Page 1 of Mafia’s Fake Bride

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 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 seen around town.”

He didn’t ask her why she wanted the car seen, or how long he should be gone. He knew there’d be a timeline in there somewhere. Celeste would have taken care of even the minutest detail within that timeline and if he deviated, there’d be hell to pay.

He controlled his urge to inhale deeply and stood to take the file from her. He held his hand out and she slid the file across her desk.

“I’ll have Andy taken care of while you’re down in Louisiana, so make sure people notice you when you’re there. Go out every day, interact in the community, but not too much.” She paused to pin him to the floor with her eyes. “Don’t bring the cops on you down there.”

“Yes, Aunt.” He inclined his head, mainly so he wouldn’t have to look at her lined face or the bright-red lipstick she still insisted on wearing. He repeated the mantra from his youth, the one that always kept him in check. “Just obey, just obey, just obey.” That was all he had to do. Just obey.