Chapter 4 - The Scent of Gardenias
The penthouse in the Back Bay was dark when the front door swung open.
Harper sat on her white velvet sofa, wrapped in a designer silk robe, a half-empty bottle of rosé resting on the glass coffee table. She had spent the last two days calling Matteo’s inner circle, demanding answers, furious that her luggage had been dumped at the curb like common garbage.
When Matteo stepped through the door, she jumped up, relief washing over her sculpted face.
"Matteo! Baby, thank God," she purred, rushing toward him with outstretched arms. "You scared me to death! What is going on? Your guards won't let me down to the garage, they canceled my black card, and—"
Matteo didn't move. He didn't open his arms. He stood like a monolith of solid granite, his gaze freezing her in her tracks five feet away.
"Pack your bags," Matteo said simply.
Harper blinked, her painted lips parting in disbelief. "What? Matteo, stop being ridiculous. Is this about Norah? She’s just throwing a tantrum because she’s fat and pregnant! She’ll come crawling back once the baby comes and she realizes she can’t afford her lifestyle without you—"
A deafening crack echoed through the room.
Matteo’s hand hadn't struck her face, but his heavy pistol had slammed onto the coffee table, shattering the glass top into spiderweb cracks. Harper shrieked, stumbling backward onto the cushions.
"Do not speak her name," Matteo said, his voice a low, terrifying vibration that made the penthouse windows tremble. "You don't get to mention my wife. You don't get to mention my child."
"Matteo, please..." Tears of genuine terror finally broke through Harper’s mascara. "I loved you! I gave you everything! She was cold, she didn't appreciate you—"
"She was faithful," Matteo cut in, his own words tasting like poison in his mouth. "She stood by me while the federal government tried to put me in a cage for forty years. She managed my household, she bore my silence, she carried my blood. And you were a distraction. A cheap, hollow distraction I bought with bracelets and compliments because my own ego was too bloated to realize what I had."
He pulled an envelope from his breast pocket and tossed it onto her lap.
"There is fifty thousand dollars in cash. There is a one-way ticket to Los Angeles departing in four hours. You take your clothes and you get on that plane."
"And if I don't?" she sobbed, clutching the envelope to her chest.
Matteo leaned down until his face was inches from hers. The scent of her gardenia perfume filled his nostrils—the same scent that had cost him his life. It made him physically sick.
"If you are still in Boston by sunrise," Matteo whispered, "you will disappear into Boston Harbor. And nobody will ever look for you."
He turned and walked out the door, leaving her weeping on the ruined floor.
Downstairs, the rain was coming down in sheets. Matteo stepped into the back of his car and pulled a small leather pouch from his pocket. Inside was Norah’s engagement ring, the diamond cold against his palm.
May you like
He held it against his chest, closing his eyes against the suffocating ache spreading behind his ribs.
He had won every gang war he had ever fought. He had conquered the ports, the politicians, the police commissioner, and the streets. But sitting in the dark of his armored car, surrounded by armed guards and billions of dollars, Matteo Rossi had never felt more completely, utterly defeated.
