Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

MATTEO

I t's the middle of the night, and I can't sleep. I'm not sure how many times I've watched the video. The first time I watched it, and she walked into the frame, I paused it, my mouth salivating like I was some beast. She's just wearing casual clothes, which is no big deal.

Yet it was— is —a huge deal. I stared at the thickness of her ass in the short shorts, the way I could see her ass just about poking out the bottom. My dick got rock-solid as I stared, imagining what it would be like to push her shorts aside and slide my pre-come-wet dick up her leg and toward her entrance.

There's something so savagely hot about the idea of pushing the shorts aside and driving my dick deep into her tight, wet heat. We'll both be too hot to bother with undressing. We won't be able to tame ourselves. We won't even be able to try.

The first time I saw it, I couldn't stop myself. I ran into the bathroom and jerked my dick so hard and fast it was like I fell into a fever dream. It was like I could feel her pussy kissing the tip of the dick tightly. When I exploded, it was like I was inside of her, emptying myself until I was completely spent.

After, I actually watched and listened to the video. Sure, I noticed the way her tits swayed. I also saw the passion in each stroke of the bow, the flush of determination in her cheeks, and how she shifted, perfectly capturing that wildness she was talking about.

Now, sitting up in bed, I watch and listen to it again. Her performance is primal, unlike anything I've heard before. She has serious talent.

I put my phone down, only to pick it up again with a groan. I need to stay focused now that the Gallos may be back. I need to remember that this is for Sofia, not for me.

There's something else, too, something I wouldn't admit to anybody. There's a piece of me that's afraid of how I feel. It's not a huge deal for most people. Most Dons have a long line of women. They take their pick, but not me. I've risen to the occasion by staying focused, sober, and alert.

Bella makes me feel anything but.

When the performance is over, I rewind the footage to the beginning. I don't go all the way to the beginning, where I can see her backside in its full glory. I know I'll get carried away again. Maybe when all this stuff with the Gallos is over, I'll ask her on a date.

Even then, what if I fuck it up and ruin this for Sofia?

Hell, my head's going around and around in circles.

I'm about halfway through my fourth listen when a text appears from Enzo. You awake, sir?

Since all my men are technically employees of DeLuca Investments, they should call me sir over the phone in any digital communication instead of Don. That way, if the cops ever scoop us up, they won't fix on that word. Then again, if the cops grab us, it might be too late anyway.

Yes, I reply.

A moment later, my cell phone rings.

"Sir," The Whisper says.

"Enzo," I reply. "What's going on?"

"Vito and I have been doing some digging. It looks like it is Orlando, after all. A couple of junkies gave us a description which led to a dashcam. We've got footage that clearly shows it's him. Vito is in the 'burbs since we've got word he has a grow house out there."

"Good," I say, nodding. "The sooner we can end this mess, the better."

"Amen to that," Enzo replies, "but there's something else. Junkie mentioned Orlando started offering ‘special treats.'" Enzo's voice drips in disgust. "That's how he phrased it. Do you need me to say it?"

"Are we talking trafficking?"

"Yeah."

"Are we talking kids?"

He swallows audibly. "Yeah."

"Jesus Christ. What did the junkie say, exactly? No, wait. Meet me at the Rossa."

"You got it."

I hang up, climbing out of bed and rolling my shoulders, feeling so damn ready for a fight. All this tension in me has got to go somewhere.

Enzo and Vito are waiting for me in the office. Vito smokes a cigarette. The big man looks shell-shocked as he slowly blows out smoke. Even Enzo's usual sly, knowing grin is absent. The wiry man stares at me with hollow eyes.

"What's going on?" I growl, closing the door behind me.

"You show him, big man," Enzo says.

Vito stubs out his cigarette and reaches into his pocket, offering me a few pieces of paper. I take them and look down. Darkness grips me. This is part of the life. The nastiness. The evil shit. The Family relies on me to be strong, but as I stare, I almost want to quit being the Don.

The image shows the inside of a metal container with three kids tied up like animals.

"This is Orlando's doing?" I grunt.

"Without a doubt," Enzo replies, nodding.

"Where are the kids now?"

