“You really gotta eat, you know that?” Matteo leans back when he’s finally finished and smacks his belly. “Show the people you can afford it, right? Big meals are a symbol of wealth and power. Besides, in our line of work, who knows when it’s your last?”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” I put my whiskey down and lean closer. We’re in a family-owned Italian place deep in South Philly in the heart of Corsetti territory. Another place I’ve known all my life. “I assume you spoke with the council about my ascension?”
Matteo nods unhappily. “Do you really wanna skip right to business, kid? We’ve barely been drinking.”
“Have another glass.” I top him off and keep staring. “What did they say?”
“The same thing they’ve been saying for the past month, ever since your old man died, God rest his soul. You need a wife. A good, Italian wife. You know how they see you, Stellan.”
He puts a frustrated emphasis on my name.
As if I’m the one who chose it.
“I’m sure the council has more than a few options for me?”
“I can rattle off names, but I know you. Not a man in the world can get you to jump without you first wanting to leap, you know what I mean? It’s not your fault. You’re your father’s son. But you’re your mother’s son too.” He gives me a pointed look.
“This is still about my fucking mother?”
“You’re not full-blood Italian, kid. The older timers never had a boss like you before, you know what I mean?”
“My father was the Don. I’m as Italian as anyone else.”
“Except you’re not. He married some Swiss bitch who cut and ran the second she popped you out, no offense.”
I slam a hand down on the table. Wine splashes over Matteo’s glass. He doesn’t flinch, which is good. There’s still some steel in that spine.
“Talk about my mother that way again and I’ll cut your throat.”
“Good luck becoming Don then.” He grins and shakes his head. “Come on, Stellan, you know I’m on your side. The council has their issues, but you can solve them. Marry a nice Italian girl. Guarantee your kids will be nice Italian boys. Make everyone happy.”
I lean back and study the old man. I hate this position, but I know it’s necessary. The Corsetti Famiglia is an old-school operation. They still believe in blood and lineage. Even if I’m the son of the dead Don, that doesn’t give me the right to take over the throne. I have to prove myself. I can’t put a crown on my own fucking head.
No matter how badly I want to.
“I have a woman in mind,” I say shortly.
Matteo’s eyebrows raise. “No kidding?”
“She’s Italian. But she’s not in the life.”
His head wags side to side uncertainly. “I mean, it’d be better if you married that girl, what’s her name, the Di Pardo daughter?”
“You mean the one who looks like she fell off a cliff?”
“Looks aren’t everything.”
“Easy for you to say. Tell the council I’m meeting them halfway. I choose my wife.”
Matteo grunts an affirmative. “I’ll spin it the best I can. You know me.”
I most certainly do. He’s a slimy, smarmy, selfish fuck. He’s also an old gangster, and that means he knows how to play the game.
I finish my whiskey and drop a stack of cash on the table. “We’ll talk again soon.”
“Stammi bene, Stellan.” He salutes me with his glass and proceeds to drink it all down.
One month is a verylong time in our world.
