Chapter Eighty-Seven
Paul’s boy-next-door image cracked, showing the sadistic man he was trying to hide. “You swore, I swore, a lot was said and ignored, wouldn’t you say?” Paul asked, shaking Matteo’s hand with a grip that was meant to intimidate.
“These are my associates, Leo and Stephen,” Matteo said, bobbing his head to his men.
“Good to meet you, Boys,” Guerra said, walking around the table to take his seat.
Matteo smiled across the table at Paul. He actually resembled Guerra to the point they could pass as relatives if you weren’t paying attention. They had the same surfer-dude blond hair, aquamarine eyes and smiles that were only surface deep. Paul smirked as if he’d won some grand prize and Matteo returned the favor. His adrenaline was already pumping. Having that fucker there as Guerra’s backup would make this plan all the sweeter.
“So, I assume you’d like to pick up where we left off in New York?” Matteo asked.
“You mean when your lady started pummeling that poor girl into the ground?” Guerra returned, nodding his thanks to the waitress who gave him a cup of water.
Paul chuckled. “Gen always had a short fuse when it came to certain things.”
“That’s right, did you know Paul here used to date the woman you are currently seeing?” Guerra asked, sitting forward and templing his fingers.
Matteo sat back, unphased. He knew the moment he locked eyes with Paul that he would have told Guerra everything about his weakness. “She may have mentioned dating a pathetic loser who lost a football scholarship and screwed around on her. Then again I guess I should thank him for setting the bar so low.”
Paul’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Paul growled, so easily stirred up.
“You’re right. I’m not a cheater,” Matteo said with a light shrug.
“Now, now, let’s play nice,” Guerra said.
Matteo could tell by the glint in his eyes that he’d brought Gen up on purpose. Hell, that was probably the only reason he wanted Paul around. Fucker didn’t know when to keep his mouth shut. Guerra probably knew everything about the track Paul had worked on down to the thread count on the bolts used to secure the stadium seats… And how many of O’Brien’s men were stationed throughout the park ready to deal out their shit.
“Anyway, I think we left off with you grilling me on the ins and outs of every operation in the city,” Matteo prompted.
Guerra took a long swig of water and Matteo knew it was so he could formulate the perfect response. “Yes,” Guerra started. “Things are getting a bit boring out here. It’s the same weather, same little punks, same high prices on my goods. The taxing rate in California eats away at my profits.”
“I hate to inform you that New York isn’t much better. If you’re looking for a lower tax rate, may I suggest an enterprise in Wyoming or North Dakota,” Matteo offered.
Guerra laughed. “I like you, Accardi. I think we’d work great together.”
“Is that so?”
“Seriously, especially if we got rid of your cousin. What’s his name? Michele?”
Matteo’s fist clenched under the table. No one addressed an Accardi, Galante or Palladino by their first name. “Galante.”
“Right, right, Michele Galante,” Guerra said, not hearing the way Matteo’s voice had turned to one of warning.
“Paul here has told me plenty about your tracks and casinos, but for me, I’m more of a drug runner. You have a few partners working through your tracks but I know Michele isn’t one of them. I don’t want to step on your toes or the toes of your professional partners but Michele’s operation… That’s a nice piece of the pie.”
“There are many leaders in New York running drugs,” Matteo said, refusing to confirm Michele was one of them. “It’s a big city.”
“That it is. Far as I can tell, the Galantes and your family have never been at odds. Well, at least until recently.”
Matteo sat back and tapped his fingers against the table. “Sounds like you’ve done your research. I’m learning so much about my own family.”
Guerra chuckled. He held his hands up in mock surrender. “Apologies from one Don to another. I’m only trying to bring up the fact that if, for instance, I were to get a piece of Michele’s action, I would be of no threat to you. I know there has always been a split between the Accardis and Galantes. Your family turned one way, theirs turned another. Imagine what you could do if that side of the business was open to you.”
“Yes, Accardi,” Paul interjected. “No more need to work with the Irish or make deals with the Russians. You could work with a fellow Italian. Have suppliers for your tracks run through a single individual who wants nothing more than to be left to their own devices and make you rich.”
Matteo narrowed his eyes at Paul.
“Of course, we could get a few things in return. For instance, we would love a membership at your club in New York,” Guerra said with an elbow nudge to Paul.
Matteo chuckled once, looking between the two. “Wow, too good to be true. I stab my own cousin in the back, be the first to get my family involved in drugs, destroy connections it’s taken me decades to build and two new members added to my club?” Matteo made a face of blissful disbelief.
