Chapter 35

CESARE

Hours later, I lean forward on the desk, staring at the wall of monitors broadcasting different angles of the Phoenix. Music filters in through the walls, making the office seem more isolated.

I miss my pretty little pet. I could have played with her, but Benito kept blowing up my phone about tonight's meeting. Roman wants to delay starting a war with the Galliano brothers, while I need them both to die with my secret.

What a pity Roman assigned Benito to watch the front door. He probably knows I would have shot the Galliano envoy, whatever the consequences, but not for the reason he thinks.

Fuck. I wish Rosalind was here, bound and kneeling beneath the desk between my spread legs. Nothing beats hate fellatio. She could glare daggers at me while she swallowed down my cock to the root. Every time her teeth grazed my shaft, I would wonder if she would bite.

My gaze drops to the camera I set up in the underground playroom, where Rosalind lies within her binds. She's sleeping, based on the app monitoring her vital signs. When she awakens, her blood sugar will dip, and she'll be plagued once more with hunger pangs.

An alert pops up on my screen. It's a photo from Miranda of a pizza she's warmed up from the freezer and a large tub of ice cream.

I glance at the time. 10:34 PM. My stomach grumbles, reminding me I should have eaten more than Sofia's rice pudding.

Miranda asks when I'm going to fetch her, but I can't answer. I'd planned on flying out earlier today, but I had to pick up Samson's head, chat with Leroi and Seraphine, take the head to Roman and wait for him to finish talking with Rosalind's boss, then deliver the head to the Di Marco Law Group, so they could release Frederic Capello's assets to Roman's special guest.

I don't want to make Miranda promises I can't keep.

My gaze wanders back to a monitor, where Roman and Gil sit in the club's VIP section, waiting for the Galliano envoy. When Gil rises off his seat, I stiffen in mine, only to slump as he approaches some blonde.

Gil steers her toward the front of the club, looking as though he plans to throw her out through the front door. Instead, he opens the side door leading to the cloakroom and bends her over a table.

"Look at that!" I say with a laugh.

When Gil isn't up my ass being Roman's second set of eyes, he's a helpful motherfucker. Always willing to scoop up a clingy woman I'm tired of fucking.

That's what I did with Leroi. The moment I was sure he no longer wanted Rosalind, I snapped her up before anyone else could shoot their shot. Except I won't discard her.

Rosalind is mine until she perishes.

On the next screen, a pink-haired woman walks into the frame, where the camera points at our security guard, Bruno, standing in the alley, smoking a joint. It's Tania, the former bartender who caught me waterboarding Ricky Ferraro and later spat in Miranda's cocktail.

My eyes narrow as she gets on her knees and pulls down Bruno's zipper. I snort. "Is she trying to get back her job?"

As her head bobs up and down over his shaft, a masked figure steps into the frame, holding a gun. He shoots Bruno, then punches Tania unconscious, leaving her lying in the man's blood.

I jump to my feet. "What the fuck?"

The figure turns to the camera, pulls off his ski mask, and waves. It takes a moment to process that manic grin. Then it hits like a punch to the gut, leaving me winded.

Matty Fucking Galliano.

My heart races. Every vein in my body surges with adrenaline and rage.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

He can't be here, outside the building, where my brothers can see him. They'll want to know why the fuck he's grinning like a lunatic into our security camera with Bruno's blood staining his boots.

They'll ask what kind of message he's trying to send, and he'll tell them every filthy secret I've been desperate to hide.

I rush to the security console, turn off the camera pointing at the alley, and delete the past five minutes of footage.

After grabbing my gun, I sprint out of the office and through the hallway, knocking down employees as I hurry past.

"Boss?" asks one of our security guards from behind.

"Stay away from the exit," I bark.

By the time I reach the door and push it open, both Bruno and the unconscious girl are gone, and there's no trace of Matty. I inhale sharply, my nostrils filling with the faint stench of garbage and urine.

