King of Stars (The Next Generation #2)

38. Matteo

Chapter 38

Matteo

M y wife didn’t notice the look Armando gave me in the mirror as Placido navigated LA’s bumper-to-bumper traffic. She was too busy staring out the window, trying to take in a world that she’d only be spending a short amount of time in.

It wasn’t my decision to make for her, whether she wanted a part of this world, but I’d made a decision as soon as my eyes met that sleazy motherfucker: he wouldn’t be a part of her world. That woman he’d brought along, the one who kept fluttering her lashes and licking her lips at me, was a fucking trap. She might have been with him, but he was into sharing.

The word “sharing” wasn’t even in my vocabulary, unless it came to sharing gelato with my wife while we walked the Seine.

And if he looked at my wife like he did the night before, he was going to find himself sleeping with the fishes.

I also had intel on his deal with Noemi. He’d fucked her over. She thought they had been in a relationship. Lies. Lies. Lies. All fucking lies. He’d led her on because of who she was, Gigi Dolce’s daughter, and she had connections to the Faustis.

He’d met one last night, and it was a meeting he’d never forget.

It was going to change his life.

Those wild ideas in his head, about fucking with my heart, was only going to leave him without one. I didn’t even need to hear the truth in his thoughts when he gazed at my wife from across the table. I could see it in his eyes.

The desire.

The money signs.

The possession.

My wife didn’t even seem to notice. She was too pissed about the trap across the table.

And I didn’t tolerate anyone hurting family, or who we considered family. I shared blood with Noemi through my grandmother, Grazia, who Graziana was named after.

Sitting up some, I fixed my suit, then turned my eyes to my wife.

Our eyes connected from across the back of the car, and her cheeks flushed. She was thinking about last night and what I’d done to her. I was always in control, but last night, her words ripped through my leash, and I was set free inside of her. Echoing the pleasure and pain she caused me. How she’d made me feel inside.

“Are the beaches here like the ones we went to in Sicily?” Her voice was quiet, and I could tell she had something deeper on her mind, but she was keeping our conversations on the surface. Almost like testing me to see if I’d talk to her.

“No,” I said. “They’re different.”

She nodded and looked away from me. “My mom told me once that an old Italian woman said people move to California so they don’t die.”

Armando and Placido both glanced at her through the mirror. I stared at her until she turned and faced me.

She lifted a hand. “I’m being serious. I remember it. Sometimes the lady would give her squash. She grew it in her backyard. It was big and long, almost like a baseball bat or something.” To give me an idea, she put a long and wide stretch of space between her hands. “Sometimes it was a little twisted, and it was a real light green. Mom would fuss at me when I tried to smack things with it.”

“Cucuzza,” Placido said from the front seat, and he grinned after.

It wasn’t his normal grin. It was a grin I recognized as him thinking about something private. I was sure there was some fucking joke between the men about the gourd and their fucking gourds.

“No.” Stella shook her head. “That doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Sometimes it’s called gagootz,” I said.

“Yes!” She smiled at me. “That’s it! I remember how fun the word sounded. Mom would say, We must eat our gagootz from Mrs. Mary to keep strong, bestie boo! ”

“Is that what she called you?” I asked. It was the first time she’d ever, so openly, shared something like that with me.

“Yes. I was her bestie boo.”

It was the “was” that got her. As soon she’d said the word, the entire car fell silent. I took her hand in mine, covering it completely, and then brought it to my mouth, kissing her fingers. She glanced at what I was doing, looked at me, and then looked away.

Even when we’re on opposite sides of whatever we’re feeling , I was conveying to her, I’ll still take care of you. I’ll always love you and I’ll never leave you. I vowed this to you.

“Thanks,” she whispered.

My eyes flew to hers.

“For...” she sighed “…not having them tear down the glass around the pool. I really like the idea of swimming all year long.”

“I’ll talk to you first next time.”

“Okay,” she said, but it seemed like she wanted to say more.

Say something like, we both know that wasn’t what last night was about. But until she came to terms with how she was feeling, and why, I couldn’t answer for her. I could only speculate. We might know each other down to the bone, but she was still free to speak her own mind, her thoughts, her feelings.

“Do you want to know why Mrs. Mary thought people never die here?”

“Sì,” Placido said, riveted.

I shot him a look in the mirror, and he looked away.

