MATTEO
I should have killed her.
I should have snapped her neck for the disrespect or ripped that mask off to expose whatever game she was playing. My fingers ached to do it, to finally end the threat. But as I stood in that booth, the smell of gunpowder still heavy in the air, I let her go.
I unpinned her from the wall, my hands dropping as I stepped back, the heat of her skin still searing my palms. She didn't move at first. She stayed there, pressed against the wood by her own weight as if the ghost of my grip was still holding her. I didn't look away; I watched the line of her back, the way her breath hitched, waiting for the blow that never came.
I think she was confused. I saw the slight tremor as she finally pulled herself off the wall, a heavy silence stretching between us until it was almost unbearable. Then, the air broke. She let out a low, breathy chuckle that vibrated in the small space, mocking the very idea of my control.
She didn't run. She didn't look back. She simply vanished into the neon haze of the club like a fever dream that refused to break.
I spent the next forty-eight hours trying to scrub the feel of her hips from my memory and the scent of her vanilla-and-smoke perfume from my skin. It was a useless endeavor. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her smirk reflected in that gold-rimmed mirror.
But a Ricci doesn't have the luxury of chasing ghosts. Not when the family is bleeding.
Which is how I found myself, three days later, enduring the pathetic sight of my brothers at a strip club. Luca suggested. No surprise there.
The air was thick with the scent of expensive gin and the bitter, chemical tang of the blow Luca was currently chopping into lines on a glass table.
"I don't give a flying fuck about the Carusos," Luca slurred, his voice rough and spoiled as he leaned back into the velvet couch. He held a tightly rolled $100 bill, the cocaine spread across the glass like powdered sugar. "So what if they're getting ahead? Let them have their little moment."
He leaned down, snorted a line clean with a sharp inhale, and exhaled like he'd just achieved nirvana. Getting high, throwing parties, and fucking models...that was Luca's entire contribution to the family. Responsibility was a word he outsourced.
"I called this meeting because Father told me something," Alessandro announced. His voice was stiff, using that "Acting Don" tone he always wore like an ill-fitting suit. "Something he didn't see fit to tell anyone else."
The lie was so transparent it almost made me laugh. Father told me first. Always.
Marco leaned forward, resting a heavy, scarred forearm on the mahogany table. "So what exactly do we know about these ghost Carusos?"
Luca scoffed, splashing high-proof whiskey into his glass. "We know they've got Father sweating for once. And honestly? I like seeing the old bastard nervous. Makes him look human. Weak."
"He's not scared," Alessandro cut in, his voice clipped with forced loyalty.
"Please," Luca rolled his eyes, taking a defiant sip. "The old man is vibrating. He hasn't been this 'active' since the last commission war. It's like the threat of a Caruso blade is the only thing that gets his blood moving anymore."
Marco smirked, leaning in conspiratorially. "If anything, the only thing that man hasn't been hard for in twenty years is Mama."
The table erupted in a vulgar roar of shared male laughter. Luca wiped his eyes, choking on his drink. "Jesus, you're a sick asshole."
He then glanced my way, deliberately probing. "Matteo, you gonna sit there acting like the goddamn priest?"
I lifted my head slowly from my phone, meeting his gaze. "What exactly do you know about the Carusos, Luca?" My tone dropped a few degrees below freezing. The drunken laughter faded instantly.
Luca blinked, his pupils wide and sluggish from the coke. "They've got Dad by the balls," he repeated, his stupid grin dying when my expression didn't shift. "Well… I mean, fuck, I don't know."
I didn't expect him to. I didn't even acknowledge the answer. My eyes moved to Marco.
He shrugged. "From what I've heard on the street, the old man...Caruso...moves like a ghost. No one's ever seen his wife, his kids... just him. They say he keeps no attachments. Maybe that's why he's still alive and kicking."
I gave a single, slow nod. Useful.
Alessandro leaned in, a nasty, testing smile creeping onto his lips. "Why don't you enlighten us, Matteo? You're the logistics genius, the one who always has the inside scoop before Father even farts. What do you know about the Caruso threat?"
He was trying to corner me, testing my intelligence and my loyalty in one breath. We locked eyes...the tension thick enough to slice.
I breathed out, adjusting the brim of my cap. "I don't know," I said simply.
The silence that followed was heavy and final. Marco blinked, genuinely surprised. "You're shitting me. Matteo doesn't know something? The man must be a shadow then."
Before anyone could press further, a wave of cheap, sweet perfume hit the air. The girls arrived...barely dressed, all skin and attitude. They moved like manufactured temptation, sliding immediately between the chairs. One reached for me...I cut her off with a single, hard look. She stopped instantly, folding her hands behind her back as if burned.
"Who the fuck decided we'd have a strategy meeting in Luca's fucking brothel?" Marco muttered, though he didn't pull away from the brunette already grinding against his side.
"Don't act like your dick isn't already hard, big brother," Luca laughed, slapping a girl hard on the ass before pulling her into his lap.
Alessandro watched me again, his hand sliding possessively over the bare thigh of a platinum blonde. "Father's not here, brother," he said, his voice a low dare. "Relax the asshole act. Grab a piece. Take what you want. No one's judging your strange tastes."
"Don't waste your time," Luca cut in with a crude grin. "Matteo's not into these models anymore. Man's too holy. Probably getting his silent freak on with one of his security guards. He's all business in the front, gay in the back."
Marco burst out laughing, slamming his hand on the table. "Fucking bullshit. I've seen Matteo with women. He just doesn't like putting on a show. Trust me...Matteo's a straight-up freak when the lights go out. A cold, demanding bastard in the sheets."
I swirled my wine glass, the deep red catching the dim light like blood reflecting off obsidian. I took a slow sip, my eyes fixed on the dark liquid.
I could have laughed at them. I could have told them that the women in this room felt like cardboard cutouts compared to the girl who had nearly carved her name into my chest.
But I didn't.
I just smiled...the kind of cold, humorless expression that promised Luca he'd regret his mouth soon.