Page 13 of Sinfully Savage Mafia

SAVAGE RULER

CHAPTER1

MATTEO

“They will kill my son, Matteo. And you’re the only one who can stop them.”

Declan Mulligan, head of Manhattan’s notorious and powerful Irish mafia, is right. I can.

If I choose to.

That’s going to depend on a few things.

The black leather chair creaks as I sit back behind the desk in my main SoHo office, and I deliberately take my time, studying Declan and his oldest son, Conor.

One of the heirs apparent.

Both tall, with lanky builds, pale blue eyes, and strong jaws. But dark shadows stain the skin under Declan’s eyes. His gray hair is thinning, his face worn like a beaten-up shoe.

The mighty. The dangerous. These people have nothing on me and what I can do. So here he is, begging. I’m about to control his life and his son’s from this moment.

It’s a thing of beauty.

Especially the expression on his face.

Fear. Desperation.

That’s the only reason why he’d dare step foot in my domain. My fees are heavy, but his man is willing to pay me anything I demand. I can feel it.

He’s exactly where I want him.

The air is permeated with sour sweat and Declan’s expensive cologne. Pine and spice with a hint of oud and it cloys. My gaze stays on the elder, even though I’m more than aware of the short fuse that’s Conor. “Tell me what I need to know.”

Declan swallows. “So, you’ll help?”

I pause. This is chess. On a grand scale. All the pieces I’ve spent so long setting up are ready for this, my opening. Events are teetering and it’s going to be glorious. And the pawns have no idea.

“Tell me,” I say finally. “Then I’ll let you know.”

The tarnished heir is agitated. “Fuck, Dad?—”

“Conor.” I level my gaze on the younger man. “You have something to say?”

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat and looks away, and I return my attention to the family head.

Declan sweeps his hand through his hair. “I’m sure you know of the Dominguez cartel?”

“I know everyone.” I pause. “Of worth.”

“There was an, ah, altercation.” He shoots a sidelong glare at Conor, who avoids his father’s eyes. “In their neighborhood. Conor and his boys took out a couple of their soldiers, but also…” He pauses, clenching the chair tightly. “They killed a lieutenant.”

“Santos Rojas,” I say.

“Yes.”

My eyes flicker toward Conor’s, and surprisingly, his gaze meets mine.

His smug, almost challenging look, one that saysI think you are total bullshit even though my father insists we need your help,nearly makes me laugh.

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