MATEO

by K. L. Savage

  “Piero. It’s good to see you again.” I reach my hand out and shake the man’s hand. I haven’t seen him since I visited Italy three summers ago. He’s young but grown. “I’m so glad you’ve come to join me, leaving your home. I know it isn’t easy to leave everything you’ve ever known.”

  “Your family and my family have been side by side for generations. I’m happy to be here.” He meets my handshake with his own firm grip.

  “Come on. Join us in the meeting. I’ll buy you a drink.” I place a hand in the middle of his back and guide him inside.

  The club has come together quickly. The walls are black velvet, and the ceiling is covered in purple silk, the same as the drapes in the casino. There’s a dance floor, and a large black chandelier hangs in the middle of the room, illuminated in red lights. The bar stretches across the back wall, the counter sleek with twinkling L.E.D. lights to mimic stars.

  Inspired by my Stellina.

  The glass shelves holding the liquor bottles have different colored lights shining under them to make the liquid in the bottles glow.

  Red, blue, green, yellows, kind of like the planets on Nora’s desk in her dorm room.

  A group of fifteen men is sitting on the couches to the right side of the room. Also purple and blue velvet. Soft materials are sexy. Leather is nice, expensive looking, but velvet? It’s sexy. When people sit on it, they always find a way to stroke it, to feel it against their fingertips.

  There’s a special section of the club too.

  A section that’s only for members.

  A peep show section. Men and women can pay a certain amount and choose what they want to see. I think it’s a section of the club that will do very well.

  Lust always sells. Sex always pays.

  There are metal cages positioned around the room for dancers and two that hang from the ceiling. It’s a dream I never knew I wanted until this moment.

  The club will also be a front.

  “Salve, signori,” I begin. Their conversation dies down and all eyes are on me. I take a seat in my throne, a chair that I’ve had delivered from Italy. It’s black from top to bottom, with red leather cushions. I snap my fingers and Lorenzo, the bartender, straightens from being bent over and places a case of tequila on the bar. “A round for everyone, per favore,” I tell him. He gives me a quick chin lift and flips the scotch glasses in the air as he pulls them out from under the bar. They land with a clank in a neat row until fifteen glasses are lined up.

  Zio stands next to me and I check my watch to see he has about fifteen minutes before he has to leave to get Nora. I pat my pocket to make sure the letter is still there and remember what else I have planned today.

  “I want this to be quick,” I start. This isn’t going to be about the club. The club is finished.

  This is about the family business. This is about making the mafia rule Vegas again. This is about becoming the man I’ve always been meant to be. Now that I have a second chance at life, I’m not going to waste one fucking minute on doing what I’m meant to do.

  “You’re all here because Giovanni fired everyone who worked for Maximo. He called you with the opportunity to work for me and become part of the Moretti famiglia. You didn’t have to come, but you did, and I will take your belief in me to the grave. I will not run the business my brother ran. If that is what you are looking for, then there is the door. He ruined what I built, and I won’t allow it to happen again.” I wait for the men to ask any questions, but they don’t.

  “Tonight is the night everything changes. I have a supplier for weapons. We will move them and ship them across the country or world for all I care. I know we are all well-versed in the weapons department, so on to the next issue. Drugs. There will not be anyone doing drugs in this hotel. The club will house the drugs that we sell but, we will not do drugs. It’s about money. Do I make myself clear? If you want to do drugs, do it in your home.”

  “Si, Mateo,” the wave of my members says in unison.

  I lean back in my chair and stare at all of them, so young, so eager. I’ve known most of them since they were little boys and now, they are doing the best they can do be grown men.

  Vanni, Francesco, Tomas, Andrea, Luca. I knew them in diapers. Here they are, ready to prove themselves and there is nothing better than seeing hungry men ready to climb the ranks.

  “There is one aspect will we keep. The fighting. I know Zio has caught you up on most of everything, but the fighting ring will stay.”

  Donato and Marco cheer while Giorgio pops his knuckles, wanting to get in the ring himself.

