Except that today, there’s something new about it. The second I’m at his door, I smell it: flowers.
“Mr. Romano,” Bruno, Matteo’s consigliere, greets me. “Welcome. I’ll go tell the boss you arrived.” He then throws a playful wink at Valerio, the kind that speaks of old friendship and a long text chain of complaining about their respective Dons.
Not that I care. We all know the consiglieri have their own clique, and feel it’s best to just leave them to it. Spares us a lot of headaches.
He leads us into the sitting area. Fresh flower arrangements decorate every wall now, but it’s subtle. Tasteful. Soft blues and whites. They complement the space beautifully, but they’re not Matteo’s style in the least.
Valerio notices it seconds after I do. “Huh,” he says, under his breath. “Our man’s getting cozy. You think he’s got a girl now?”
I don’t comment. But the flowers are familiar. Too familiar. Their style matches the ones at Notte Bianca—the ones their florist does every week for the restaurant.
Interesting.
But Matteo is a Don. More than that, he’s almost a friend. He’s allowed a private life. I don’t pry.
“This could take long,” I tell Valerio. “Go home. Stay with her.”
I don’t need to specify who I mean. There’s only one woman in my life. Only one I care about enough to send Valerio back to.
He smirks. “You know me. I don’t mind catsitting.”
“You won’t have a mouth to speak with the next time you say that.”
“My bad.” He knows I’m joking but he still puts his hand up, feigning an apology. “I’ll send another car over for you.”
I nod, and he leaves. Seconds later, Bruno comes back and leads me upstairs to Matteo’s study.
The Don—as young as the rest of us, new generation—is waiting behind the desk, sleeves rolled up, an empty whiskey glass near his elbow. His reddish hair is a little mussed up and unkempt. Like he’s stayed up all night researching.
Or maybe not researching.
“Matteo.”
“Riccardo.”
He gestures for me to sit. I do.
“I’ve found something,” he says without preamble. “Money trails.” He slides several files across the desk. “I trust Luca got you up to speed.”
Never one to waste time with niceties. It’s one of the things I like about Matteo: straight to business, no detours. “He did.”
“Good.” He taps one file. “These lead back to the Belov Bratva. They’ve been sighted on your turf, so I figured you’d want the honor.”
“You figured right.” Whoever dares set foot in Queens without my permission is dead if they’re lucky. Matteo knows that.
Clearly, these idiots don’t.
Belov.I roll the name on my tongue. I’ve heard it before, I’m sure. Valerio must have told me. Nothing happens on my turf that I don’t know about.
But maybe I was too distracted. Being at Notte Bianca every night meant letting a couple of things slip into next week’s schedule, and then the next, and the next. All worth it for my kitten, but perhaps it’s time I get back on track. For her sake as well.
“What’s the money for?” I ask Matteo as I skim the file. “Drugs? Weapons?”
“No. I don’t think so. Something else.” Matteo’s lips tighten. “I have a bad feeling about this one, Rick. As far as I can see, all their money goes into hospitals.”
“To hospitals?” I frown.
“And medical charities,” Matteo confirms. “A lot of them.”
