"What in the fucking hell am I going to do?" I mutter tomyself, aimlessly looking around my office, hoping an idea will form.
At this point, it's not about getting the perfect revenge. It's about ensuring Father's death—in an appropriate and satisfying manner—but also self-preservation. It has to be done in a way that willnotbe suspicious to anyone in the famiglia. The last thing I need is a target on my back.
My eyes drift to my calendar, and I see the date for the inaugural match of one of the arenas. It's only a few days away, and as I hone in on that, a plan starts forming in my mind.
I just need a precise moment and a perfect audience. The wheels are turning in my head, and soon I have a comprehensive plan of action. One that might not be as satisfying as watching Father's expression in the face of his crumbling empire, but that will at least ensure his demise.
I make a few phone calls to ensure I have eyes on Hastings and his wife at all times.
A few days later, luck is on my side, as I hear from my men that the Hastings have left their apartment.
It seems I don't have to coax them out of hiding.
This plan hinges on their presence for several reasons. They will act as witnesses and as aids when the moment comes. And knowing the truth, they will immediately suspect Jimenez is acting out of fear that he'd been discovered.
I look down at the body at my feet, annoyed I have to get rid of it fast. I'd come here to get Matthew to agree to my plan, but instead, he'd been adamantly against it, saying it would ruin the business.
"Do I look like I care about the business?" I'd answered, and my finger had quickly squeezed the trigger, hitting Matthew straight in the chest. He'd taken a few more labored breaths before succumbing to his wounds.
"Pity," I say, stooping down to assess the mess I made. Taking out my cell, I dial Nero, asking him to dispose of the body.
"Chop him up, remove his teeth and burn the prints, then dump him in the river," I tell him before I go to Matthew's bathroom to clean up. It's best if his identity is never confirmed. I don't need more enemies at the moment.
While Nero deals with Matthew's body, I make a quick trip to my car to change my shirt.
Mamanis already waiting for me, a svelte blonde dressed in an evening gown standing next to her.
"This is Angelique,"mamanmakes the introductions, after which we both start toward Hastings' location.
To drive home the importance of the event, I'd hired a limo to take us there.
"Nothing will happen to you, but the moment you hear shots, I want you to run. Understand?" I tell Angelique as we park in front of a restaurant.
Holding my arm out for her, we go inside. I spot Hastings and his wife immediately, so we approach them to engage in friendly conversation before slowly enticing them to follow us to the arena.
"It's Quinn's first match, after all," I give them my most charming smile as we get inside the limo, the next destination the arena.
I'm tense as we take our places in the VIP section. My father is already there with his latest mistress, and he seems to be in a jolly mood, his hand lodged between her legs. Shaking my head in disgust, I move next to him, Angelique by my side and Hastings and his wife behind us. I don't want them close to my father in case one of them decides to be magnanimous and spill the truth about Jimenez.
The match soon starts, and so does my timer. Quinn is putting on a good show for the audience, and everyone is riveted by the violence on stage.
Looking at my watch, I keep track of the time. When I seethere are a few more minutes until the attack, I lean in and whisper to my father.
"I know what you've done." He freezes, his face still forward.
"What are you talking about?"
"Chiara," I say the one word, and his face blanches.
"Don't worry, though. I've gotten used to it," I continue, wanting to give him a false sense of security. His face seems to relax.
"I knew you'd see reason, son. That bitch, Allegra, was in contact with a fed. You know what we do to traitors."
"Indeed," I clench my fist by my side, biding my time. I can't let my anger cloud my judgment, even though the mere fact that he called Allegra abitch ismaking me see red.
"Besides, it's not as if you cared about her," he scoffs, "you think I don't know how much time you spend at that goddamn brothel," he continues. He doesn't seem to realize that the brothel in question belongs tomamanMargot. "She was replaceable, and luckily Chiara was kind enough to help us save face."
"Save face, Father? Have you seen her? She's fucked half of New York by now." It's ludicrous how hypocritical Rocco can be. It's only right when it serveshispurposes. Chiara's his puppet, so she can do no wrong.
