Page 192 of Vicious Intentions
“Again.”
We never make it to the car, much less home.
Chapter 43
Matteo
I’ve been summoned. Me! By Moretti, no less.
If I weren’t so exhausted by these last few months, I would have put him in his place. Because, unlike him, I’m out there, on the streets, fighting for my city. Fighting to keep my wife.
Moretti isn’t.
Yes, his men have been instrumental in keeping more Outfit men from entering our city. Rocco has been fearless in every fight we have encountered, but his father, the great Alfonso Moretti, has never seen a day of battle or the horrors we face on a daily basis.
Even Vitale, who is well over sixty, hasn’t shied away from the fight. In fact, the Old Fox looks like new life has been breathed into him with each kill he’s managed to make. I guess some men have a greater bloodlust to satiate than others, though I doubt that’s the reason why Moretti refuses to pick up his gun.
When I walk into his restaurant, I’m not surprised to find it empty. He must have closed up shop while the war is going on. Niccolò told me Moretti was less than pleased that Romano sentall his correspondence to me by leaving letters—and severed heads—at his doorstep. My wife’s father has no idea where we live, but apparently, he’s got Moretti’s address down pat. Just another source of resentment for Don Alfonso. One of many, judging by the look on his face when I walk into the large dining area.
“Have a seat,” he says, less than amicably.
My jaw ticks at the order, but I do as he says. I lean back in my chair, looking relaxed and unbothered by the scowl ingrained on his face.
“You look upset, Don Alfonso. And here I thought you invited me here because you missed me.”
If my words were aimed to piss him off, then I’ve succeeded. But not in the way I wanted.
“I asked too much of you,” he says, shaking his head. “I blame myself for what’s happening to our beloved city. I truly thought you were the man for the job, the one who would break the chains the Outfit has placed on us. But now I see my faith was misplaced.”
“Funny you should say that, considering I’ve never seen you pick up a gun and contribute to the cause.”
“I made my contribution!” He slams his fist on the table. “I chose you, Matteo. Picked you to lead the way.” He shakes his head, disgruntled. “How quickly you’ve forgotten everything I did for you. I backed your claim to the throne when the other Dons were still calling youbastardobehind your back. I made them see you differently. I made you a king among men, one who was supposed to be worthy of his throne. Worthy of usurping his useless father.” He lets out an exhale. “And how do you repay my faith? My generosity? You broke the one rule that would tarnish your claim in everyone’s eyes.”
And there it is. The real reason he refuses to fight at my side.
“I never said I wouldn’t kill my father. You assumed I wouldn’t. That’s on you. Not me. I was entitled to his death. He needed to die by my hand.”
“No, Matteo. You might have earned his death, but that didn’t give you permission to take it. Can’t you see what you’ve done? Half the men under you already know you have Carlo’s blood on your hands. The ones that stand at your side, fear you more than they respect you.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing. Fear can be a very powerful motivator.” I smirk.
“Fear can only get you so far,” he says, with a disappointed, almost exhausted voice. “We might win this war on fear alone, but once the dust has settled, then those who once fought with you will fight against you. The fear of having another tyrant rule over them would be too great a risk for them to take.”
“And areyouone of those men?” I arch a brow.
“Yes.”
I have to give him credit. He could have lied to me right now.
I lean into the table, my shark-like smile stretched wide on my face.
“Do you fear me, Don Moretti? Is that what you are saying?”
“I fear the blood coursing through your veins. I fear there is too much of Carlo for any good to come out of you.” His statement slaps the smile off my face. “A man without honor… a man that refuses to follow tradition for his own selfish reasons, can never be a worthy Don.”
“You think I’m unworthy?” My jaw clenches, just as my hands fist. “After all the lives I’ve taken, after all the sacrifices I’ve made, you think that I’m the one who is unworthy of my title? While you sit here in your ivory tower, not lifting a finger to help? Not doing a thing to see theCosa Nostravictorious? I’m the one who’sunworthy?” I seethe through gritted teeth.
Moretti leans back in his chair and tilts his head sidewise.
