Accardi Chapter 108

Matteo sat at the kitchen table in his family’s safehouse with his laptop open in front of him. His hands rested on either side of the keyboard while he stared down the hallway at nothing. He briefly registered a stinging pain on the back of his right hand. He glanced down at it and realized his cigarette was burning his finger. He turned his hand and buried it in the ashtray with the others. He leaned forward and ran both hands through his hair before his mouth stretched against his will into a yawn big enough to shake his entire body. He scrubbed his hair and tapped the mouse on his laptop to wake his computer back up. If only it were that easy for humans. 

His phone lit up beside him. He opened it and saw someone was at the door. Frankie gave a little wave to the camera. Matteo pushed his chair back, careful to not let it scrape the floor too loudly, and went to let his friend in. 

“Goooood mor…”

“Shh,” Matteo hissed while pointing a finger up the stairs. He turned back for the kitchen. 

“Is she still asleep?” Frankie whispered in disbelief. He glanced down at his phone. “It’s almost noon.”

“I’m aware. I checked on her a little while ago. She just needs more rest.”

“Do you think she knows I dosed her yet?”

Matteo sighed and sat heavily in his chair. “Like I said… she hasn’t woken up.”

“Right, but I didn’t give her *that* much. She should have…”

“Frankie…” Matteo sat back and grabbed his cigarette pack. “She killed someone. She’s not like us. Her body is in shock. Her sleeping has nothing to do with a needle and drugs.”

“Right,” Frankie said with a nod. He pulled a greasy paper bag from behind his back and plopped it on the table before he pulled a chair out for himself. 

Matteo took a drag from his cigarette, closed his laptop and pushed it away. He rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb. “Marco’s body?”

“Disposed of,” Frankie confirmed. 

“Did you search…”

“His apartment? Top to bottom. Didn’t find anything.”

“Of course not.”

“Do you think…” Frankie waved his hand in dismissal. 

“What?” Matteo asked.

“Do you think he was lying?” Frankie asked. “Trying to push us so we’d kill him fast?”

Matteo didn’t respond. He took another long drag and let the silence carry on: an answer in and of itself. 

Above their heads they heard a loud thud which brought them both to their feet. Then they heard hurried footsteps which propelled them to the stairs. Matteo grabbed a handgun stowed away in the entryway table while Frankie pulled his gun from his waistband. They raced up the steps and burst into the bedroom, weapons held up, ready to take a shot. Matteo heard the sound of retching coming from the bathroom. He slowly walked to it and sighed long when he saw Gen throwing up in the toilet. He set his gun down on the counter and walked to her side. He made comforting sounds as he squatted down behind her to hold her hair out of the way and rub soothing circles along her back. 

After a few minutes Gen sat backward and let her head fall on Matteo’s chest. “I don’t feel good,” she whispered. 

“I know, Weakness. You’ll feel better soon. Your body’s just in shock.”

“Drugs don’t help,” Frankie added helpfully from the doorway.

Matteo glared over at him while Gen’s head lulled to the side to give Frankie a disinterested once over. “What’s he doing here and what is he talking about?”

“I brought breakfast!” Frankie exclaimed, causing Gen to groan.

“We had to give you a sedative last night to help calm you down,” Matteo whispered. 

“Oh. How long have I been asleep?”

“Ten hours,” Frankie answered. 

Gen groaned as she tried to stand up. Frankie offered his hand and she took it without protest. Matteo followed in her wake as she shuffled back to the bed and climbed on top in nothing but the Warped Tour Hoodie he’d had to finagle onto her limp body after he’d washed the blood from her skin and hair. As she crawled to her side, he caught the sight of her round ass and the pink lips of her pussy. 

He swiveled around. “Get out,” Matteo growled to Frankie who hadn’t noticed as he was on his phone. 

“What? Why?” he asked with a pout of his lips. “I thought you wanted help explaining…”

“She’s tired and needs rest,” Matteo said. 

Frankie raised a brow and opened his mouth.

“I’m apparently in nothing but his hoodie, Frank,” Gen said with a big yawn. “He wants you out so you don’t see anything you’re not supposed to.”

Matteo turned to watch his weakness curl into the bed on top of the sheets and hitch her leg up as she always did which he knew for a fact meant…

“Out,” Matteo repeated with a stern point of his finger at the door. 

“We still have things to discuss,” Frankie reminded him as he went for the door. 

“Yeah, like how if you ever disappear without notifying me again I’ll promote Leo to be my second,” Matteo said with a shake of his head. 

Frankie barked out a laugh. “Sure thing, Boss Man. I think we both know that wouldn’t be fun for anyone.” At the door Frankie suddenly raised his phone up above his head in selfie-mode and snapped a picture. Matteo stormed toward him until he heard the disappointed click of Frankie’s tongue. “Damn. Only got his ugly mug.”

Matteo watched from the doorway as Frankie jogged down the steps and headed for the front door. Once he was certain Frankie had locked up behind himself, he turned back toward the bed. Gen’s eyes were closed but the way she continued to resituate herself told him she hadn’t fallen back asleep yet. He climbed on all fours over the bed, fell onto his back and pulled her against him. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked, pressing the back of his hand to her forehead. 

