Page 2 of Brutal Vows

He hitches a brow, crosses his arms, and leans against the doorjamb, ready to listen in on our conversation. We don’t have secrets between us. Not between Benedict and me and the way we’ve been pushed to this underground existence in Il Consiglio.

“Matty,” I answer on speakerphone. Matteo has always been Matty to us younger lot. Now that he’s Don, it’s more Matteo than Matty, but nobody cares here.

“We need to talk.”

Right, no preamble. And about time too.

I’m so ready. I’ve hinted for months that I need to speak to him about something, but the time was never right. Yet now everything’s in place, it’s as good a time as any.

“Yeah? Sure.” It’s late morning. My need to defect out of the Mafia isn’t exactly a conversation I plan to have after hours over a beer either. “You know I’ve been wanting to talk to you for months.”

“This is business, not a social call.”

“Jeez, okay. What’s wrong? Is it Steph?” Surely, I would have heard something. Felt something. That sixth sense we both have, tuned into each other since conception.

“No, it’s something else. Haul your ass up here, lil brother. Not over the phone. And Benedict, you stay down there.”

That’s new. Unease crawls down my back as he rings off.

Benedict smirks. “Well, that’s a first.”

“Have I fucked up?”

Impossible. I don’t have the scope or freedom to fuck up in the traditional sense of ‘fucking up.’ That ball landed in Stephano’s court, and he hogged it for years, never allowing me a brotherly turn.

“You never fuck up,” Benedict says, reading my mind.

“Uh-huh.”

I only kill on clear instruction. I play my part to perfection, following the stage director’s every cue. I’m a pro at making money, laundering it, ensuring the coffers are always lined. And now this…what the hell?

“You know what they say. Never say never.”

“Yeah. Good luck, bud,” Benedict says as he makes space for me to walk past and gives me an encouraging pat on the shoulder.

I retaliate with a mock punch to his gut which he feigns hits him so hard, he doubles over.

“I’ll come tell you all about it.”

I’m going to miss him more than anybody else. Steph might be my twin, but Benedict and I have been closeted together for a long time, twins in another way. He might have freedoms I don’t have because he isn’t the incognito doppelgänger, but he always stuck around for me even if he didn’t have to, and this has made all the difference.

I make my way to the ramp and the steel door blocking entry to this part of the bunker from the rest of the underground parking garage and do a retina-scan-fingerprint combo to exit. The security who always monitors this area deep under the high-rise Il Consiglio owns gets a wave on my way through. Matteo’s elevator hauls my ass up to his penthouse suite in less than a minute.

The front door already stands open, my eldest brother waiting for me in his usual tailored suit, charming, handsome…frowning and with a weird pull to his mouth. He probably doesn’t approve of the jeans and black T-shirt I’m wearing.

“Come in. To the office with you.”

The fuck? “Jesus, Matty, you’re freaking me out here.”

“Yeah. We’re sitting down for this.”

I sigh. Here we go again. “Who fucked up and how do I fix it for you? Where do you need me to stand? Who do I smile and wave to?”

He just shakes his head as he leads the way to his office where two glasses, filled at least three fingers deep with honey-gold liquid, already wait on his desk. Bit early in the day for whiskey, isn’t it? Something’s wrong, someone fucked up, and guess who has been called in to mop up.

“The answer to all of your questions is at the altar, actually,” Matteo says as he drops back into his seat behind the desk, his gaze pinning mine down.

“What?” Is this figurative, or…? The altar is so far off my radar, I must have misheard. “Come again?”