Page 40 of Matteo
Enzo's here uninvited; again, his disregard for protocols grates my last nerve. "What do you need, Enzo? I'm clocked full today, but appointments are below you, aren't they?" My arms cross over my chest, a barrier against the bullshit I know he's about to spew.
"We all have a business to run, Matteo," he chuckles, dismissing my sarcasm. "But I came to chat about the girls I want to bring through the city.”
"Christ, we're circling this drain again?" I drill him with a glare sharp enough to slice through his smug grin. "We talked. I said no. What part didn't sink in?"
"Sure, this is a conversation to have in front of your lady," he sneers, eyeing Eleanor, who remains oblivious, her fingers dancing across the laptop keys.
"Eleanor's more than you'll ever understand," I spit back, pride swelling as I speak of her new role. "She's my assistant now. She stays."
"Fine by me," he shrugs, yet there’s a glint in his eye that I don’t trust. "Anyways, I wanna move women through the cross, hold auctions at the velvet underground."
"Jesus, Enzo, you deaf or just dumb?” I growl. “Not happening. Gallos can deal with that crap. We've got our hands full with the clubs. No need to add trafficking to the mix."
The irritation bubbles, a caustic mix of disdain and anger. I won't let this city become a cesspit for his twisted fantasies—not under my watch.
Enzo leans in, his voice laced with greed and the sharp tang of desperation. "I know you think that way, Matteo, but we can get up to 500K per piece, and we only need to hold one to two auctions a year and walk away with millions! I’m fucking over peddling drugs and pussy," he spits out, his words seething with the bitterness of a man tired of playing small-time.
"Enzo, what happens to the girls who visit your side of town? I'm not stupid." My voice is steady, but my insides churn with disgust. The girls all talk. They whisper horror tales that cling to our streets' shadows like filthy cobwebs. "I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy. So no, no way am I going to vote yes on pushing unwilling girls into this town."
There's a pause, a moment where Enzo's eyes narrow and his lips curl into a sneer. "We shall see about that," he quips, flicking his wrist as if calling a dog to heel. "Tino!" The name cuts through the air and a bald brute parts from the group of goons outside my office door. He's another one of Enzo's lapdogs, eager to please for scraps from the master's table.
Eleanor tenses beside me, her gaze lifting from the laptop screen just as Tino marches in to hand Enzo a yellow envelope. I catch the flicker of fear in her eyes, the slight tremble of her hands she's trying to hide.
"Take a look at these and get back to me soon, Fratello," Enzo says with that snake-like charm, slipping out the door as smoothly as he came in, leaving behind a silence that screams danger.
"Fuckin' cunt," I spit out the words like venom as my eyes dart to Eleanor. She's sheet-white, her usual fire snuffed out by something cold and shadowy lurking behind those wide eyes. "It's okay, Princess. That complete fuck tard ain't gonna get a yes outta me for pushing girls through."
"He isn't the issue," she whispers, so faint I barely catch it.
"Princess, what's wrong?" The question rips from my throat, rough with concern. I've seen her fierce, I've seen her cutthroat, but this ghostly pallor? It's new, it's alarming.
"Who uses the office two doors down?" Her voice is a thread, almost lost in the heavy silence surrounding us.
"Um, no one at the moment; it's empty. Think the girls have turned it into a lunch room or some shit," I say, confusion gnawing at my gut.
"Why?"
"One of the three men just walked out of the room." Her words are a sucker punch, jolting me to my feet.
"What?!" My heart's hammering, blood roaring in my ears. I yank my gun from its place at the small of my back. "Stay inside my office, Eleanor. Lock the door, and don't open it for anyonebut me."
I barrel down the hallway, fury and fear a toxic mix pumping through my veins. Spike's there, his face all sharp angles and shadows as he comes back from playing doorman to that slimy fuck Enzo.
"What's up, Boss?" He's instantly alert, and a knife appears in his hand like a deadly magic trick.
"Eleanor saw one of the three guys slip out of office three." There is no need to explain further; Spike's been on the same page since dawn when I confided in him and Angel.
"Shit," is all he says before he moves, lightning-fast, mobile clutched to his ear to rope Angel into this mess.
I backtrack, my steps echoing too loud in the corridor. Office three gapes open, barren and mocking me with its emptiness. Nothing. No hint, no clue, no goddamn anything.
Stacy's just a blur of colors and shapes as I stride up to the front desk, the marble counter cold and solid under my palms. "Can anyone tell me why office number three is empty and what it is currently being used for? And who was last in it—they walked out of it about ten minutes ago?" My voice is like gravel, and my eyes bore into them, demanding answers.
"We asked if we could turn it into a lunch room for just the girls, remember?" Becky doesn't look up from her screen, fingers still dancing over the keys.
"Boss, we asked you about it last week," Lisa chimes in, swiveling in her chair with that innocent look plastered on her face.
"Okay, but why is it empty then?" My patience is wearing thinner than the blade I keep in my boot.
