Page 58 of The Italian Reckoning
After all, if Matteo Barati will torture his own son, then no one else is safe.
Every single person around the table who sneaks a glance at the cast wrapped around my broken arm shares the same look. Apprehension. Fear of what could happen to them since I’m clearly not safe.
My father took my actions as an extreme betrayal, but thankfully, he let Sarah live. A choice he made not out of the goodness of his heart but as a means to control me. I showed him my weakness and now he has control over it. One toe out of line from me and it will be her head on the chopping block.
How did it come to this? I wanted to show my father that there was a better way to rule, a way that made us stronger as a family and as an organization. Instead, he’s so set in his own ways that anythingdifferentis a betrayal and I’m wrong for even trying.
My heart aches and my mind drifts as the conversations about deals, business ventures, and partnerships are lost under my constant, repetitive thoughts about Sarah.
I haven’t seen her since that morning. A morning that started like a dream and ended up a nightmare. I tried to get word to her through Evelyn, but I’m not confident Evelyn even understood my cryptic message. Staying away from Sarah keeps her alive, but it’s becoming the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I want to be there for her to hear her laugh and see that smile. Hell, I’d even take her yelling at me just to hear her voice. Every day I’m away from her is a day that killer could take her from me permanently.
But any action I take is a death sentence for both of us.
“Well?” Matteo’s sharp voice cuts through my thoughts and suddenly, all eyes are on me, heavy with the weight of expectation. There’s an answer I’m supposed to give. Some sort of solution to the problem presented, but I wasn’t listening and I have nothing.
“The black market for organs is tricky,” speaks up a smooth voice, and all attention drifts briefly to Domenico Del Prete, my father’s advisor. A fluff position at this point since my father takes advice from no one these days. But with a few words, he directs me on to the right track and I thank him with a subtle glance.
“Tricky, yes, because the old ways of doing things are dying. We can’t cart organs about and think that we won’t get caught or run into trouble. These days, the value lies in how quickly we get them from body to body. Fastest way to do that iswith an online auction. Placeholders for each organ with teams on standby for immediate shipment. Plus…” I take a calming breath, maintaining my monotone delivery. “If we want to flood the market and chase away competition, we should cut in the Russians.”
“Why on earth would I do that?” Matteo asks sharply. “I’m not here to line the pockets of other families.”
“Sure. But we share the drug trade and in case you forget, the Russians have access to hospitals. Their deal with the Irish is for pharmaceutical drugs and they have their hooks in every hospital across the state. So cut them in before they catch wind of what we’re doing and just take it for themselves.”
“I like this idea,” Domenico says calmly. “Nipping a problem in the bud before it has a chance to grow. We could use more insight like this.”
A murmur of agreement rises around the table and my father, after shooting a glare toward Domenico, nods. “Indeed. I don’t want a Ruskie thinking they can swoop in and take what’s mine.”
My father has no idea how lucky he is that Anastasia will never hear him say that.
“I’ll set up a meeting.” Domenico stands and exits the room, followed by everyone else after a pointed throat-clearing by my father.
I’m about to do the same when he taps the table with one hand and fixes me with a steady stare. “Wait.”
Retaking my seat, I try to ignore how my heart gives an uneasy few beats at being left alone with the man who saw fit to break my bones as punishment. Outside of this estate, I feel like I can take on the world. I can go anywhere and do anything. No one and nothing stands in my way. But here, I’m suddenly nine years old again waiting for the lick of a belt and a sharp word. Nomatter how often I tell myself I’m better than what he reduces me to, it never sticks.
I’ll always be nine years old.
“Drink?” Matteo’s chair scrapes back with a rough sound that makes my teeth ache.
“Can’t.” I lift my cast. “Painkillers.”
“A little alcohol won’t hurt,” he replies as he steps up to the drinks cart and pours two Scotches. “Drink.”
Everything is a test with him, and as he places the glass down in front of me, I can already tell that failing this one is inevitable. I don’t plan on risking my life by mixing drink and painkillers, yet that seems to be exactly what he’s taunting me to do. As if I’m to choose between his orders and my own life.
“No,” I say flatly. “Unless you plan on funneling it down my throat…” I slide the glass away. “Pour me something else.”
Matteo sighs deeply and stands over me, looming like an unshakable shadow. He sips slowly and swallows so audibly that the wet glug of his throat causes my stomach to roll with disgust.
“You know,” he says after a few minutes of silence, “I’m proud to see you finally stepping up.”
My heart jumps when he moves, but Matteo simply returns to his seat. “Oh?”
“Ideas like this online auction are what keep us ahead of anyone else looking to muscle in on our business.That’sthe kind of ingenuity I expect from my son.”
“It’s just common sense,” I reply flatly. “We’re not in the dark ages. Everything is online these days and harder and harder to trace.”
“Exactly.” He tips his glass toward me. “I’m glad to see you’ve finally learned your lesson.”