Guerra’s smile faded. “Look, you’ve heard what I’ve accomplished in this city. New York is where the real action is. It’s the setting for every great mafia leader in the world. I just want my piece of that history. I’m bored here. I want some excitement. Some challenge. I’m coming to you first as everyone at this table knows you are the one on top there. Work with me or don’t. I’m only here as a courtesy. I’m coming to New York, and I’ll take what I want whether you get something out of it or end up six feet under.”
Matteo knocked the table twice, signaling to Leo. “Threatening a man you yourself just labeled as the most powerful man in New York?” Matteo scoffed. “I have to hand it to you. I don’t know how you’re able to sit up straight with the size your balls must be.” He leaned forward over the table. “I know exactly what you’ve been doing out here. You’re not the only one who has done his research. I’ll admit, it took me a beat to figure out what you were playing at. Actually it was my woman who pointed it out to me,” he said with a pointed look at Paul. “You think I’d be stupid enough to let you into my business to take it apart and hand me over, just like that? Is that really all it took for the men out here?”
Guerra’s eyes narrowed. “The men out here folded like origami paper. They’re weak and sloppy. Unchallenging.”
“It’s amazing what you’re capable of accomplishing with an even more corrupt system than ours at your back,” Matteo observed.
Guerra’s eyes narrowed further. Matteo knew why. He was trying to calculate just how much Matteo knew. How badly did Matteo want to tell him, but he couldn’t risk it until he knew for sure. That was what tonight was all about: confirmation. A cop, undercover or in uniform, could always be spotted under once precise condition… Okay, there was more than one way, but this one would be far more fun.
“Don’t forget where you are, Accardi. This is my city. I hold the power here.”
“Do you?”
Guerra laughed through his nose. He sat back and folded his arms. “Gonzalez, Martinez!” Guerra called.
Matteo didn’t need to look to know two men seated at different tables near the entrance stood up. He’d spotted them when he’d first come in.
“Come put a gun to Mr. Accardi’s associates’ heads.”
Matteo barked out a laugh. “Gonzalez, lock the door. Martinez put a gun to the hostess’ head.”
Guerra’s eyes widened. Again Matteo didn’t have to look to know the men had done just as he'd asked. The hostess screamed as Martinez did as he was told. That’s what he’d been doing while preparing for this meeting. He’d found a list of all of Guerra’s close associates. It didn’t take much to find them and even less to bribe them to switch sides. One great advantage to coming from a family generations in the making was the built up wealth that came with it. Old money spoke far louder than new.
“The rest of you, do as you were told,” Matteo instructed everyone else in the restaurant.
He could hear chairs scraping back as everyone in the restaurant stood up and began corralling those not involved in this mess out of the restaurant. Matteo waited for the noise to die down before he sighed.
“I have to hand it to you, Guerra. You put up a hell of a fight. If only you had stayed in your lane,” Matteo said.
“You have no idea who you’re dealing with,” Paul growled.
“Shut up, Paul,” Guerra said, his eyes filled with fury.
“Yeah, shut up, Paul,” Matteo agreed.
Matteo raised the handgun he’d sat on his lap and fired. The bang of his firearm broke the silence in the restaurant like a thunder clap. Paul’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and his body slumped over but that’s not what Matteo was watching. His eyes were on the rat. A man of Guerra’s standing should be used to seeing death. It wasn’t uncommon for a man to be killed in one of these meetings. How they handled it, spoke volumes. Annoyance, anger, even indifference were most common when dealing with someone who maneuvered in the dark underbelly of society. Fear and disbelief, however, were only shown when someone didn’t really belong. Both emotions flashed quickly across Guerra’s blood-splattered face as he stared wide-eyed down at his most recent hire.
Matteo stood up and noticed Stephen with his gun drawn, scanning the room for threats: good man. He then glanced around at the various men stationed within the restaurant preventing anyone from coming or going: the various men who were called here by Guerra. He looked back at Guerra, who had recovered his expression, but far too late. Matteo smirked.
“Sorry we can’t stay for dinner. Remember,” Matteo said, leaning down and placing his palms on the table. “Power can’t be bought by fucking pigs. Go back to the office and tell your superiors that I am not to be touched. Mention my girl again and absolutely nothing will stop me from finding every last member of your family and everyone you’ve ever called friend so I can have the satisfaction of watching you bury them.”
Matteo didn’t wait for a response. He pushed off the table, turned on his heel and headed for the door. He checked his watch, knowing his plane was waiting for him. He’d bought out a large portion of the police department, but he knew that wouldn’t be enough to stop Guerra from calling the contacts Matteo wasn’t able to find. No reason to take the risk of getting stopped. He needed to get back to the city that was his. The one where every cop was on his payroll. Matteo flexed his fists, relishing his first kill in weeks and the power that surged through him because of it. He was Don of one of the largest mafia families in the country. It was time to remind everyone of that.