given her before his death. She’d never been a mother to Matteo, she’d been a taskmaster to be feared, and Matteo had given her the respect she demanded.
He didn’t like her, but she didn’t care about that. She wanted an heir, a prince that would be king to her mighty throne. Even if she wasn’t known as a queen.
His thoughts drifted further into that day, sitting in her study, lined in dark woods and books she’d probably never read. Matteo doubted anyone had ever cracked the spines of those books, if they were real books. For all he knew, there were no words written in those pages, only blank paper made to fill out the ornate leather spines of the ornaments.
“I need you to go to Louisiana,” she’d started her audience with a command. For that’s what it was, a command, not a request.
“Alright. What am I to do down there?” He’d sat on the small pink leather-covered loveseat, made for tiny people in a bygone era, certainly not for a man of his size.
“I need you to collect a long-owed debt, Matteo, one that has been a long time coming.” Her hard brown eyes had drilled into his.
Brown eyes were usually described as soft, warm, mellow, honeyed even, but never hard. Hers couldn’t be described as anything but hard. There was a note of something even harder than amber in her brown eyes. Maybe petrified wood would be more appropriate.
He tapped at the glass of scotch in his hand, a glass of scotch he didn’t sip at all while he was with her. It was there for show, after all. He knew better than to drink anything she’d poured, not because it might be poisoned, though it might be. No, he didn’t drink in front of her because mere mortals were not allowed to take any kind of sustenance in her presence, even if she’d offered it, except at the dinner table. So, he held the glass and waited.
He had an inkling of why he was being sent to Louisiana, the cops were heavy after Andy Rossi, the loud-mouthed prick. He couldn’t keep anything to himself, which is why he hadn’t wanted to take the man into his organization, but his aunt had overridden his worries because he was the son of an old friend of hers. Fat lot of good that had done them.
“I assume you’ve made all the arrangements?” he asked in a monotone voice, it wouldn’t do to sound like he didn’t want to go or doubted her abilities. Even now, at 32, he gave her the respect she’d beaten out of him as a child. It was a hard habit to break, even as a grown man. She could order him dead, or poison him at dinner if she chose to.
He watched as she tapped at her glass with scarlet painted fingernails shaped into dagger-like points. The nails were too long to be useful, merely for show then, and a sign that she was a woman who performed no manual labor. And dangerous, just like her. His eyes narrowed on her as she spoke again.
“I’m thinking of retiring after you complete this task. It’s time for me to explore Italy a little more, enjoy the fruits of my labors. And it’s time for you to earn your living.” She’d looked away from him, her iron-gray hair a mass of waves down her back. She wore a black shirt by some Italian designer paired with black slacks. They both showed off a frame kept slim not from exercise but from the nervous energy she could not get rid of.
“I see.” He paused, trying to think of a sentence that might be appropriate but not judgmental, that she could twist to her ways. “I will do as you wish.”
It was the most noncommittal thing he could think of to say. You had to think carefully around Celeste, choose your words wisely. “I will do my best” might mean you’d done shoddy work before but wouldn’t now. “I will settle this matter quickly” could mean you wanted the old bat gone and out of your hair, which would be such a no-no with her. You had to step carefully with her, otherwise, you might lose your head.
“Good. I’ve arranged a house for you, a car, and help while you are there. The details are in this file, along with the keys to the house and the car. It’s a long drive, but I want that car to be