Page 64 of Vicious Intentions
There is something oddly comforting about that. I can be utterly me in my messages. I don’t have to worry about anyone being concerned with me as I confess all my somber thoughts. I don’t have to be careful with my words, afraid someone might be offended by them. I don’t have to spare feelings or worry that I’m darkening anyone’s happiness.
I can be as vulnerable as I like. I can be raw and honest. Be me. Just me. Because no one will ever hear it. No living soul will know that I sometimes long to die.
Chapter 13
Matteo
Twenty-five years old
“It was a good plan, young Donato. Clever. Do not punish yourself because it didn’t hold up. Even the best plans stumble now and then. That’s how you know they were ambitious. Besides, if every clever plan worked, we’d all be kings by now,” the Old Fox says with a laugh, patting my hand.
I pull my hand away from under his, my nostrils flaring.
“I don’t need your pity, Don Vitale. Spare me the condescension.”
Don Vitale blinks once, then twice, clearly unprepared to be on the receiving end of such an outburst.
“I doubt that’s what Aldo intended,” Moretti quickly interjects at my side. “And if you were thinking more clearly, you would understand that.”
Both men stare at me with obvious concern. I throw a glance at Niccolò, who stands guard with Rocco and one of Vitale’smen, and see that his gaze mirrors that of the other two dons at the dining room table. They are all worried. As they should be.
For well over six months, I’ve been too erratic, too angry at the world to even see straight. I’ve been acting so out of character that Moretti himself requested this sit-down at his home as some sort of intervention. Everyone is placing their hopes on me, and I can’t be seen losing my shit so close to the finish line. Under such scrutiny, I had no choice but to admit to my failure. To divulge my original plan to them and explain how it all fell apart.
“A good Don is not measured by plans that succeed, but by how he answers when they fail,” Moretti adds, as if reading my troubled thoughts.
Merda.He’s right. I’ve been licking my wounds like someidiota, instead of keeping my eyes on the prize. One lost battle does not mean the end of the war.
“You know the first lesson they should teach a man before he becomes a Don?” the Old Fox says in jest, trying to lighten the tension in the room. “Opportunity does not vanish. It only changes shape. You only need to look a little harder to see it for what it is. So Romano’s first two born sons are his. So what? The others are still bastards. The shame of that alone should have him afraid to show his face. I say we out thestronzofor thecornutohe is. Let’s see how well his men will follow his command then.”
Moretti shakes his head in disagreement. “I’m afraid outing Vincent won’t cut it. There have always been rumors that the Red Queen had extramarital affairs with hisconsigliereand enforcer, and no one has ever looked down on Vincent because of it. No. If we strike at him, we need to strike at his heart. That’s the only way we will weaken him.”
“Very well,” I say, finally entering the conversation that I’m meant to be a part of. “Then what do you suggest I do?” Morettiand the Old Fox think long and hard on the matter, neither one coming up with a solution. “That’s what I thought,” I chuckle sardonically.
“You’re a clever young man, Matteo. I’m sure the answer will come to you eventually,” Moretti says, with a fatherly affection I’m not accustomed to.
Over the years, Moretti has become a positive, nurturing presence in my life. Not only has he managed to persuade most of the families to align their interests with mine, but he was also able to broker the deal with theCamorra.
The Old Fox’s support, however, does come with a few strings. One condition, in particular, always sits at the top of his list. Though I have yet to accept it, he reminds me every time we meet. So much so that I’m surprised he hasn’t mentioned it yet today.
“Let’s not waste time on a future that remains out of our reach, and let’s talk about the present instead. How is your father?” Don Vitale asks, out of the blue.
“If you wanted to put me in a better mood, asking about my father is not the way to do it,” I groan through gritted teeth.
He raises his hands up and laughs. “Relax, young Donato. I only want to know if the old bastard is still alive.”
“He is,” I admit, pinching the bridge of my nose at the reminder.
In fact, the fucker is more than alive—he’s the picture of health. Thanks to Pietra’s insistence, I had to move thestronzointo a safe house better suited for his recovery. It’s been close to two years since he had his heart attack, and he’s still milking it for all it’s worth.
To my chagrin, I had to put an end to his torture, too. Pietra made sure to alert me that, in his frail state, it was only a matter of time before I ended up killing him in one of my torture sessions.
Maybe that’s why I’ve been so uptight recently. I have all this anger bubbling inside me, and nowhere to put it.
“That’s good,” the Old Fox mumbles more to himself than us. “Let’s make sure he keeps breathing a little while longer. Don’t send anyone to kill him just yet. Let us regroup first and see what next steps we need to take before naming you boss.”
“Are my ears deceiving me, or do you sound almost impatient, Don Vitale?” I ask, a haughty smile tugging at my lips.
“If by impatient you mean that I’m eager to get this show on the road, then I suppose I am. All this talk of war has breathed life into these old bones.” He wiggles in his seat like a little kid at Christmas. “So pardon me if I look forward to you becoming Don. You should be just as excited as I am instead of throwing yourself a pity party.” He chuckles, placing his hand over his large, jiggling belly.