Stella took a deep breath. “If I remember correctly, it was because when Mrs. Mary came to visit a cousin who was getting married in…San Francisco, I think… she said they had no cemeteries. She didn’t see one. She was from New Orleans, and they have plenty out in the open. So, when Mrs. Mary couldn’t find one in California, she assumed no one died. Where did they all go?”

The two men up front became quiet, but their eyes started pinging nonstop. They were looking for cemeteries. We didn’t see any, but bodies were easily dropped in the ocean.

It was like my thought went straight to Armando because he met my eyes in the mirror again and gave me a subtle nod.

As we pulled to a stop in front of the hotel in Hollywood, Stella sighed. Placido opened my door for me, and I smoothed my suit as I went around the car to open my wife’s door. I gave her my hand and she stepped out, just like the star she is. She was in a black dress and blazer, and her heels were high and sharp.

We were shown to the suite I’d secured. A few minutes later, Noemi knocked and Placido let her in. Oscar emerged from one of the rooms. He’d gotten there before us with some of the other soldiers to make sure the room stayed secure.

Stella poured herself a glass a water and took a seat next to me at the bar. It was early, but my tongue was craving the taste of bourbon. Preferably licked off my wife’s inner thighs, but since we had an audience…later.

“So,” Stella said, trying to break the awkward tension between Noemi and Oscar. “Where are you taking Noemi on a date, Oscar?”

Oscar glanced at my wife before his eyes settled on Noemi. “To an Italiano restaurant-ah, then to a, ah, outside concert.”

“Oh!” Stella smiled at them. “That sounds like fun!”

When my wife’s voice got like that, careless and free, I studied her. I wanted to know the cause. I’d end it all to put a smile on her face and to hear the joy in her voice. That was stolen from her for much too long, and now I was the fucking thief who’d steal it and give it back to her.

“Yeah,” Noemi said, going for grapes on the counter. “Fun!”

Stella shot her a look. Like, you’re being mean. Noemi sighed and continued picking at the grapes until a knock came at the door. Oscar went for it and so did Noemi, their shoulders hitting before she beat him to it. She smoothed down her outfit, checked her reflection in the mirror, taming any hairs, and then opened it with a wide smile.

“Damon!”

“Hey, babe,” he said, looking past her. “I didn’t want to be late for a meeting with my star.”

“You’re right on time.” She moved out of his way and let him inside.

If Oscar’s eyes were anything to go by, he was imagining Damon Carter’s death and how it would go down as he stalked behind the sleazy motherfucker. I’d already got to my feet and was standing between him and my wife. She sat behind me, taking sips of her water, and when she noticed the trap wasn’t with him, she sighed, like she’d released a ton of pressure from her chest.

“Stella!” he said, going around me to her. “There’s my star.”

Stella. Not Mrs. Fausti.

Strike 1.

“Ah,” Noemi rushed out, stepping between my wife and Carter. “Let’s tell Stella what we have in mind before they have to leave.” She tapped the face of her watch. “Extreme time constraints, you know.”

Even from behind me, I could feel that Carter was about to take my wife’s hand, maybe going to kiss it, and Noemi knew I would fucking throw him out the window if he did.

“Then we can talk business with her husband,” Noemi rushed out again.

A ticking noise was coming from the corner. Oscar hid in the dark shadows, but he was making his impatience known with his mouth, like he had something stuck in his teeth. Before I could look at Armando, he said something in low Italian to Oscar. The room grew silent.

“Business with her husband?” He walked in front of me and finally faced me like a man. “You her business manager? Her agent?”

I grinned, and it came slow. “Anything or anyone tries to get close to my wife, they go through me first.”

Carter nodded like a bobble head, his expensive gold watch catching the light and hitting Oscar in the eye. Oscar cursed in Italian and moved out of the shadows. Noemi gave him a stern look. He returned it. Though with Oscar, it was sometimes hard to tell. That was just the natural set of his face.

“I see, I see,” Carter said. “Are you venturing into the agent business now?”

“Nah,” I said.

“What do you do then, ah, Mr. Fausti? Or is that all you do? Represent your family’s name?”

“Financial investments,” I said.

“Well, ah, don’t take this the wrong way or anything, but Stella here needs a pro. She needs someone like me to help her navigate the biz.”

Stella. Not Mrs. Fausti.

Strike 2.

He whirled around me again, and even though my back was turned, I knew he was devouring her the same way he had the night before with those wide, greedy eyes. He was imagining things I refused to even think, or he wouldn’t be quick enough to take another breath.

