Page 14 of Sinfully Savage Mafia

“Haveyou got something to say, Conor?” I ask, keeping my tone light and voice low.

“No, he?—”

“I’m talking to your son, Declan.” I don’t bother lifting my gaze from Conor. “Because you sure look like you do.”

Conor doesn’t answer.

“You either want my help or you want to end up dead. I really don’t give a fuck either way. My ass isn’t the one with a bounty on it. That’s yours. And I haven’t decided if I want to help you keep that ass in one piece. Yet.”

His cheeks and neck turn brick red.

“I earned my reputation, Conor. If I decide to do this, you get to fuck up another day. But don’t come into my domain with attitude or I might just end you myself.”

Declan Mulligan pales. “He’s young. He didn’t?—”

“I don’t give a fuck. You called. I decided to give you an audience. You have something I want.”

He closes his eyes a moment, and he still hasn’t asked what that is. Mulligan probably thinks it’s power and money, a piece of his pie. That’s the thing, people have a habit of underestimating my vision…and overestimating my altruistic streak.

I’m more than okay with that. I’m far deadlier than even the smartest gives me credit for, and I don’t give a shit about others, unless it’s in terms of what I can get from them.

Declan’s eager to get back on safe footing. “Your reputation precedes you, Matteo.”

They love to try and flatter me. Even those like Declan Mulligan, who either didn’t have a use for me, or was too scared to come near me since I arrived in Manhattan a year ago. I don’t care, it’s all the same to me.

Some love their ring to be kissed, their ego stroked. I know who and what I am—the deadliest bastard in the room.

“The Villani name has long been a part of New York history.” There’s warning in my words that Mulligan misses.

“Yes.” Declan leans forward. “And you’ve brought it out of the background. You’re the best, I’m honored?—”

“I didn’t come here to make friends.”

I came to make my mark. I incinerated the Molino family, who’d tended my small patch of Lower Manhattan and Greenwich Village until they ran it into the ground.

No more Molino family.

That was my time to take an active role. My turf in the Village is strong again. I moved into SoHo and TriBeCa, too. I carved alliances and took out enemies. I built an underground BDSM empire that hosts an elite clientele for a shit ton of cash. I created and solidified pipelines to smuggle drugs, guns, and goods, and I launder money throughout my territories and out of Manhattan, all in the name of expansion.

And when someone dared cross me, even then, I destroyed without mercy so other families and organizations understood the depth of power I wield, power I use when it suits my purposes.

When I arrived in Manhattan from my hometown in Sicily—where my reputation made the deadliest of men shake and bow—I made sure to send a strong message to the Americans, through blood and bullets, through pain and retribution. Through ruthless and cold actions.

You bet I built and solidified my influence.

And now they quake, too. They all know what I can do, what I’ve done, and what I seemingly want.

I can obliterate or deliver anything for anyone…at a price.

I fucking own them all, and most don’t even realize it.

But I sat back after the destruction, didn’t try and take over other families. Retribution, yes. Revenge, absolutely. That was it. Some backdoor favors soon built up the reputation I wanted them to see—as the man to solve their problems, the man no one crossed, the man who made dark magic happen.

Before Mulligan called me a few days ago, driven by his fear and desperation, he didn’t think he had a need to tangle with me. He kept away. I let him.

They all think I’m a necessary brute, one who can be used, as I never moved in on them—yet. I wait. I fix problems for them when I decide to move a piece on my board, setting up for my ultimate goal.

Those like Declan think I see them as equals.

---