My heart pounds and I glance up and down the empty alley. That was no hallucination. I know what I saw.

When I glance down at my feet, the ground is wet. I'm about to check that it's blood when someone steps out from behind the dumpster, casting a long shadow.

This is the first time I've seen Matty Galliano in the flesh. His silver hair sweeps off his face in loose curls that fall inches beneath his ears. His long nose dominates his face, overshadowing beady eyes and a mouth as sharp as a razor.

Today, he wears a black leather duster with white gloves and a matching turtleneck that stretches inches beneath his chin as though he's allergic to fresh air.

The air crackles with tension as he approaches, each step calculated and deliberate. If he thinks he's a predator, then he's found the wrong prey. I'd sooner stick a knife in his windpipe.

"Looking for me, son?" Matty Galliano's gravelly voice sets my teeth on edge.

"Don't call me that," I snarl.

He flashes me a smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling with false warmth. "Scared of the truth?"

Bile rises to my throat, making me want to spit. My blood boils at the sight of this man, another reminder of Mom's infidelity.

"Don't tell me you're the Galliano envoy," I say, my lip curling with disgust.

He flicks his head toward the club. "Tommy's in there, talking to Roman."

My throat thickens. Both Galliano brothers crossed into New Alderney.

"What the fuck do you want? I'm under orders to shoot any Galliano sympathizers."

"Is that any way to speak to your father?" he asks with a smirk.

"You're not?—"

"You've been ignoring my calls," he snarls, his words as hard as his eyes. "I tolerated this bullshit because I had an heir, but my children and wife were staying overnight at Cousin Freddy's sixtieth."

It doesn't take a genius to work out that Leroi killed Matty Galliano's family along with the Capellos. Now, this twisted old bastard thinks he can harass me into replacing his dead offspring.

"What do you think I am? Your spare?"

His smile drops. "You're my last chance, son."

"My father is Enzo Montesano. Not you," I grit out.

"You have my mother's eyes," he says as if I hadn't spoken, "The Galliano build, even the same hair."

"No," I rasp.

"You're my son, Cesare. Tommy had a vasectomy after having his sons, and I'm the only other man who fucked your mother around the time of your conception."

I breathe hard to control my rising anger, but when his words sink in, I turn off the gun's safety with a click. "Shut your filthy mouth."

Galliano raises his pistol. "Don't do this, son."

"Get fucked."

"Just hear me out. Tommy went to a lot of trouble to organize a meeting with Roman. He could be walking into an ambush just to give me a chance for us to talk."

"Then say what you want and leave," I snap.

He nods. "We want you to join our ranks."

I laugh, the sound manic. "Why the fuck would I leave my brothers for a pair of crooks who stole our meth lab?"

"Because we're your blood." He pats his chest. "You ever wonder why you don't have your brothers' bulky build or dark brown eyes? It's because you're a Galliano, not a Montesano."

"I take after my mother," I say through clenched teeth.

"Look again. You're the spitting image of my son when he was your age."

There's no reply to that statement because it's the truth. I've seen family photos online and there's no denying the resemblance. Five years ago, Mom left a note beneath my pillow, explaining the truth of my parentage and urging me to leave my brothers behind and join the Galliano family before they learned the truth.

"Roman has been out of the game for too long," Matty says. "He's weak, just like his father, Enzo. Tommy is expanding our territory to New Alderney. The Montesano family is a sinking ship, and I'm offering you a lifeline."

I stare down the barrel of Galliano's gun, wondering which one of us is faster on the trigger.

"Don't think of shooting, Cesare," he says. "I have four other guns trained on your head. You have twenty-four hours to give me an answer."

"The answer is no."

"Twenty-four hours," he bites out. "I will not take no for an answer."

A fist of anguish tightens my chest at the implication that he will force my hand by telling Roman and Benito my secret. The Galliano brothers don't just lead the biggest crime family in New Jersey. They're close associates and beloved cousins of Frederic Capello.

My brothers must never discover I'm related to any of these bastards.