Page 147 of Vicious Behaviors
“Spare me the theatrics,” my father replies, unshaken, “and just tell me where my daughter is.”
“Why should I even tell you when she’s nothing to you?” Matteo says evenly, pointing at Dom to make his case clear. “She’s your enforcer’s daughter. Not yours.”
“And there you show how very little you know about life or even family,” my father scoffs. “I have loved Annamaria from the moment she came into this world. Blood has no bearing on a father’s love—a lesson your own father never taught you.”
“That may be true, but Don Carlo taught me a few things that will stick with me forever.” Matteo’s eyes darken as he directs his attention to his father, whose lips have remained sealed during the whole exchange. “Didn’t you,Papà?You taught me that cowardice has a price.” Carlo stiffens, flinching under his own son’s gaze. “Because of him,” Matteo continues, “theCosa Nostrawas weakened, letting the Outfit think it had a voice in what New York does. But this isourcity. Our terrain. Chicago has no bearing on us.”
“If that were true, we wouldn’t be here, now would we?” my father replies coolly.
“No. We would not.” Matteo’s snarl is aimed like a knife at his father. “But I’ve grown tired of living under Outfit’s thumb. It’s time we restore our city to its proper glory. TheCosa Nostrais taking what rightfully belongs to it, by any means necessary.”
“And do those means include kidnapping an innocent girl?” my father questions accusingly.
Matteo’s lips curl at their sides. “Anna is no angel.”
The smirk on his face makes my spine go ramrod straight, while the black of his eyes only angers me.
“If your brother has laid a hand on her—” I start to shout.
“Then my brother would be a dead man,” Matteo cuts me off, voice sharp as broken glass.
Matteo speaks with such certainty that it leaves a distinct impression that he would gladly slit Raffaele’s throat if he so much as touched a hair on Annamaria’s head. His words twistin my gut as confusion ripples through me. My father, however, stays the course, his expression a blank canvas.
“You can’t keep what isn’t yours, Matteo. Anna needs to come home.”
“She is home. My golden cage is just as shiny and bright as the one you built for her.”
This is spiraling out of control. We’re fucking talking to a madman. We’re going in circles, no closer to finding my sister than when we first arrived.
My chest tightens as I scan the warehouse for what feels like the millionth time, searching for the backup that was promised to us.
In his shrewdness, my father had a backup plan just in case the Donatos couldn’t see reason and give us back our Anna. Before we even landed in New York, he had already struck a deal with the Irish mob, getting them to reach the warehouse ahead of us and hide, ready to unleash hell on the Donatos the moment they failed to deliver my sister. They were supposed to be silent guardians meant to tip the balance in our favor. However, the silence now feels too deep. Too wrong.
“I’m sorry… am I boring you, Marcello?” Matteo sneers, his eyes following my restless glance upwards. “Or are you waiting for your Irish shadows to crawl out of the dark?”
Ice runs down my spine at the look of triumph in his eyes.
“They’re not here, are they?” I ask, point-blank.
Matteo grins, all teeth. “I’m afraid not. Let’s just say I’ve kept them… occupied elsewhere.”
My blood goes cold. Fuck. This means we’re alone, outnumbered, and trapped in a warehouse with a goddamn sociopath.
“But you’re right,” Matteo says smoothly, almost too calm. “I’ve taken enough of your time. It’s only fair I lay out my demands.”
“And those are?” Dom asks, finally breaking his silence.
“The Outfit no longer has any say inCosa Nostrabusiness. New York is officially out of your reach.”
“And Annamaria?” Gio presses.
“She’ll live out her days here. Insurance, to make sure you keep your promise and stay the fuck out of our business.”
“What you’re proposing is war,” I quip, my back molars grinding with hatred for this fucker.
“What I’m proposing,” Matteo counters, “is freedom. Our freedom from you.”
“Freedom comes at a cost,” my father mutters, his voice heavy with warning. “Are you prepared to drown your city in blood—the very city you claim to want to save from us?”