She sighed as her heated skin met his colder hand. “Like shit.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Can I ask you something that’s been bothering me?” Gen suddenly asked.

Matteo’s muscles bunched tight under his skin. He knew she would have questions about what she’d done. He just worried this event may be the straw that broke the camel’s back. She’d murdered someone. Not just an easy shot from far away either. She’d taken someone’s life in one of the most violent ways possible. He recalled the way she’d looked when she’d walked into that room. He almost hadn’t recognized her. Two of his men had her by the arms but even they couldn’t hold back her wrath. Then to witness her casually pick up that monkey wrench, to sway under its uneven weight and the sneer that tore across her face right before the wrench connected with Marco’s face. He’d expected immediate regret, immediate panic. Instead the sneer had lifted at the edges. Her eyes had brightened, her chest had inflated as if relieved and then she’d broken his knees. 

“Matteo?”

“Hm?” he asked with a jolt as she ripped him out of his reverie. “You can ask me anything.”

“You said last night that you took over the business at 16?”

Matteo pulled back to look down at her. She was tracing his coat of arms as had become habit for her while they laid in bed. He couldn’t see her face but knew by the way her fingers barely glided over his skin that she was thinking hard about something.

“Yes, my dad, he died when I was eleven. My mom took over the family temporarily and I was shipped off to Italy to attend boarding school and learn from the original family of Palladinos, as is custom.” He took a deep breath as if reciting a passage from a text he’d been forced to read each night. “When I turned fourteen I came back home and shadowed my mom for a year. Then she shadowed me for a year and then when I turned sixteen I took over full-time.”

“How many people have you killed?” she asked. There it was. The question and train of thought he’d been expecting. 

He ran his hand reassuringly up the leg she’d hooked around him, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “I won’t answer that, Genevieve,” he whispered into her hair. 

“Do you even know?” she asked softly, her voice small as if worried he would shut the conversation down.

“No,” he admitted with shame. 

“Do you know how many you’ve killed since we met?”

“Weakness…”

“Do you feel bad afterward? Does it eat you alive?” she asked, not backing down. 

Matteo took a minute for her heartrate to slow against his chest. “Sometimes,” he finally whispered. “Like the men I killed trying to get to you when you were with Michele. They were just doing their jobs. But the men I killed who kidnapped you and beat you…” He shook his head against her hair. 

Her fingers stilled against his tattoo. “How did your dad die, Matteo?” she asked.

His body locked up beneath her touch and he suddenly couldn’t breathe. As if his body was transported back to that day, he felt a cold sweat break out over his forehead and a chill sweep down his spine. “Why does…”

“Death is normal in this line of work. I want to know what the likelihood is that I’ll have to live without you or you’ll have to live without m…”

Matteo clamped a hand around her mouth and shut his eyes hard. He didn’t want to hear her say it. The last time he’d imagined her sitting down at his funeral sent him spiraling for days. The idea of attending *hers* would leave him broken for weeks. 

“Why does it matter? Will you leave me if the chances are high?” Matteo asked. Gen could only shake her head as his hand continued to cover her mouth. He let out a long breath. “Then it doesn’t matter how he died. It had nothing to do with our work anyway.”

Matteo removed his hand and put it behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling. He felt her move her head so her chin rested on his sternum. He could feel her eyes boring into his face, trying to read his expression, begging for him to alleviate some of her curiosity.

“If it wasn’t mob related then… Why can’t you talk about it?” she asked, her voice kind, soft, desperate. 

“He was in the South Tower,” Matteo answered, his voice monotone, his eyes still locked on the ceiling. Matteo could feel her breath stall out. It no longer tickled his neck nor did her body even twitch as he finally told her what killed his father. “He was attending a meeting for possible investors when the plane hit.”

“Matteo… I’m…”

“I didn’t know him well,” he responded quickly, not wanting her to feel pity for him more so than she already did. “I’ve told you he was never home. Work was always more important. I was closer with my mom and brother. It’s better to just pretend he didn’t exist.”

“Better? Or easier?”

Matteo didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. She knew. She laid her head back on his chest and resumed her tracing, saving him from more of her inspection. 

“I suppose that’s where your fear of heights comes from,” she whispered absently to herself. 

“There are many legitimate reasons to be *worried*, not scared, of heights,” he argued, causing her breath to tickle his chest as she held back a laugh. “But yes, that is one of them.”

A few minutes passed between them in silence. “Is it true?” she asked. “What Marco said about Becca?”

Matteo sighed and swallowed hard. “Yes, Weakness. I’m afraid it is.”

He felt hot liquid pool along his chest and her sniffle told him what it was. “Do you think it hurt?” she asked, her voice climbing higher with her emotion. Matteo held her tight, not sure how to answer. He could only imagine what Becca went… “When I killed him, do you think it hurt? Or should I have dragged it out longer? Do you think she would feel justice was served?”

Matteo’s mouth gaped open and closed like a fish. Her eyes lifted to lock with his and goosebumps rose over his skin at the murderous anger and intensity he saw there that reminded him of her actions the night before. He nodded and smiled before brushing his thumb across her cheek to wipe away the tears. 

“It was an excruciating way to go, Weakness,” he confirmed, his mouth twitching as her lips pulled into a satisfied smile. He bent and kissed her gently.