MATEO Read online

  COPYRIGHT© 2021 MATEO BY KL SAVAGE

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted by U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, establishments, or organizations, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously to give a sense of authenticity. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. MATEO is intended for 18+ older, and for mature audiences only.

  PHOTOGRAPHY BY WANDER AGUIAR PHOTOGRAPHY

  COVER MODEL: ANDREW BIERNAT

  COVER DESIGN: LORI JACKSON DESIGN

  EDITING: INFINITE WELL

  FORMATTING: CHAMPAGNE BOOK DESIGN

  FIRST EDITION PRINT 2021

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Epilogue

  Mateo’s Playlist

  Acknowledgements

  Also by K.L. Savage

  Reading Order

  To memories,

  You last a lifetime until something takes them away. The feeling of not remembering who you are is a feeling of loss that no one can relate to until it happens to them. How can someone appreciate life if they can’t remember everything they have done? How does the path in someone’s life change?

  Everything is new.

  From sense of smell, to what you like and don’t like. But some things never change.

  Like love.

  Love is the strongest memory.

  Because no matter what, it feels the same.

  Escaping the clubhouse

  My time here with the Ruthless Kings has taught me a few things, but the lesson that has stuck with me the most is this: family doesn’t necessarily mean blood. I’ve come to see the Kings as my own family. They saved my life, brought me back to health, and continue to help me. I don’t know why. I’m useless to them right now considering, I can’t remember fucking anything.

  There are certain things that I just know.

  For instance, I know I prefer coffee over tea.

  It’s small things like that.

  And I know I have a daughter. I hate that I can’t remember her, but I don’t know that I need to. I feel that deep protective instinct, the one where a father will do anything to make sure she is safe.

  Anything.

  I open the metal door into a space the Kings call the ‘playroom’ and step into darkness. I flip the light on and see my brother, Maximo, slumped in the chair, blood running down his face, arms, and legs. His expensive suit is torn to shreds from the torture the Kings have put him through.

  I don’t even care.

  He deserves this and so much more.

  And I plan to handle this myself.

  This is not a King’s problem anymore.

  It’s a family matter.

  “Mio fratello.” Maximo lifts his head, his left eye swollen from the punch I delivered to him earlier.

  In three quick strides, I’m in front of him and I lift my hand, backhanding him across the face. “Do not call me that,” I spit at him. “I am not your brother. You stopped being anything to me when you put my daughter in danger.”

  He laughs, the unapologetic tone echoing off the walls. “You don’t even remember her. You wouldn’t have missed her—”

  I backhand him again, harder this time, and a glob of bloody spit flies from his mouth. “It doesn’t matter if I can remember her or not. I don’t remember you, and I have more love for a daughter I can’t remember than I have for you. And let me make this clear—” I yank his head back by the thick of his hair and sneer—“I fucking hate you for what you did. Your time spent here is going to seem like a goddamn vacation compared to what I have in store for you.”

  I slap him again. “No one,” I grit, “I mean no one, harms a hair on mia figlia. She is my daughter!” I roar. “My blood. My bone. My flesh. I do not care if I can’t remember her. All I need to know is that she is my daughter.”

  I raise my hand once again, my fist in a tight ball, and let it slam against his head. It knocks him out cold.

  “Fotti,” I curse and spit on him, shaking out my hand. “I hope they forgive me.”

  I walk to the side wall and press a button that releases the metal cuffs around Maximo’s wrist. I hit the button next to it to release his ankles and he slides off the chair, falling to the blood puddle on the floor with his limp body.

  “Always a pain in the ass.” I pause mid-step. How do I know he’s always a pain?

  Must have been so annoying growing up that my damn subconscious knows to be sick of Maximo. I bend down and sling him over my shoulder. I head out of the room and the footsteps pounding across the floor above have me freezing in place.

  I know I shouldn’t be doing this, but what choice do I have? I have a feeling I was the kind of man who never allowed others to take advantage of him, and even with who I am now, that seems to be the only characteristic that stayed with me. There’s no one here right now besides the ol’ ladies.

  It’s fucked up, but I can get by them.

  I hope.

  If I don’t, I have a feeling I won’t ever leave this clubhouse again.

  Not alive.

  “Isn’t this a basement? I wonder if it has a door leading to the outside?” I ask myself as I look around the metal room filled with hospital beds. If I were Reaper, I would always have a way out, in every room, for safety purposes. With Sarah and the baby on the way, there is no way in hell he’d leave this room without an escape.

  It wouldn’t be noticeable. No one would be able to guess. He’s a smart man and we think alike. We do what we have to for the ones we love, like I’m doing now.

  The floor creaks under my weight and I tilt my head back, smiling. “Of course,” I say with realization.

  The basement door opens, and I hold my breath in panic. The light footsteps are feathers on the staircase, and in a last-ditch effort not to get caught, I throw Maximo back into the playroom. His head hits the floor hard. I hear a crack, but I don’t have time to check to see if he’s okay. I slam the door just in time before Ellie comes to view.

