Chapter Seventeen

Matteo and his father had flown back to the States, where he resumed the duties his father assigned to him. Everything was to uphold the Romanelli power, and he acted like a God-damn robot on autopilot. For three years he cared about nothing and no one, and that included himself. If it wasn't for Rocco watching him like a hawk, he might have joined Macy in the grave.

Instead, he was now engaged to a woman he didn't know. Meeting her left him unsettled, and he wasn't sure if it was because he found her attractive or if it was because she wasn't Macy. Guess it was a moot point. He didn"t need to love her in order to fuck her, so there was that.

A week later, a representative from a motorcycle club showed up to talk about trade negotiations. It seemed slightly sketchy since his father had never previously mentioned them, and before he knew it, a thief and spy had been discovered in their midst.

Matteo stared down at the dead man lying on his father's floor, wondering what the hell just happened. Second guessing himself if he'd heard correctly. Who was this man? And how did he know Macy? He sifted through his memories and remembered Macy talking about her best friend from the arcade.

"Get rid of him," his father ordered before thanking Lincoln from the Death Riders MC. The accountant had been hired to find Pietro's missing money.

Sounds floated in a tunnel, and he had trouble grasping everything being said. Finally, his father left the room and the guards hurried to remove the body.

"What was his name?" he demanded.

One guard blinked. "Reynolds."

"First name!"

"Thomas," the other said. "Thomas Reynolds."

It couldn't be, could it?

Matteo made his way quickly to the servants' quarters. Like the other household staff, the butler had a room, and at first glance it was spotless. Only the bare minimum with a twin bed, dresser, closet, desk and a small, attached bathroom. He started with the desk, but it revealed nothing. He moved on to search the dresser and closet but still found nothing. He uprooted the mattress, not even knowing what he was searching for. In the bathroom he ran a hand through his hair, feeling like he was losing his mind.

Then he noticed the back of the toilet tank was slightly askew. He walked over and removed the lid, seeing a plastic zipped bag with a notebook. Pulling it out, he opened the bag and took it out, discarding the rest in the trash.

Heading back to the room, he sat down at the desk and opened the book. Notes and notes about him and father's movement. Locations, shipping information, even his deals selling diamonds. Pictures were taped on pages with captions. All of it starting the day he had met Macy in the coffee shop, spelled out in ink.

Thomas Reynolds was actually Tommy Reynard. How the fuck had Macy's best friend been hired and he not know who he was? Everyone went through a background check, so did that mean he fell through the cracks or did someone drop the ball? Tommy believed the Romanellis killed Macy, but … why would he think that? It had been the Iannuzzi family.

Or had it?

He pulled out his phone and placed a call to Rocco.

"Yeah?"

"Meet me at my place," he ordered and hung up. He had no patience for chitchat.

Closing the notebook, he tucked it under his arm and left the room, not caring in the least what happened to the dead man's possessions. He slid behind the wheel of his sports car, gunned the engine, and tore down the driveway.

He broke the speed limit getting to his condo. Rocco sat on his sofa watching television, but he turned it off when Matteo slapped the notebook down on the coffee table.

"Look at that," Matteo ordered, pointing to the notebook.

Rocco picked it up and leafed through it. In moments, a scowl had appeared on his face and he went back to the beginning to read all the notations.

"Reynolds was Macy's best friend," Matteo said. "Only his real name was Thomas Reynard and he somehow infiltrated our house. Discovered our secrets. He seemed to think it wasn't the Iannuzzi who killed her."

"Then who did?" Rocco asked, frowning. His gaze never strayed from the book.

"Us," Matteo replied.

That pulled Rocco's gaze upward. "Us?"

Matteo nodded. "My father and myself."

"What the hell? Didn't he know you loved her?"

"Love," he corrected automatically.

"Still?" Rocco asked quietly.

"Always." Matteo ran a hand through his hair. "I have to talk to the head of the Iannuzzi family."

"No fucking way," Rocco bit out. "They'll kill you instantly."

He knew this. Matteo had waged a war against them for three years. If he'd been mistaken, he had no idea how to right that wrong.

"Broker me a meeting," he told Rocco. "Tell them I won't have any weapons on me. Tell them I think… I don't know what to think. First thing first, I have to know if they killed Macy or not."

Rocco gave a nod of acknowledgement.

****

Late that night, Matteo and Rocco parked in a very undesirable part of Chicago. The small strip of territory was a buffer between the two famiglias. The demilitarized zone, for lack of a better description. Without waiting for Rocco, he exited the car and held up his hands. Only then did some soldiers come out, guns drawn and pointed at him.

"What the fuck do you want, asshole?"

The head of the Iannuzzi house, Fabricio Iannuzzi, walked closer. He was a little shorter than Matteo. A little older and a lot more rotund, but just as deadly as him or Rocco.

"I've discovered some information that I need clarification on," he called out.

Fabricio cocked his head. "Information? You're a monster. A butcher."

"So are you," Matteo told him. "I'm here to ask about Macy Moore."

A frown creased Fabricio's forehead, causing the lines there to deepen. "Who?"

Unease slithered down Matteo spine. "Macy Moore."

"Who the fuck is that?"

"My girlfriend."

"Girlfriend?" Fabricio snorted.

"Did you kill her?"

Fabricio stared at him unblinking. "I've killed a lot of people. When was this hit done?"

"Three years ago," Matteo answered. "I have a picture on my phone."

Fabricio stared at him, as if weighing his words. Then he jerked his head to one of the guards, who marched over and took the phone. He brought it to his boss.

"She looks young," Fabricio said. "Innocent."

"She was."

"I never killed her," Fabricio said, shooing away the guard, who brought the phone back to Matteo. "I don't kill women who are innocent. I only kill the ones who try to kill me."

There was a double meaning that Matteo ignored.

"Are you sure?"

The other man leveled a dark glower on him. "I never repeat myself."

"Fuck," Matteo muttered. "We've both been played."

"What do you mean?"

"I was told you killed her," Matteo said, and let that sink in.

"And that's why you went after my family?"

Matteo nodded. "You also went after mine."

"This lie you were told. Was it from your father?"

Again, he nodded. Fabricio pulled out a gun and leveled it at him. Rocco made to place himself between him and the weapon, but Matteo held him back.

"Put your gun away," he ordered.

Rocco glared at him, but did what he was commanded to do. Matteo held his arms open wide.

"I understand you feel the need to kill me and avenge your name. But you'd be letting him win."

"Who?"

"The man who killed her and framed you. Who turned my grief into hatred. My father."

Fabricio raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you an extension of Pietro's arm?"

"If he had Macy killed, then I'll kill him."

"That doesn't make up for what you've done to my family."

"You'd have done the same."

They stared at one another, and Matteo refused to blink. Refused to back down because of a lie.

"What reparations are you willing to give me so I don't kill you right now and take my revenge?"

"Territory," Matteo said immediately. He'd been anticipating the question. "You want in on the distribution through Chicago, and I'm willing to give it once I take over."

Fabricio pursed his lips as he thought. Then, as if coming to a decision, he lifted his chin. "You have a month."

Matteo frowned. "I'm getting married in a month."

"Congratulations," Fabricio said, although he didn't sound the least bit congratulatory. "One month."

Matteo knew he was the one on shaky ground and couldn't say no. "Very well."

Not bothering to say anything else, Fabricio turned and left.

Rocco let out a pent-up breath. "What the fuck just happened?"

"Pack up," Matteo said, heading back to his car. "You're coming with me to Italy to be my best man. And possibly help me kill my father."

"Shit."