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Business partners.
That defined them more accurately. None of them were too fond of the idea of being here today, delivering one of their own on a silver platter, to a rival nonetheless. Yet that was the Mafiosi way. They’d hold their peace and bite their tongue once the priest asked for objections. There certainly were many, but not a single soul would dream of voicing them. Besides, all this was Don Amato’s idea in the first place, her uncle. I was merely too eager to abide.
It suited my purposes perfectly. And so did she.
Francesca Amato.
Fierce. Determined. A princess in combat boots.
“You should be happier, Matteo. You’re finally getting what you’ve worked all these years for. With a ring on your finger, there’s no way Nonno can hold back any longer.”
“I think we’d both be surprised.”
My grandfather, Giancarlo Battaglia, the most respected Don of the Italian mob, was threatening to retire for more years than I could count by now. It never evolved into anything more than words spat out into the universe.
I was his choice for replacement. For years now I’d been the muscle and brains behind the business, resigning to be content to sit in his shadow until it was all made official.
Rules didn’t matter when you were the lord of the fucking food chain. You could flip it with less than a snap of your fingers. Kings to peasants in nothing but a blink.
The rules were his to make and his to break. That’s what power meant. Soon that would be me.
So he had imposed his own set of rules. Ancient and outdated ones brought directly from Sicília, which had failed to evolve into the new era.
‘Loro sono la base su cui costruiamo il nostro onore.’ They are the foundation on which we build our honor. He would lecture my impatience back into submission each time I questioned these rules of his.
Being a married man was just one of them. The last one I needed to fulfill to take my place at the head of the New York Famiglia. Somehow, fate had thrown that last piece straight into my lap, disguised as a peace settlement between our family and the Amatos. That was the rational part of this deal.
There was more to it than rationality. Something I couldn’t quite explain. Something coiled deep under my skin since the first time I saw her.
Francesca.
“Besides, I’m not married yet. We shouldn’t sing our victories before the show is over.” I coldly replied, glancing at my watch. Still no sign of her.
I inhaled deeply once again, swallowing my impatience as I took in every detail in this place. The flowers, the gray satin sashes, the pristine exuberance contrasting with the hard shapes of concealed guns under each suit jacket. No one was taking any chances. One wrong move and this old, stone catholic church would turn into a bloody battlefield.
To an outsider, everything looked normal. As normal as a huge amount of money thrown around without restraint could look.
My mother ran a tight ship, and boy did she deliver. She would stop at nothing less than absolute perfection.
From the guest list to the venue, from the priest to the flowers, from the honeymoon to the wedding dress my bride would be wearing today, Teresa Battaglia had done it all.
All this glamor around me was more than I needed for a simple business transaction. For what I was concerned, a trip to the courthouse would have been enough. My future wife would most certainly agree with me on that.
Not that she was that eager to marry me. Quite the contrary, actually. This was nothing but a show for all the vultures on the non-criminal side of society and a protocol for all the made men who came to witness the new bond between the Battaglias and the Amatos. One that both of us just wanted to get over with.
All my wife-to-be had to do was show up, yet that seemed to be the hardest part of the day.
I knew she would, but not out of her own desire. She clearly respected our traditions and rules. From what her uncle Enzo Amato, Detroit’s Mafiosi Don had told me, Francesca lived and breathed our lifestyle.
His words, not mine.
Francesca was more active than Don Amato would wish, thriving even above his expectations. Out of respect for him and The Commission’s decisions, she would be here today and marry me out of obligation alone.
She had been promised to another man. I wasn’t supposed to be the one standing here today. Liam was. That’s how all this started.
He was irrevocably in love with someone else, so I had offered to take his place, ensuring this truce between both our families was kept. It wasn’t as selfless as it sounded.
I’m no saint. Any good in me runs too deep to find.