Damon Carter didn’t seem to need many of those. He was talking like someone who could rehearse an entire sonnet on one breath. He wasn’t as hyped up the night before. If someone was judging him by looks alone last night, they might have assumed he had some control, some respect. He was nothing. Nothing but a body made of flesh, blood, and bone. And the animal inside of me recognized it right away—he had nothing to separate him from being another animal, like honor, respect, romance. He was a food source, and I’d see him as one.

“I know what Noemi and I discussed, but here’s what I’m thinking, instead of doing her script, we go with another one, about a tortured wannabe star who can’t seem to make it in the biz. We give you an entirely different look, short black hair, a glitzy wardrobe you put together from secondhand shops, because, you know, you want this life so bad, and then…BAM! You end up as a stripper, and a man comes to save you! It satisfies the girlies who want plot, but also satisfies the ones who want raunchy sex scenes, and I think we should change your last name, you don’t want people to only be interested in you because of your last name, right?” He snapped his fingers. “We should call you Star! Star Woodbridge!”

His entire existence.

Strike 3.

“Damon,” Noemi barely got out. “That’s not what we discussed.”

“Take a hike for a while, all right, babe. This is business with a star. You know nothing about the business. You hide behind the camera. That’s your place, behind the camera.”

Again, even though I couldn’t see my wife, I knew what she was doing. Shaking her head. When I turned, I found her doing that, but in a way that made me go feral. The look in her eyes was almost vacant and it was like she had no control over the shake of her head. All those years of being trapped with the Nemours and the Russians, and she was just reminded of who she’d been. Who the fucking world imagined when they looked at her.

Before I could move, Stella must have noticed the look on my face, because she hopped off the chair and stood in front of me. Noemi took the Deadman by the expensive shirt and practically dragged him into the other room.

Noemi’s voice came as a whisper, but Damon’s was irate and screaming.

“You brought me here for this shit, Ryan! Fausti name or not, she’s not perfect for your sappy film, she’s perfect for mine . It’s my way or the highway, babe!”

“You do realize who’s in the next room, right?” Noemi sounded as nervous as fuck, because she knew. “That’s…That’s Luca Fausti’s grandson.”

“So, I should be afraid of a financial guy?” He made an incredulous sound. “His name is Mah-tay-t ow ,” he made my name sound like it rhymed with potato, “not Luca. I have men who will eat him alive for dinner. They’ll rip apart his flesh, bleed him dry with one bite!”

“Did you bring them, and an army too?” Noemi’s voice seemed to linger. “I think you’ve been in the movie business too long, Damon. You can’t separate reality from fiction.”

Noemi had lost control of the situation. Damon Carter came barreling back into the room, where Stella was still standing in front of me. When he reentered, I set her behind me, and her arms came around me, like she could stop me from bulldozing this near-future food.

“This is it, Stella. If I leave this room, I’m not coming back. You agree or not, and that’s final. Sorry, Star, but that’s the way it is.”

“You’ve wasted your time, Mr. Carter,” she said, her voice firm. “Your role isn’t for me, and neither is the Hollywood scene.”

He went to open his mouth, but with just a flick of my eyes, Oscar took him by the shirt and hauled him toward the door. I went to take a step forward, but Stella turned in my arms and put her hands against my chest, her eyes pleading with me to stay.

“It’s customary to walk guests out,” I said. “That’s all I’m doing. Seeing him off.”

She studied my eyes, and when she found no lie, as she never would, she stepped to the side. I fixed my tie and suit, and then in a few long strides, made it to the door. Damon Carter was outside of our room, on the threshold, fixing his messed hair and going for his phone.

When he realized another man had walked up, he looked up, fury in his eye. Looked like Oscar had elbowed him in the other. It was swollen shut. “Your people put their hands on me,” he said. “I’m calling my attorney.”

“You do that.” I turned to leave, then turned back, snapping my fingers. I stared at Damon Carter with, if he was smart enough to recognize it, dangerous intent in my eyes. He stared at me with his good eye, nothing but empty vitriol glaring back at me. “Tell me, do you enjoy fishing, Mr. Carter.”

“Like on a yacht?” His face scrunched up. “Yeah, I guess so, why?”

I smiled at him, only half of my mouth curling up. “ Bene. Bene. ” I patted Oscar on the shoulder, and I felt his subtle nod at my touch. “We’ll make our date on a yacht then. We’ll consider it payment for this entire waste of time.”

Damon Carter opened his mouth to respond, but with my silent order, Oscar shut the door in his face.