  Poodle’s daughter.

  “You okay?” she asks.

  “I’m fine. Just debating if I want to see Maximo or not.”

  She tucks her hands in her pockets and rocks on her heels. “Well, Sarah wanted me to tell you that your dinner is warm on a plate in the oven. Everyone is going to watch a movie in the main room if you want to come up as we wait for Reaper and everyone else to get back.”

  “Great, thank you. I’ll be there in a minute, Ellie. Grazie.” She gives me a small smile before heading up the steps.

  “Mr. Moretti?” her voice is small and young.

  “
Si, Ellie?”

  “I’m sorry about your brother. It really sucks that he’s a bad guy.”

  I can’t help it; I have to let out a small chuckle when I hear her say the word ‘sucks’ to describe my situation. “It does suck, doesn’t it?”

  “Family isn’t meant to hurt so much. Just remember that,” she says as she prances up the steps and out the basement door.

  Smart little girl for being so young.

  I wait until I stop hearing footsteps pounding on the floor. When the footsteps fall silent, I test the floor by pressing my weight against it. When I hear the creak again, I lean over and toss the rug to the side. “Well, well, aren’t we sneaky, Mr. President?” I ask no one and lift the lever to reveal three steps that lead to a dark hallway.

  “Bella.” It’s a gorgeous sight to see, to know I have a way out without having to get by the ol’ ladies.

  I turn around and open the door to the playroom again. Maximo is still there, laying still as death.

  If only.

  “Come on, you’re coming with me.” I grunt as I swing him over my shoulder again, then backtrack to the way out. I drop him into the hole carelessly and watch as he slams his head against the floor again.

  Oops.

  I crawl down the small ladder and jump onto the floor. It’s a manmade tunnel. Nothing special. There’s a light shining at the end from a crack. That’s where I’m headed.

  I check my pockets for my keys, which is something I needed to do long before I got to this point. Blowing out a breath when I feel them, I stand on my tiptoes and grab the handle of the cellar door. I close it, encompassing us in darkness. I grab hold of Maximo’s arm and drag him toward the end. His body scrapes along the dirt as I pull him.

  This is where I’m thankful I don’t remember anything about him right now or I might be backtracking with all the shit we have been through together throughout our lives. It’s best I don’t remember so I don’t feel guilt.

  When I get to the door, I doubt it’s unlocked, but I turn the knob anyway.

  Yeah, it’s locked.

  “Sorry, Reaper,” I mutter, before I yank the knob so hard it breaks.

  The door swings open and the sunlight cascades inside, blinding me. When my eyes adjust, I can see that the gate and the parking lot is nearly empty. The sun is bright, and the sand is blowing in the wind. I peek my head out of the doorway and breathe a sigh of relief when I see my Jaguar sitting to the side of Kings’ Garage.

  The only man I need to worry about is Braveheart, who is constantly at the gate. I can take him out if I need to, but he doesn’t usually tend to what’s behind him. He only focuses on the front.

  “Come on, asshole.” I snatch Maximo’s wrist, bend down, and throw him over my shoulder. It’s time to get the hell out of here.

  I keep an eye on the shed Braveheart stays in most of his days as I hunch low to the ground. My legs burn being in this position, but it’s the only way I can go unnoticed. Sweat drips into my eyes, blurring my vision as the sun stings my forehead. It’s a short walk, but my brother weighs a ton. I sidestep a few car parts to make sure I don’t kick them to give away my position.

  “Cazzo,” I utter the Italian word for ‘fuck’ again, digging into my pocket while keeping Maximo over my shoulder with one arm. I press the unlock button, then kick my foot under the back bumper so the trunk opens. I toss him inside and gasp for air, then stare down at the man that’s jabbed a knife so far in my back I can’t pull it out.

  Blood. Family.

  It’s the one thing I know that’s supposed to run deeper than the soul. And when I needed him most, he turned his fucking back on me. My reputation as a fair man has been burned to the ground by his schemes. I don’t know much, but what I do know is everything the Kings have told me. That I was a badass mafia boss who ran this city.

  I plan to take it all back. Eventually.

  But right now, it’s about making sure this man never sees my daughter again, or any young woman.

  They won’t be safe as long as he is breathing.

  I wipe the sweat off my brow, reach to the left, and press a hidden button that reveals zip-ties.

  How did I know to do that?

  I’m not going to question that right now. Obviously when I had my memory intact, I felt like I needed this on demand.

  Good thing too.

  I place his wrists and ankles together, tie them together, then gently close the truck until it softly clicks.

  Now, here comes the hard part.

  I need to get by Braveheart.

  I open the driver’s side and slide in, then buckle up. I look in the rearview and cringe when I see my appearance.

