Chapter 8
The words sent a physical chill down Matteo’s spine. The wolves are in the house. It was an old Sicilian phrase, one his father used to say when he suspected a rat within the syndicate. The bright, cinematic light of the foyer suddenly felt oppressive, exposing the terrifying vulnerability of his empire.
"Did the man sound like Grandpa?" Matteo asked softly, holding his breath.
Ava frowned, her innocent, rosy face scrunching up in thought. "His voice was scratchy. Like he had a cold. But he smelled like Grandpa’s cigars."
Matteo closed his eyes for a fraction of a second. His father smoked a very specific, custom-rolled Cuban blend that was impossible to find locally. The evidence was mounting into a horrifyingly impossible conclusion.
"Thank you, Ava," Matteo whispered, kissing her forehead. He turned to the loyal employee standing beside him. "June. Take my daughter up to the penthouse. Lock the secure doors. Do not let anyone inside except me."
"Yes, Mr. Savelli," June said, extending her arms.
Matteo handed the toddler over, watching as June hurried toward the private, guarded elevators. Once the doors slid shut, hiding his child from the danger of the lower floors, Matteo’s demeanor shifted entirely. The tender father vanished, replaced completely by the cold, ruthless Mafia Boss.
He turned to his lead capo, a broad-shouldered man named Vance.
"Vance," Matteo said, his voice a low, lethal hum. "I want the security footage from every camera in this hotel. I want the perimeter swept. If there is a man walking around in my father's coat, I want him found alive."
"Boss, with respect," Vance said, his American accent thick with hesitation. "We buried your father. I was there when they sealed the vault. If someone is wearing his coat, it’s a sick prank. An imposter trying to mess with your head."
"Or my father faked his death," Matteo stated, the words hanging heavy in the quiet foyer.
Vance stared at him, his fair skin paling. "Why would the old man fake his own death?"
"To see who would try to take the throne," Matteo reasoned, his sharp, intimidating eyes narrowing as his strategic mind processed the betrayal. "He wanted to flush out the traitors. He knew Nolan and Celeste were plotting against the family. He wanted to see if I was strong enough to catch them."
"If he's alive, Boss," Vance whispered, "why hide from you?"
"Because he doesn't know if I was in on it," Matteo said, the realization tasting like ash in his mouth. "He doesn't know who the wolves are. He’s testing me."
Matteo slipped the heavy gold signet ring into the pocket of his dark, tailored waistcoat. He adjusted his suit jacket, his broad, masculine frame radiating a dangerous energy.
"I am going to the basement," Matteo commanded. "I need to have a conversation with my future brother-in-law. When I am finished, I will know exactly who is plotting against my family."
"Do you need me in the room, Boss?" Vance asked.
May you like
"No," Matteo replied slowly, his measured pauses dripping with absolute menace. "I need the room to be very, very quiet."
He turned and walked toward the service elevators, his polished leather shoes clicking rhythmically against the marble floor, descending into the dark to extract the truth in blood.
