Chapter 84 The Problem with Perfection
Matteo
“Damn,” Rosco muttered around a bite of his sandwich, “you’re just now rollin’ in?”
I sank into the chair across from him, dragging a hand down my face. “Yeah, well, try being up ‘til three a.m. doing paperwork and then walking into your bedroom expecting to sleep—only to find your wife hot, wet, and naked in the bathtub.”
Rosco paused mid-chew.
“Then try not fucking her for three hours,” I added, reaching for the espresso he’d left steaming on the table. “See if you don’t sleep ‘til noon.”
He dropped the sandwich. “Three hours?”
I smirked into my cup.
“No offense,” he said, eyes wide, “but I’ve known you for years, and I don’t think I’ve ever heard you clock a three-hour session. Not even with that dancer you flew in from Rio. You were back downstairs in an hour tops.”
“That’s why I specified wife.” I set the cup down and leaned back. “Not some random lay.”
Rosco let out a low whistle. “Right. But you married her for the inheritance, not the honeymoon. You tellin’ me you’re… what? Catching feelings?”
I shrugged. “I’m not sure.”
He gave me a look like I’d grown horns. “You’re not sure?”
“So what if I am?” I shot back. “I’m allowed.”
Rosco’s brow lifted, skepticism all over his face. “You said—and I quote—‘She’s just a means to an end.’ So if that’s changed—”
“Maybe it has.” I cut him off, voice quiet but firm. “Maybe it should.”
He leaned back slowly, folding his arms. “You’re serious.”
“She’s a natural,” I said. “At everything. You saw how she handled Maria—calm as ice, didn’t flinch when I handed her the remote to the crusher. Most people hesitate. She didn’t.”
Rosco grunted, clearly remembering. “Yeah, that was… something.”
“She’s been ride or die when it comes to Luca. She didn’t even blink when I told her we had to keep up the honeymoon act.” I took another sip of espresso. “Then the meeting with Grant—she held her own. No notes, no panic. Knew exactly when to stay quiet and when to push.”
“She did charm the hell outta Grant,” Rosco admitted.
“And then last night?” I exhaled, jaw clenching slightly. “Tabitha walks into that room scared out of her goddamn mind, and Valentina just steps in like she’s done it a hundred times. I didn’t tell her what to say. She just… knew.”
Rosco tapped his fingers on the table. “You can’t train that.”
“Exactly.”
There was a long pause. Rosco broke it. “So what’s the plan?”
Before I could respond, my phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen.
Caesar.
I held up a finger, stepping out onto the terrace. “Yeah?”
“We’re locked in,” Caesar said. “Meet’s happening in three weeks. You know I’m only doing this for you. I’ll be on American soil for seventy-two hours, tops.”
“Perfect.” My mind clicked into logistics mode. “Give me the day, time, and exact location once it’s locked. I’ll have everything set up on my end.”
“You got it. I’ll text as soon as it’s confirmed.”
I stepped back inside just in time to hear footsteps down the hall.
“There you are,” Alessio said, striding in like he owned the place—because technically, he still did.
“I was lookin’ for you earlier.”
Rosco chuckled. “Lover boy just rolled out of bed thirty minutes ago.”
Alessio grinned, clapping me on the shoulder. “Ah, I remember those days. Honeymoon phase—can’t keep your hands off each other, huh?”
He winked like a man thirty years younger.
“Making love all night long,” he went on. “I used to have your grandmother bent over every piece of furniture we owned. Didn’t matter if it was the kitchen counter, the dining table, hell—even the goddamn piano.”
Rosco barked a laugh. I gagged.
“Alright, that’s enough,” I said, holding up a hand. “I don’t need mental images of Grandma getting railed.”
Alessio shrugged. “How do you think you got here? We had to make your father first. Then he and your mother had to make you—in the exact same way you’re trying to make me a great-grandchild.”
Rosco snorted, nearly choking on his sandwich.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Please, for the love of God, don’t say the words great-grandchild ever again.”
“Oh, I’m saying it every day until it happens,” Alessio said proudly. “In fact, I might have a little onesie printed. ‘Property of the Genovese Dynasty.’”
“Rosco,” I muttered. “Kill me.”
Rosco raised his hands, grinning. “You’re the one who married the goddess.”
Alessio turned thoughtful. “She is something, though. I’ll admit I had doubts about the marriage at first. Thought it was a scam, a move to tie things up legally. But from the moment I met her, I knew she was special.”
He looked me dead in the eye.
“You may have accidentally fallen into something real, but that’s neither here nor there… All that matters is that you have it, not how you got it. So,” he paused, “don’t fuck it up.”
I didn’t answer.
Didn’t have to.
Because the weight in my chest—the thing I hadn’t had time to name yet—was already there.
“You said you were looking for me this morning,” I prompted. “Then we got off-topic. What was it you needed?”
“Oh yes, that’s right.” He nodded. “I came to ask if you’ve heard anything more about Luca.”
I leaned back, folding my arms. “Actually, yeah. I just got off the phone with Caesar—literally right before you walked in. He’ll be in New York in three weeks. They’ve set up the meet.”
Rosco sat up straighter. Alessio’s smile faded.
“So we’ll catch him red-handed?”
“That’s the plan,” I said. “Exact day, time, and location are coming soon. We’ll have the place wired, filmed, tapped, and sealed.”
Alessio sighed and ran a hand down his face. “Three weeks…” His voice dipped, the tension creeping back in. “It’s a shame we can’t deal with this sooner. I don’t like having to watch my step when I know there’s a snake in the grass.”
“Neither do I,” I muttered. “But I’d rather pull him out of the weeds once—and gut him right.”