Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55750 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55750 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Matteo DeLuca is fierce and powerful, always getting what he wants. Over six feet tall and the leader of a crime family, I never expect to discover this emotional, musical side of him through his texts. But I make a mistake and let myself get too close.
Now, I’m caught in the crossfires of a Mafia war.
It’s like there are two Matts: the one who ruthlessly does whatever’s necessary to destroy his competition and the one I see—softer, insightful, but still capable of extreme violence, and all without blinking an eye.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
CHAPTER ONE
MATTEO
“If the men could see us now,” Elio says as he strokes his paintbrush across the canvas. “Do you think they’d believe we’re the biggest, baddest pricks in the city?”
I laugh gruffly as my brother slowly brings an image of our late father to life. He passed last year, leaving the DeLuca Family in my control. I always knew I would take over the mantle when the time came, but the experience of learning to lead and actually leading are two savagely different things.
“Don’t beat yourself up, E,” I snap.
When he looks at me, it’s like the years melt away. He’s no longer my thirty-year-old little brother with a mop of dark hair and even darker eyes. His frame is leaner than mine, but there’s something almost intimidating in the glint of his eyes. Maybe it’s the fact he hates violence, but he does it anyway.
“I’m not.” He sighs, looking out the tall window of the great room onto the long lawn of our estate, the walls sealing us away from the rest of the city. “We can’t let people waltz into our city and spike everything from caffeine to weed to heroin with that TNT shit.”
We recently had a problem with another Family trying to make its move on us and tear the city apart for their own gain. Last night, Elio and I rode out with a dozen of our men.
“We made one hell of a statement at their bar, eh?” Elio says with an almost sad tinge.
“You’re getting morose.”
“I am?” he says with a sarcastic grin. “I didn’t know that.”
“You know you’re free to leave anytime you want. You could go to Paris and dedicate yourself to your art.”
“And leave you to handle this by yourself? We both know that will never happen. What do you think?” He gestures with his paintbrush. “Have I made the old man look happy and carefree enough?”
I ignore the jab. We both know that our father was anything but those things. There’s no point replying. Instead, I wander over to the window and watch the gardeners work in the midday sun. I’m dog-tired but can’t sleep after last night.
“What now?” Elio says after a long pause.
“The Gallos should know better than to try any crap after the statement we made.”
“No,” Elio says. “What now … for us? What’s next?”
“I don’t understand the question.”
“There’s something tragic about that,” Elio mutters.
I turn to him, wondering if he wants an argument. If anything, his expression is sad. “Maybe if you explained what the hell you’re talking about, I could answer.”
“Let’s say the Gallos have learned their lesson. Let’s say we’re in peacetime. What are we going to do?”
“What we always do. Run the Family. What else?”
“That’s work. Life can’t just be about work.”
“I seriously don’t get what you’re hinting at.”
He shrugs. “I’m just wondering if this is all life is. Violence. Pain.”
“You’re too damn poetic for me,” I grunt. “I just focus on one task at a time.”
“Yeah. Maybe that’s why I can’t remember the last time I saw you smile.”
I grit my teeth. Maybe that’s true, but I don’t see why he always harps on it.
“Are you going to swing on me?” he asks with another classic Elio smirk.
“Ha ha,” I snap.
“You’re almost forty. If Mom were here, she’d tell you to find a lady.”
Almost forty. I’m thirty-six, but Elio is in a button-pushing mood. I learned long ago not to rise to the bait when he behaves like this.
“You’re one to talk.”
“I’m not the Don. It doesn’t matter if I have an heir.”
“It won’t matter for me, either, unless we think somebody’s going to make a move.”
“There’s always a risk of that.”
“Matchmake me, then,” I grunt, “if you’re so keen.”
He rolls his eyes and then focuses on his painting. Before I can reply, Sofia appears at the door. We think of her as our baby sister despite her being twenty-four. It’s probably because she is so petite, sharing Mom’s delicate features.
“Matty, can we talk for a sec?”
“Sure,” I say, walking away from Elio.
Sofia leads me into the music room. Her violin is propped against the wall, and the big screen shows the beginning of some instructional video, a black screen with red text that reads, Learn to Play with Bella Rossi!
“Is something wrong?” I ask when Sofia turns to me, wringing her hands.
“I hope not.”
I wait for her to go on. When she doesn’t, I say, “Has something happened?”
“No, it’s nothing like that,” she murmurs. “It’s …” She gestures at the screen. “Now that the stuff with those awful people is over, I was wondering if I could start getting violin lessons?”
“Of course,” I tell her. “You could’ve had lessons anytime you wanted. I’ll find the city’s top tutor and have them visit—”
“Wait,” she cuts in. This is clearly taking a lot for her. The blush creeping over her cheeks makes me wonder if we’ve been too protective of her. But in this life, with these stakes, how could we be anything else? “I don’t want lessons like that. I don’t want the top tutors and visits and all the fuss. I want this to be real. Normal. Like everybody else.”