17. Stephano

17

STEPHANO

It's midnight, and the DJ is about to break the roof. The club is pounding with people dancing, and the light show accompanying the music makes everything more frenzied.

I can feel the vibrations under my feet where I'm standing at a railing on the second floor giving an eagle-eye view over the dance floor. The office is behind me, a quieter place to pass the hours I spend here. But midnight is always a highlight, and I have to come and feel the vibes for myself.

When I was younger, I thought clubbing would never get old, but time stands still for nobody. It's not as if I'm old, but at twenty-nine, I've seen and lived through more shit than any man should. Lately, I've come to realize this type of life might have an expiry date for me. It's time I put succession plans in place.

The dancers in the cages along the wall and suspended over the dance floor are part of the theatrics. Some of them work as strippers at our other clubs; some of them are just fucking good at what they do and don't need to shed clothing in the process. Ever since Tatiana, I've vowed to never get involved with one of them again. I shouldn't get involved with any woman, least of all one that makes me think long-term… Scalera boys don't get to love and fuck me if I have to learn that lesson again. The Il Consiglio life doesn't gel with things normal people do.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out. Matteo . Weird. Since we got back from Cannes and he married Tasha, late night calls are not a thing at all. I'm still digesting the whole turn of events in Cannes, but I've forgiven him for putting me through all that hell for this outcome. To see Matteo this happy only made me realize how fucking sad and lonely life has become. I don't know how he's going to balance life with a wife he loves and life as the Don. All I know is we will all protect Tasha, with our lives if needed.

I let the phone ring, not in the mood to talk to him. Eventually, the call dies, but he calls again. This time, I walk back into the quieter office, past the security team monitoring the cameras in the club, to my back office.

"What's up?" I hope this isn't some dirty business that needs wrapping up. I'm not exactly in the mood.

"We have a problem."

Here we go. "Yeah?"

"I need you to pick someone up at the airport."

"Okay…" I say, rolling my eyes. "Doesn't sound like a problem to me. We have drivers for that, no?"

"It's a bit more complicated. Gigi Trapani is arriving at Logan at ten in the morning."

Gigi Trapani. The one woman I'd planned to never see again. The one woman who keeps on slipping into my thoughts uninvited. Into my bed at night where I fist my cock with frustrated longing. The one and only woman I've ever hate-fucked in my life. Not that I actually fucked her, but I did kind of hate on her.

That night eats at me, and I know why. I never treat women this way, and nothing she did warranted such a level of dickishness.

Filthy Mafia paws. Creep. You're just a fucking pimp.

I sigh, trying to suppress the memory. "And this is now my problem?"

"Yep." Matteo makes it clear with this one word that I'm not getting out of it. It's the Don talking, not the brother. "Thing is, she doesn't have a phone with her. You've met her and know what she looks like. So, conclusion: you need to pick her up."

"And then? What's she even doing here?"

Matteo is quiet for a full ten seconds, and already I'm pacing the office.

"She's calling in a favor," he finally says.

For fuck's sake. There it is. I knew our trip to Europe was going to haunt us. There's no such thing as a free lunch. "You're the one who used their yacht. Hell, you spent more time with her than I did when she kidnapped you."

This isn't exactly true, but?—

"I have a meeting in the morning," he says, ignoring my segue. "She's with her younger sister, Carla, so?—"

"What level of favor are we talking here, Matteo?"

There's a lot of I scratch your back, you scratch mine in the crime circles we function in, but before I commit to something, I'd like to know what I'm getting into.

"We didn't have time to discuss the details."

Well, shit. This could be anything. From a private tour of Boston to burning a body. "So, I pick them up and drop them off at your place?"

"Probably, yes."

"Still don't understand why a driver with a name board can't do it. I train at ten."

"I've a feeling they don't want their names plastered all over the place."

I drop my head back with a groan. No phones. No names. Mafia princesses on the run . "I'll pick them up. But when I drop them off, I'm done."

"That's fine. Tasha will be at home."

We ring off, and I pocket my phone. For a moment, I stand idle, wrapping my head around seeing Gigi again, four weeks after I made her come with a bottle of champagne.

A lady who fucks like a whore. As if I'd ever call a woman that.

Mafia paws. Creep. Pimp.

Of all the things she called me, the first one hit the hardest.

I know why her words still eat at me, why they made me spin slowly out of control until I tossed the vilest thing back at her, knowing how it would hurt.

Ever since I nearly beat a kid to death at fourteen, I've been keeping my filthy Mafia paws in check. I was expelled from school for what I did. It was kept under wraps, but I spent time in a juvenile facility for two years for anger management. None of that helps when it's in your blood.

If it weren't for Alex, my older brother who died in the shootout twelve years ago, I probably wouldn't be here today.

He's only half your blood, Stephano, but it doesn't mean you're like him. Be the better man and learn how to control it. Otherwise, he'll have control over you forever, and that's the last thing any of us want.

As if Alex knew he was going to die young, he had the most wisdom of us all. He knew how to work the Don, warding the man off when he could. Between him and Matteo, they made a barrier between us and the man who fucked with my head. Turns out the damage was already done, though.

Now Don Scalera is dead. He died just after we came back from Cannes. I never saw him again, but he haunts me, just like he did when he was alive. You can fight all your demons, but when it's in your blood, in your veins, it's so much part of you, you are the demon. You'd die without it, and you die with it.

I beat him out of my system every day. An exhausted man isn't keen to use his fists. Now I'm going to miss my training session tomorrow, because as karma has it, the one woman I've treated like a piece of shit is coming to town.