  “Fighting will be legal. A UFC ring will be built and the fighters will come. There will be no fighting to the death, but gambling or whatever else that happens—” I lift my shoulders without care “—E cosi. It is what is.”

  Everyone cheers, but as I stand, I down the rest of my drink and throw it to the floor. The glass shatters and the men fall quiet. “Break my rules, I’ll fucking kill you and send your body back to your parents. And the woman you see me with, her name is Nora. She’s mine. Off-limits. You’ve heard what I’ve done to the man that drugged her, I’ll do the same to you. Vanni, clean this up. I have somewhere else to be.” I button my blazer as I walk out the door and Zio is right behind me.

  “You’re going to scare them to death. They barely can grow beards.”

  “I’ve noticed. You couldn’t get anyone more experienced?” I tease him. “All next generation?”

  “Everyone our age has died already. You know it’s just us for the most part.”

  “What about Zio Giuseppe?”

  “That old bastardo? He got out of the game.”

  “He’s a damn fool. There isn’t any other game I’d play than this one.” I pull my keys out of my pocket and head for the garage.

  “I’ll let you know when your package arrives safely.” Zio veers off to the elevator to go get Nora.

  “Vaffanculo,” I curse him and lift my middle finger, keeping a smile on my lips so he knows I’m kidding. “But really, keep me updated.”

  “Si,” he says, stepping into the elevator when it dings.

  I head toward the parking garage, wondering what I’m going to say to the woman I’m about to see.

  I’m sitting in the car, staring at the entrance of the prison, knowing that doing this behind Nora’s back is going to cause problems. I want to take care of this for her, so she doesn’t have to. And while it’s nice of me, she’s going to be fucking pissed.

  I pull the letter out of my pocket and open it. The paper tears, and I hold my breath as I unfold the letter. Nora doesn’t need to see this or experience this. I’m doing the right thing.

  My eyes speed over the paper and what I see makes me regret opening the damn thing.

  “Cazzo!” I curse, slamming my hand against the steering wheel.

  I press my elbow on the door, the rich black of my blazer stark against the red leather. I stare at the letter again and reread it.

  Nora Thompson,

  We are sending this letter as a reminder that Danielle Marie Thompson is set to be executed on April 15, 2021 at three in the afternoon. During the last four years of her sentence, she has had good behavior and with your testimony, there is a chance of the sentence being stayed for appeal and possibility of parole after ten years. To testify, please contact us at…

  “Blah, fucking blah. Are you kidding me?” I’m fuming. What kind of fucking place sends a letter to inform someone of this kind of thing? Do I need to buy this prison too and have it reformed? I ball up the letter and toss it in my back seat, then twist my neck left and right to pop it.

  No, Nora did not need to read that letter. She wouldn’t know what to do. The pressure that puts on someone, that isn’t fair. Her mother killed her father in cold blood and then tried to kill her, and they dare ask her to testify in her favor?

  Fuck no.

  I won’t put that on Nora.

  I slip my sunglasses on and step out of the car, slammin
g the door to let out some of my frustration. The day is warm, the winter slowly fading into spring. It feels good that the chill is leaving the air. No one likes to be cold and if they tell you they do, they are fucking lying.

  People who get the truth confused with lies are the people who lie for a living. Right now, I damn good and well I’m lying to protect Nora, but do I know lies comeback around and bite me in the ass? Yes. I don’t have the heart to tell her the truth when it will hurt so much.

  And that’s the damnedest thing.

  People say the truth hurts but lies hurt just the same.

  I’m not saying I want to lie, but I’m weighing what is going to hurt her more: that letter and making that decision about her mom? Or her being mad at me for a little while?

  I can deal with her anger when it’s directed toward me. I won’t be able to handle seeing her struggling and crying and furious about needing to make her mom’s life easier when her mom left hers wrecked.

  Nora has struggled to be her own woman. She’s worked too hard to get to where she is. She’s so damn brilliant and beautiful. Brilliantly beautiful.

