Sinful Infatuation

Sinful Infatuation: Chapter 7

One month later...May 20

Lunella Ristorante

Little Italy (Bronx), NY

5:00pm



"Okay you guys, quiet down. I'd like to make the toast now," Jourdain's mom, Celine, said as she stood from her chair. The family took a while to quiet down, but within moments were silent, all eyes on the beautiful matriarch. She turned her honey brown eyes on her daughter, a champagne flute in one hand, and the other on her husband's shoulder. "So as you all know, we're here today to celebrate my daughter, Jourdain's, graduation from NYU Law School," she halted for the brief applause, "and while my husband Adrian and I are proud of such an accomplishment, we are most proud of the woman she's become." Celine turned to her daughter, tears in her eyes and a wide smile on her face. "Jourdain you are the best daughter anyone could possibly have or ask for. You've made us proud from the moment you were born. I admire your self-determination, your poise, your good morale, and many more things that I can't even begin to name. Raising you has been a positive learning experience for me. It has taught me to think outside of the box and to act and treat others with empathy. I just want you to know that no matter what you choose to do, we will support you because we love you." Turning back to face everyone she said, "So let us toast to the new graduate who will soon go on to show her strong character in the courtrooms."

"To Jourdain," her family toasted in unison, clicking their glasses together.

Jourdain, moved to tears from her mother's toast, went to go hug her parents. "Thank you so much for that mom. I know you don't mean it but---" she joked.

"Oh, stop it! You know how much we love you," Celine said, dabbing her eyes delicately. "You've done nothing for us to not be proud of," her step-father, Adrian, joined in with a wide smile.

Jourdain swallowed with a tight throat, feeling a slightly guilty smile tickle at her lips. If only her parents knew the shenanigans she got into last month...Her phone began buzzing on the table and she stared at it confusedly for a moment. Anybody who would be trying to contact her was here today. She answered with a neutral, "Hello."

"Bella."

Her heart dropped and beat faster at the same time. It felt as though it had plummeted into her stomach, and ricocheted off the membrane walls, creating an uncomfortable sensation. That one word, two syllables, nearly undid her in front of her whole family. Avoiding a couple of curious looks, Jourdain excused herself and stepped outside the restaurant. It had been a month since they had last spoken, but Jourdain had felt his absence acutely. Since the day she had left, she'd been suffering from chronic, vivid flashbacks from their time together. That night was supposed to have brought her closure, but instead it had her laying awake at night with a snoring man next to her, but this man was very much so not the one on her mind. So now here she stood, on a sidewalk in Little Italy, her eyes clenched closed with a shaky hand holding her phone to her ear.

"Bella," he repeated.

"Stop," she croaked. "Don't call me that."

"Jourdain," he corrected.

She swore under her breath. Him saying her name was no better; not when he managed to say both with such a sensual inflection that they poured over her like warm chocolate.

"Yes? What do you want?" She asked snappishly.

There was a short pause on the other line. "I just wanted to say congratulations on your graduation," he responded.

She immediately felt awful, a recurring theme. "Oh," she paused, "I, uh, well---"

"Cat got your tongue, bella?" he asked playfully.

"You know better than to use such clichéd lines, Matteo," she admonished, shivering as she finally allowed herself to say the name she'd been avoiding for a month.

"Where are you now?"

"I can't tell you that," she said softly.

"Little Italy, I presume," he went on saying.

Alarmed that he was correct she accused, "How do you know that? Are you following me or something?"

Matteo chuckled. "No. Although, that is an interesting idea. It's only fair, si? Since you had stalked me at one point."

"No, I didn't. I was---" She stopped herself. She was not going to get into it with him. "Matteo, you cannot call me anymore," she ordered.

"Agreed. You will not be hearing from me again."

"I mean, you said one night is all you needed," she went on, not registering what he said, "and we gave it one night. We can't keep---wait, what did you say?"

"I said, that you will not be hearing from me again," he reiterated.

She was silent for a moment. Why, in her heart, did that sound so...sad? "Ok. Yeah. Yes. Good. Buono." Shit, she thought, I didn't mean to say that.

Matteo chuckled again. "Yes, buono. