volatile. What if, to spite you, he decides to inform Maria or Marcello?”
“He won’t do that. I know my son, and right now, he’s a little… taken aback. But he will come to his senses soon enough.”
Valerio scowls. “Matteo, I have been with you since the days of your father. I have walked this road with you and stood by you. So you know I will always tell you the truth.”
I run a tired hand over my face. “Go ahead. Give me the advice I never asked for.”
“Marrying her was a mistake, Matteo. But what’s done is done. We will deal with making sure the story is dead and buried. For now, we have even bigger issues regarding Giacomo.”
My blood turns to ice. “What about him?”
“He’s been moving a new drug. They call it Hushies. It’s like molly but stronger, and most of it is laced with fentanyl. He has the cops all over our operations now with these overdoses. I managed to speak with the chief to cool things off, but we need to take care of this.”
I dig my nails into the leather of my chair. Giacomo Feriamo has been a thorn in my side since we were young boys. We grew up together, and for a time, we had been friends. But life got hard, and he got greedy.
“And what about our new shipment of weapons from the Russians? Is the transaction set for Friday with the Mexicans?” I try to keep my mind from straying to Giacomo, but it’s hard. The man is a hydra—no matter how many times you cut off his head, two more grow in its place.
“We have them all stored in the warehouse. We will do a stick count before Friday. Diego is set to fly in at 1:00 p.m., but we need to be quick. He’s on Interpol’s radar.”
“Fucking fantastic.” One thing I hate about dealing with these lower-level leaders is that they are never clean about their reputations. “We need to make sure this is a clean, in-and-out job. I don’t want the cops coming in and giving us an even bigger issue to contain.”
“Yes, boss. But we also have the Charlotte Gala to attend. You are a major donor, and the prospective governor will be there. It would be good to make friends.”
My stomach churns at the thought of schmoozing politicians, but I need them to ensure my business runs smoothly. “Fine. I’ll be there.”
“With your new wife.”
“What? Why would I take Maria with me?”
“You just got married. The rest of the mafia world needs to see your wife. The rumors are flying, and the longer you keep her hidden, the weaker she appears. And the last thing we need is for people to make her a target.”
Before I can answer, my phone buzzes. When I pull it from my pocket, I see a name on the screen I wasn’t expecting.
Maria.
It’s a text that reads: Will you be home for dinner?
My heart does an odd skip before thudding in my chest. I must be getting sick.
For a moment, I stare at the message, unsure why she even cares. It’s not like this is a real marriage.
But something about the simple question—for the first time in years, someone expects me to come home.
Matteo: No, we have a gala to attend. I’ll have a dress sent over, and a car will bring you to the venue.
I expect her to reply with some snide remark. But she doesn’t.
That, for some reason, irritates me more than it should.
Even after I send the message, I find myself staring at the screen, waiting… For what? I shake my head and put my phone away.
I look up the moment I hear, Valerio hiss under his breath.
“What?
“The warehouse. The one with Diego’s shipment…”
I sit up in my chair. “What about it?”
“It just got hit. The warehouse caught fire. Everything is gone. Almost three million dollars’ worth of arms—burned to a crisp.”
A sharp pulse beats against my temple. My vision narrows. Three million dollars—gone in smoke. My fingers dig into the leather of my chair, the fine grain creaking under my grip.
“We need to go.”
We are out of our chairs before we can even blink.
Whoever did this wants war.
Fine.
I will turn them to ash.