  And Nora is to thank for that. No one else. Her mom did nothing for her but cause her to have to learn to be on her own. Nora’s mother threw her into an unkind world not fit for a soul as pure as Nora’s. She lived. She made it. She’s strong.

  And I won’t let her mother tear her down again. I won’t.

  The fence surrounding the prison is high, with barbed wire curling along the top. There are high towers in the yard where guards patrol on the small balcony outside the tower, pacing back and forth with their weapon. I rub my hand down the front of my shirt and clear my throat as I head inside.

  I’m face to face with a guard half my size but as wide as he is short. Little man is stacked.

  “Please empty your pockets into the bin and your jacket. Have your I.D. ready,” he states, a ‘no bullshit’ attitude frozen across his face. He has a military style haircut cropped low to his scalp and a tattoo on the side of his neck: a skull with flames blazing from the empty eye socket.

  The man might be short, but I could bet he is deadly.

  “Mateo Moretti? Is that you?”

  The guard in front of me straightens when he hears Nicholas Greystone come forward.

  “Warden. It’s good to see you. How long has it been? Five years?” I ask my old friend, who may or may not have covered for me when I killed one of my own men while he was being transported here. Warden Graystone is a good man to have on your side. He has a lot of connections and he can make something go away with a snap of a finger. He has kept me out of prison a few times.

  And of course, the payment is hefty, but worth every penny.

  The guard stops me from shaking Nicholas’s hand, protecting his boss. I quirk a brow, impressed at the loyalty. In a way, Warden Greystone has his own mafia in here.

  “Levi, stand down. Mateo is a friend. He’s allowed in. No need to check him,” he informs his guard.

  “Yes, sir,” Levi glowers, sounding like a solider. His nametag says Gold and his brown eyes follow me as I walk around the metal detector.

  I pause and hand him my card. “If you ever want to be part of something else, you can find me there.”

  He stares down at the card, again his expression unreadable, and then his eyes slide to his boss. “No thanks, Mr. Moretti,” he states. He turns me down, no explanation. Not that he needs one. People usually give a reason. I like that he has the confidence not to have one.

  “Understood,” I say to him.

  Warden Greystone lays a hand on my shoulder and guides me away from the entrance. “Walk with me, tell me how you’ve been.”

  “Well, for nearly a year I had no memory. Remember when my hotel exploded?”

  “Wow, a year? Are you okay now?” he asks.

  “Got my memory back a month ago. So far so good.”

  “Fuck, I’m sorry, Mateo. I didn’t know. My world is this prison. I barely know what’s going on the outside.”

  “It’s okay. I didn’t tell you, and honestly, I thought you would have retired and flown to the Bahamas right now.”

  “No. This is my life. I love it here,” he says, just as the inmates try to get my attention. They bang their hands against the bars that lock them into their block. Some men grab their dicks, others throw up gang signs, and some are looking at me through the small window in their door as they stand in their cell.

  “Yes, it’s… got a flair.” I turn my nose up in disgust. I’d hate it here.

  “Liar. It’s a shithole, but it pays the bills.” He leads me into his office, which is just as plain as the rest of the prison and almost looks like a cell itself.

  The walls are painted gray and there are bars on his windows. There are two chairs in front of his desk. Not even leather, just the cheap metal ones.

  “Dio mio, Nicholas. Does the budget not allow for decent furniture?”

  “Budget? You’re funny, Mateo. The money we get barely keeps this place in regulation and each prisoner costs 31,000 dollars, every year. I don’t have the luxury. I doubt you came here to judge me on my decorating abilities or the state of my prison. What are you doing here?”

  I exhale a breath and cross an ankle over my knee. “You have a prisoner here on Death Row. Danielle Marie Thompson. She’s due to be executed soon.”

  He nods his head and folds his hands together on the top of his desk. “Yeah, I know her. She’s something, that’s for sure. Why are you asking about Inmate Thompson?”

  “The girl I’m dating, it’s her daughter.”

  Nicolas lets out a low whistle. “Damn, you know how to pick ‘em. If I remember that case correctly, she shot her husband, blew his head right off, then tried to kill the daughter. Your girlfriend’s testimony put her mother behind bars.”

