Page 62 of Bloody Savage God
“I appreciate that, Mateo. I can reassure you that whatever you have to say, I won’t hold it against you.”
It may just be words, but they seem to reassure Mateo enough to keep talking. “Mr. Romano has been coming to the restaurant a lot more often recently, always meeting with people or sitting at the bar where people can come and join him to chat.”
That’s not a big surprise. Mateo’s family owns the Italian restaurant located in the Italian block where many of our people have houses. It is less than a ten-minute drive from the villa, shaping this part of the city into an Italian neighborhood. That my uncle is hanging out there more these days makes sense since he’s trying to usurp leadership of the family. He’s busy recruiting the support he needs.
“And is there something specific you have overheard?” I prompt, certain that Mateo showing up here this late has got to be based on more than my uncle’s increased desire for company and good food.
“Well, he’s been talking about how you’re, you know, talking with the Russians, which might piss off the Angelo syndicate.”
“Talking with the Russians?”
“Well, Maria, she said he’s been suggesting a bit more than that. Like he suggested that if your father was alive, he’d have wanted you to marry Riccardo Angelo to secure the Italian hold on Toronto, and that he’d turn in his grave if he knew you were screwing around with the Russians.” Mateo’s voice speeds up as he gets through the last part of his explanation, obviously worried how I’ll take the news.
That fucker.
I get up and pace to the window, seething, but not wanting Mateo to see my expression. However much I hate it, a tiny seed of doubt is flaring up in me, and that’s the last thing I need anyone to know about.
Would my father have wanted to arrange a marriage? Riccardo suggested that there was a general expectation for such an alliance, but my father had never said anything to me.
I turn around, smiling at Mateo just as Anton knocks on the door and enters with my coffee. “Put it on the table, please,” I instruct him.
When Anton leaves, closing the door behind himself, I pick a coffee liquor from the bar and pour a decent amount into my coffee. After the evening I’ve had, it’s well-deserved.
“So my uncle is spreading rumors. It’s to be expected,” I tell Mateo, whose face shifts into an expression of relief. Whether that relief is from me accepting my uncle’s betrayal so calmly, or from my dismissal of the news his wife overheard as a mere rumor, I can’t be sure. Little does he know that my uncle has done a lot more than talk smack.
Then again, a smear campaign might just be his most effective weapon.
Still, I’m a little surprised. After all, openly bad-mouthing me while sending a hitman after me could put suspicion on him. Of course, he’d likely spin it to say that either the Russians betrayed me, which any Italian would believe all too easily, or that Riccardo Angelo put his foot down like some overbearing cuckold. It’s ridiculous, but I could see it working.
But, if he took that route, Mario might get the Angelo syndicate to be ticked at him, which isn’t something he would be able to afford, so it’s more likely he’d point his accusing finger at the Russians, using it as a way to align himself with Riccardo against the increasingly unruly Bratva.
Hell.
“What do you want us to do?” Now Mateo sounds much less uncertain and his show of loyalty makes me give him another smile. A genuine one, reserved for rare occasions.
Instead of answering, I tilt my head. “How is the restaurant doing, Mateo? Are your parents doing well for themselves? How about Maria? Does she like working there?”
Mateo takes a moment to adjust to the change in topic, but then he smiles back at me. It’s toothy and genuine, reminding me that Mateo is one of the most easy-going people in the family. “Business is good. My parents are looking at retiring soon, and Maria is doing a fantastic job running the place already, so she’ll take over completely. We’ve already hired a few people. Benji’s kid, you know, little Thomas, he’s old enough now to work in the kitchen, and Romeo’s wife is doing the tables.”
“That’s great to hear. You tell Maria I’ll come soon to have some of her delicious Pizza.”
Mateo nods. “She’ll like that.”
“You know, with business being so good, have you guys considered expanding? Your place is fantastic, but you only have how many tables?”
“Seven.”
“Right. Maybe we should have a family dinner there sometime? It’d be nice to come out and have the kids join.”
That has Mateo’s eye brighten with pleasure. “Maria would love that.”
“And if you ever think about expanding, come see me. No reason to go into debt. Since it’s for the family, I’d be glad to arrange a place. Have a chat with Maria and let me know what you think. I don’t want to put too much on your plates with your parents going into retirement and all.”
I take a sip of my coffee to let that sink in for a few seconds, then I go on. “I was actually having dinner with Riccardo earlier today. We went to this fancy place, Mariana’s in Etobicoke, and we ordered tiramisu for dessert. I might have developed a new craving. Does your sister still sell baked goods from home while she watches the kids?”
Mateo’s older sister, Helen, was one of the few girls that came around the house when I was younger. Now she runs a daycare for many of the families in my employ. We never had much in common, but she’s a hardworking woman and that I can respect.
“She does,” Mateo says. “There’s no one who makes a better Tiramisu than her, I can promise you that. Not even some fancy restaurant.”
