Mafia's Fake Bride (Mafia's Obsession #2) - Summer Cooper
Prologue
Matteo stared out at the darkness beyond the mansion windows, lost in thought. He’d finally arrived in the small Louisiana town to discover a veritable mansion waited for him. He’d been in that Lamborghini 400 GT for two days, and his body refused to get into it again. Too bad for his body that he took orders from someone that didn’t give two fucks what his body wanted.
A glass of scotch sat on the windowsill, forgotten until he reached for it. The ice had melted, but it didn’t matter. He needed the alcohol to soothe his mind, to help him get to sleep. The pain in his back would stop eventually and he’d be able to relax. He’d had a lot of time to think on the way down here and he knew he had a lot to get done.
Tomorrow would be soon enough, he decided. He’d had a meal, a shower, and now he was in his library, staring out at the foreign darkness beyond. He could see nothing but trees beyond the manicured grass at the side of the huge house. Beyond that, he knew there would probably be swamps filled with mosquitos and alligators.
He was down here for two reasons, the file told him. To collect a debt from a woman no doubt beaten down by time and to branch out his organization’s empire. The second part he’d start later in the week when he met with a man named Jeffrey. The other part he had to start tomorrow. He didn’t like it, but he had to do it.
His fingers tightened on the small glass until it shattered in his hand. Matteo quickly stood up, cleared the shattered shards from his pants, and tossed them in a trashcan. The glass had been drained at some point, even though he’d forgotten about it once again. He filled another glass and walked up to his bedroom.
Once he’d changed and settled into his bed, his mind began to race again. Back to a few days ago, when he’d been summoned by his aunt to her palace of a home in New York. Three brownstone apartments had been torn apart inside to create a huge amount of space that most people in New York would give their eyeteeth for. The outside façade hadn’t been changed, it still looked as though there were three apartments from the outside, but there wasn’t. The Alfonsi Mafia had money, they just didn’t want to scream it out to the world.
Because part of being in the Mafia was keeping that membership a secret. You didn’t shout about it to the rooftops as Andy Rossi did, the little shit. It was his fault Matteo had to leave New York to get the police off his back. He was the reason Celeste Alfonsi, Matteo’s maternal aunt, called him to her palace in the first place.
The current head of the Alfonsi crime-syndicate got her position by marriage. She was married to Nick Alfonsi when he was taken out by a rival group. A group that had since been wiped off the face of the map, thanks to Celeste. The tall, statuesque woman with the strikingly cold brown eyes was ruthless, far more ruthless than Nick had ever been, Matteo had been told.
Nick hadn’t really wanted the role he’d been given by birth; he’d only wanted the money it brought to him. He’d used it to pay for whores, gambling, and drinking. Wasted it, according to Celeste. She wouldn’t have anymore waste. She’d brought the syndicate out of drug peddling and into gambling and guns. The cops didn’t sniff around so much when it came to gambling and guns, at least until Andy started to run his mouth.
That’s when Celeste called in her sister’s son because now the police were looking at him too. They had to get the heat off of him, and she had a plan. A plan that Matteo knew would cost him something, if not physically, at least mentally. His aunt was one blood-thirsty bitch, even if she deserved some of that blood she so craved.
He was the only son for either the Mazza or the Alfonsi line so when it came time to choose an heir, Celeste chose him. Celeste wanted a man to take over her business when she was ready to give up the reigns. She’d taken over raising her sister Angelica’s son. She’d supervised his upbringing since he was 7 years old and had raised him as the son her husband, Nick, hadn’t