  “And according to the fucked-up letter you sent, you want her to testify again so her mother can have an appeal and then get out on parole? I need to make sure that doesn’t happen. The woman has a month left before she officially stops haunting Nora.”

  “You want me to repeal the testimony asked? That isn’t just up to me.”

  “No, but we all know your word is God in these parts, Warden. I want to see her too.”

  Nicolas sighs, stress sinking into the lines in his tired face. I’m asking him to break a lot of rules, rules that he can get fired by breaking. “You know I can’t allow you to see her. You aren’t on an approved visitation list.”

  “You and I both know there is no fucking visitation list for that woman.”

  “Mateo, I can bend rules, but don’t ask me to break them.”

  “Life without parole? You couldn’t swing that? Ten years and she gets parole? Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “Laws change. The system changes. Prisons need more room for the violent offenders and the repeat offenders. She’s been on good behavior, no mishaps, so they gave the opportunity for her sentence to be reduced with the condition of her daughter’s new testimony. Doesn’t mean it can happen. It’s a chance.”

  “A chance I’m not willing to take. Five hundred thousand,” I offer, pulling out my checkbook from my back pocket.

  “You’re bribing me?”

  “One million,” I up the ante. “You can make your upgrades and do whatever the fuck you want with the rest. And I’ll donate every six months to your prison, Nick. You know my word is good.”

  “You’re seriously about to stroll into a prison to commit a crime right in front of my eyes?”

  “What is that they say about ‘old habits?’” I lick the tip of the pen to get the felt nice and wet so the ink comes out flawlessly as I write the check.

  “They die hard,” he chuckles. “Fine. I’ll allow you to see her. As for you other issue, I’ll do what I can and come see you…”

  “Lussuria. My new resort. It’s on the strip. Come in and tell them I said drinks and food are on me, forever. Club Lussuria opens tonight. Be there. You wouldn’t want
to miss it.” I place the check on his desk, place two fingers on the thin paper, and slide the hefty check until it is directly in front of him.

  “I’ll think about it.” He folds the check in half and tucks it in his pocket. “Okay, follow me.” Nick pushes off the arms of the chair to help him get up. His cheap leather chair squeaks and he rubs a hand over his mouth as he walks around the desk. Nick stretches his arm out and leads me out the door. “Death Row inmates are not allowed to have contact. Best I can do is put you in the room where you can talk to her through the glass.”

  “I’ll take it,” I say. “Thank you.”

  “Does your girl know you’re doing this?” he asks, the buzz of the cell door sliding open as the guard allows us through.

  Our shoes click along the cement floors. They are cracked, painted over with the same paint that coats the walls in his office. An inmate throws his body against the bars, trying to scare me, but it doesn’t work. I snort at his attempt of a fear tactic. He has tattoos over his skull and a scar running down the top of his head, over his eye, and stopping right at his jaw. It looks fresh, possibly from a prison fight.

  The guard grabs his baton and hits it across the bars that are covering the man’s face. “Back up, Inmate!” he yells, slamming his baton against the bars again. This time he gets too close and the baton hits the man’s nose, sending blood splattering against the wall.

  “So, does she?” he asks, yanking my attention away from the blood dripping onto the floor.

  “No.”

  We get to another block and the guard presses a button that sounds another buzz. The doors slide open to allow us in, and the further we get into the prison, the quieter it gets.

  “That’s dumb. She’s going to be furious.”

  “She’ll be furious either way.” The scuffs of our shoes echo of the narrow walls. The temperature is cooler and the lights flicker above us. What a shithole.

  Nick stops in the middle of the hall and unlocks a door to his left. “This room hasn’t been used in a while. No one should bother you here.” He flips on the light and reveals a row of small cubicles separated by glass and thin plaster. It gives no privacy, just an illusion of it. I know there is no way other people can’t hear what is being said next to them. “Everything is in working order, but we needed to upgrade so this room, has been a waste of space.”