Page 33 of Mafia King of Lies

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 theirbacks 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.”

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