Page 51 of Vicious Intentions
“I need you to bring Doctor Gallo to the bunker. Now.”
“I’ll be there in ten.”
I start pacing the floor, fury coiling tight in my chest, hot and blinding.
If he dies, I’ll kill him. Pezzo di merda!
It would be just like my father to die on me before my plans are ready. Right when they’re finally within my reach. He’d love nothing more than to drop dead as I stand inches away from everything I’ve worked nonstop for these last few years.
Figlio di puttana!
I need the fucker alive. I need the Outfit to believe he’s still running things. His absence from day-to-day business isn’t unusual. Even before my brother died, the syndicate was accustomed to dealing with intermediaries rather than the boss himself. It’s a well-known fact that putting in an honest day’s work was never my father’s style.
Still, there’s a difference between an aloofCapo dei Capiand a dead one. If they believe he’s gone and that I’ve stepped into the role, Chicago will raise the alarm. Eyes will be on me at all times, tracking my every movement. Every decision I make will be scrutinized by Vincent Romano himself until he’s satisfied I pose no real threat to him or his.
For now, I’ve been successful at hiding in plain sight. My father is still the Don, and Romano believes I have no real authority. But if my father dies, all of that will change, and I can’t have that. Not yet. Not until I’m ready.
Ten minutes pass, and without fail, Niccolò arrives. But instead of bringing Dr. Gallo, as I instructed, he brings Pietra. Pietra Rinaldi—-the second daughter of the Rinaldi clan.
Fuck. I don’t have time to dwell on it, because right at her heels comes Rocco, and to my chagrin, Raffaele as well.
“What the fuck?!” Raffaele bellows, eyes wide when he sees our father collapsed in his own filth.
I don’t respond. Pietra is the only one who has my full attention.
“I have to say,” Pietra remarks, her tone only halfheartedly light as she lowers herself to her knees next to my father, “when Gallo asked me to fill in for him while he went on his golf retreat in Bermuda, this isn’t exactly what I thought I’d be walking into.”
With an exaggerated sigh, she presses her fingers on my father’s wrist, checking his pulse, then lifts his eyelids. Moving with efficient precision, she then opens her doctor’s bag, pulls out her stethoscope, and conducts a thorough examination with the limited equipment she has.
“I’d still need to run some tests,” she says finally, “but I’m afraid your father has suffered a major heart attack. I can’t say exactly when it occurred, but my best guess is a few hours ago.” Pietra looks up at me, concern etched into her face. “He needs a hospital, Matteo.”
I shake my head immediately. “No. He stays here.”
“Matteo,” she grumbles displeased, getting up to her feet, “I know this is a difficult concept for you to wrap your mind around, but for one second, can you stop being so goddamn stubborn? If Senior doesn’t get the proper care he needs, he won’t last the day, much less whatever time you have planned for him.”
My body tenses, not only at the familiarity in her voice, but at the way she refers to my father as Senior. She always called him that when I was growing up.
Merda.
I hate that Niccolò brought Pietra instead of Dr. Gallo. Gallo wouldn’t have put so many restrictions on me. He knows better. Pietra, however, is different.
We go back a long way. She’s almost family. Or at least, she could have been if my brother Carlo had made better choices. Pietra’s relationship with Carlo never ended in wedding bells the way she wanted it to. Still, the time she spent with me, Niccolò,and Raffaele was enough for her to always have a soft spot for us, a fondness we returned in kind.
The only Donato she never cared for was our father. She despises him, as much as we do, since he was the one who told Carlo he could do better than her.
I can still remember the night my father talked Carlo out of proposing to Pietra. How he insisted that he set his sights on someone younger, more manageable, rather than choose a woman his own age with a profession as unseemly as an ER doctor to be his bride. In my father’s mind, a woman shouldn’t have a profession at all. She should stay home and wait on her husband hand and foot.
I never thought Carlo would take our father’s counsel when it came to Pietra. But he did. The last thing he did before he died was break things off with her.
It was the only time I ever thought my brother Carlo was an idiot. And it’s that affection I have for Pietra that she’s now using to her advantage.
“Matteo,” she says carefully, “you know there’s no love lost between your father and me. But if you want him to live, we need to take him to a hospital. He needs care I can’t provide here. He needs a bath, clean clothes, and, judging by how thin he is, a proper meal.”
My hands clench at my sides. She’s asking me to give him mercy. He doesn’t deserve mercy. He doesn’t deserve anything.
“Pietra’s right,” Niccolò adds quietly. “He can’t keep living like this.”
“I don’t want him to live!” I snap. “I want him to suffer!”