"With our police connections," Enzo tells me, "but who knows how many more there are? It looks like …"

"Go on," I snap when Enzo trails off. "We can't hide from the facts. We can't pretend this isn't happening."

"We did the right thing getting rid of the Gallos," he says.

"But?" I snap since there is clearly one.

"It looks like Orlando was purposefully waiting outside the city. He knew we were going to hit his cousins hard. He knew it'd leave a power vacuum."

"He was waiting to take over, to bring more TNT and this shit?"

"Looks like it," Enzo says.

"Let me see this motherfucker," I snarl.

Vito hands me another piece of paper. There are two images on it. One shows a grainy silhouette. I can spot a glint of silver in his mouth and a sleek Mafiosi-style suit. The other image is a mugshot of the same man, his eyes looking psychopath-blank.

"He's got to go," I grunt.

"Agreed," Vito growls.

"Any luck in the 'burbs?" I ask.

"He wasn't where the junkie said he would be," Vito replies.

"Shock," Enzo says sarcastically with a heavy sigh.

"How did you find these kids?"

"A contact at the dock. He noticed two of his colleagues meeting with the Gallos."

"Bring those colleagues to me. Now."

Vito gives Enzo a look. "Told you." He walks toward the door.

I raise my eyebrow at Enzo when Vito leaves the room. "He said he knew you'd want to see them."

"You didn't think I would?" I ask.

"They're just working men who were too scared to say no."

He sounds like my brother, dammit. "Where does the responsibility start then, Enzo?" I growl. "These men knew there were kids in those containers. They knew what they were doing."

"Gallo had men watching their kids," Enzo counters.

"So I'll ask you again … Who the fuck takes responsibility?"

Before he can reply, Vito kicks the door open, dragging two men behind him. One is pushing sixty, with pronounced gray hairs sticking out of his nose. The other is almost entirely red-faced, eyes glassy with terror as Vito drags them over to the table and shoves them into chairs.

I rest my fists on the table, leaning over the men. "Explain."

The older man takes a deep breath, almost like he's rehearsed this. When he speaks, I feel sick right down to my core. "I never wanted to be part of this. They threatened my family and said they'd hurt them if I didn't help. I was terrified for their safety. I knew it was wrong, and every time I thought about those kids, it made me sick. I'm deeply sorry for what I've done. I never meant to hurt anyone, especially children. I was only trying to keep my family safe. I made a terrible choice. I'm asking for your understanding, and I'm willing to face the consequences of my actions."

I shake my head slowly. "What is it you think you've done?" I growl. "Because you sound like you've written an apology for leaving a job early or missing a payment on a goddamn credit card, mother fucker ."

Slamming my fist on the table, I lean down further, staring at the man as fire surges through me. Flames lick at me and tell me to hurt them, to kill them, and end any chance at a future they may have thought they had.

"I'm sorry," the other man squeaks.

"You're willing to face the consequences?" I snarl at the first man.

He doesn't seem so sure now. Looking into his eyes, it's clear Orlando spun him a web of bullshit. Maybe he tricked this idiot into thinking the DeLucas were defanged cowards.

I turn to Vito. "Beat their faces into bloody messes, but don't kill them. Also, break two fingers on each of their hands. Then make sure they go to work tomorrow so all their colleagues see them. Even if their bosses send them home, people need to know."

"Wait!" the big, red-faced man cries as Vito nods in a cold, matter-of-fact way. "I didn't want any part of this! Please!"

"Enzo, with me."

As I walk toward the door, the older man makes a mistake. He yells, "Scared to do your own dirty work, is that it?"

I spin back around, jump at him, and hit him in the face twice. His nose shatters on the first. On the second, there's a loud click as his jaw dislocates.

Outside the office, my breath ragged and fast, I tell Enzo, "I want you with our cop connections. Make sure those kids get the best care. Do your best to find their families. Use any resources you need to."

Enzo nods. "Sir."

Once he's gone, I wipe my hand on my jacket pocket and leave the sound-proofed area. Music begins to pump through me. Walking across the dance floor, people walk out of my way, sensing how ready I am for violence.

At the bar, I order a whiskey, throw it back, and let it burn down my throat.