“He can handle it here or he can handle it in jail,” I say firmly. “We’ll give him a choice.”
Diego nods, and this time he doesn’t look away.
He respects me. I don’t know if Matteo still does, in his drug haze, and that’s the problem.
Men who don’t respect me tend to disappear.
It’s not about violence or hatred. There are many men who wish to do violence to me and mine, many men who hate me.
But they aren’t necessarily my enemies. Some of them are even allies. I have to keep my eyes open in this life. There’s no black and white.
Only gray.
I clear my throat and slide on a suit before heading to the panic room.
“How long has he been in there?”
“A few hours. Long enough to be sick,” Diego says miserably. He doesn’t enjoy a moment of this.
Neither do I. I try to be a benevolent leader, but when my men act up I have to make an example. Even if they’re also my friends.
I slide open the food slot and immediately hear Matteo’s sobs.
“Caputo.Boss. Please,” he stammers, half in Italian, half in English. His nose is running and his eyes are bloodshot. “You gotta let me out.”
“I don’tgottado anything,” I drawl, even though there’s some void aching in my chest. This life swallows people up and spits them out. I don’t want that to happen to Matteo. I’m doing this partially out of love, not just for show.
“Please.” He slams his hands on either side of the slot, looking through it with wide brown eyes. “Just for an hour. I’ll come back, boss. I will.”
“You can dry out here or I can have a cop pick you up,” I say flatly, refusing to change my expression or my tone.
“No,” he whines. “No,caputo,per favore.”
I shush him. “Here or there. Make your choice.”
Matteo hesitates, trembling, his cheeks gaunt. He’s lost too much weight, making me think it’s not just the heroin but maybe coke, too. It’s dangerous.He’sdangerous, and if I had a pair of balls I’d put him out of his misery.
But Matteo Ricci…he’d saved my ass more than once when we were kids, kept my dad from finding out that I was running around crazy, experimenting with booze and drugs.
“There,” he says finally, and I know it’s because he thinks he can score in jail. Maybe he can, but I’ll do my damndest to make sure that he doesn’t.
I have plenty of cops in my pocket, plenty of guards, too.
I think I can keep him clean long enough to put him back in his right mind.
Then, if he still doesn’t respect me…
I’ll do what I have to do.
I sigh heavily and slam the slot shut, cutting off Matteo’s sobs.
“Don’t let him go to jail, boss.” Diego holds his hands out as if for mercy.
I shake my head. “He made his choice.”
“You know how that will go, Luca,” Diego continues, frustration evident in his voice. “He’ll score in there?—”
“He won’t.”