  “Dio mio,” I whisper at myself. My hair is a mess and I have blood on my cheek. My clothes are wrinkled and dirty. I never look so… unkempt.

  That much I don’t need to remember. That much I know. I give a fuck about how I look. Being good looking and pristine shows power for a man like me. I cannot lose that, or I will have nothing.

  I hurriedly take off my shirt and throw it in the back seat. My undershirt is clean, for the most part. I run my hands through my hair and open the glove compartment to get a napkin. I don’t give a fuck who you are, wealthy or not, you always have napkins in your car.

  For emergencies.

  Like wiping blood off your cheek.

  I spit into the napkin and clean up the best I can. “I cannot believe this is what my life has come to. I’m cleaning my face with my own spit. What has become of me?” I wonder out loud to myself.

  I throw the napkin in the backseat with my shirt and throw my arm behind the passenger seat, then reverse. Turning the wheel, I take a deep breath to gather my nerves and get composed. My stomach is in knots. If he doesn’t let me out, I’m afraid of what I’ll have to do.

  I don’t want to hurt him. He’s a sweet kid that has a courageous heart, but he is an easy kill if need be.

  When I pull up to the gate, I roll down my window and Braveheart pinches his brows together when he sees me.

  “Cuore Impavido,” I say his road name in Italian, something that always brings a smile to his face.

  And it works. Like a charm.

  “Mr. Moretti—”

  “—Please, call me Mateo.”

  “What are you doing out of the clubhouse?”

  “Braveheart, I need out of the same walls. I am going crazy. I’m only going for a drive. I need to clear my head. My brother, what he did to my daughter, it takes all I have not to kill him.”

  “Yeah, that’s tough, Mateo, I’m sorry. I’m not allowed to let people leave right now, not with everything going on.”

  “Please, I’m begging you,” I slide my hand next to my seat. Somehow, I know there is a gun there too.

  Kind of like how I know I like coffee over tea.

  “You’ll come right back?” he asks, so naïve and innocent.

  Precious boy.

  I hate to take advantage of his kindness.

  “Yes,” I say evenly.

  “You promise?”

  “On my pinky.” I lift my finger, and with a smile he leans into the car and wraps our pinkies together.

  Dio mio.

  He is actually going to have me pinky promise. I’m going straight to hell if the Americans take this pinky promising as serious as Catholics take mass.

  “Okay,” he grins, relieved.

  Oh, sweet boy.

  I release the gun in my hand as the gate opens. I’m so damn happy I didn’t have to shoot him. I like Braveheart. He’s a good kid. I didn’t want to have to hurt him.

  “Be back soon. I just got word they are coming back with the girls.”

  “Natalia is there? Is she coming with?” I ask in a hurry, wondering how I am going to get her with me instead of having her here.

  “I don’t know. I’d assume so, but don’t take my word for it.”

  “I’ll be back.” I press the gas slowly. Braveheart waves as I look in the rearview mirror, so
I stick my hand out the window to do the same. I will need to be back.

  My cell phone rings, something that hasn’t happened too often these days since the world knows what happened to me. I stare at the screen in the middle of the dashboard and see Zio Giovanni’s name flash across the screen.

  It’s been too long since I’ve talked to a family member. I honestly didn’t think I had anyone else outside of Maximo. I turn right when I get to the end of the driveway and start down Loneliest Road. I don’t know where I’m going. I can’t go to the hotel, Reaper will look there first. I can’t go to Maximo’s place, because that will be the second place they look, and I don’t have a fucking place.

  I don’t know where to go.

  The phone stops ringing, then blares again, and Zio’s name pops up again. I press the button on the steering wheel. “Hello?” I answer.

  “Ciao, Mateo.”

  “Uh, Ciao, Zio.”

  “I’m sorry, we haven’t spoken. I’ve been in Italy taking care of business.”

  “Uh—”

  “—oh, cazzo. That’s right. You can’t remember shit these days, can you? It’s what your brother said.”

  “Don’t fucking talk to me about Maximo when you have no idea what he was about to do to Natalia!”

  “What happened? Come to my place. It’s an hour from Vegas. I’ll send you the address.”

  “Why are you helping me if I can’t remember you?”

  “Famiglia. No matter what, Mateo. I’m here. What did Maximo do?”

  “He almost auctioned off my fucking daughter. I have him in the trunk. I want retribution.”

  “He did what to my Natalia?” Zio yells and his voice radiates through the speaker, causing it to crack.

  “It’s true. And I need you to do me a favor.”

  “Name it, Mateo.”

  “Go to the address I’m about to send you and pick up Natalia. I can’t go back. I stole Maximo from the Kings. This is a family matter, Zio. I need you on my side because I don’t have anyone else.”

  “I’m here for you, Mateo. You always have me. Send me the address and I’ll send you mine. Punch it into your GPS since you can’t remember.”

  “You better have enough room in your backyard, because I think I might bury him.”