Page 184 of Sinfully Savage Mafia

“Don’t test me, Sergio. Papa brought me out here to close the deals you can’t. And now we need to fix things with Torres,” Matteo says in a tight voice.

Adrenaline floods my veins when Matteo speaks his name.

Tiny mewls amplifying in my mind send a jolt to my groin.

No, no, no!

Christ, not again. Not now!

“There is no fixing anything,” I say in a choked voice. “He put a hit on us after we left his place. There was no conversation, no discussion, no invitation to negotiate. There was only a power play. His. Onus. There is no fucking way we have another conversation with that tool.”

“Who says anything about you having the conversation?” Matteo asks, tapping a finger against his stubbled chin.

“What, you think you’re gonna just walk in there and try to?—?”

“There is no try. Only do.” Matteo’s lips curl into a sneer. “Something you obviously couldn’t handle.”

“Fuck off, Yoda,” I snip. “The guy wanted to stake his claim last night. To show us he’s not gonna bend over for any amount of money. What the hell do you think another meeting will accomplish?”

“Everyone can be bought,” Matteo says. “Everyone wants something. You just have to figure out their price. That’s how you really negotiate. I guess they didn’t teach you that in Sniper School.”

“The way to get to him is to push him out, to show him that we can outmuscle him! We need to beat him at his own game, to smother him with our resources!”

“See, that’s why you’re never going to be taken seriously by the families, Sergio. You have all of these plans, but you can’t seem to make them a reality. You’re a dreamer, but the reality never seems to follow. You’ve got plans, but where’s the fucking money, bro? Where’s the opportunity? Can you do anything beyond maiming? Or will that be your only claim to fame?” He shakes his head. “This is exactly why Papa sent me out here. At the end of the day, he knows who can get the job done.”

I stick my fist in my mouth to keep from pounding Matteo’s smug face. His words thunder between my ears. He’s right. I always have a plan, I’m always full of ideas. But the one big chance I have to put it into action almost gets me killed. The Torres deal was my idea, my future! And Matteo is right, I fucking shat the bed. I walked out of there without finding out what he really needs.

What he really wants.

I don’t deserve a seat at that table if I can’t secure my own deal.

I don’t deserve a seat if I can’t prove that I’m a fucking power player, too!

Thump, thump, thump!

My throat tightens, my pulse hammering with increasing force.

Matteo thinks he can do it by talking, by charming the guy, by manipulating him into believing that we can run his clubs better than he can.

He’s got a proven track record, I’ll give him that.

And really, I don’t know why I keep resisting. Let him go in there and attempt to make a deal. Let him get his ass shot up like Swiss cheese!

But I don’t want his seat by default.

I wanna earn mine.

Torres doesn’t need to have his dick stroked.

He needs to feel real fear.

He needs to feel, period.

“Enrico is lying in a bed right now because of that guy. You fight fire with fire, Matteo. Not with fucking cannoli cream and espresso!”

Matteo rolls his eyes. “If he wanted you dead, you’d be dead right now. He’s just playing a game. It’s our move. And you’re gonna tag me in.” He glares at me, his eyes narrowed. “And just so you’re clear, it’s a rhetorical statement. You don’t have a choice.”

A hammering in my chest reverberates between my ears, but yeah, I heard him loud and clear.

---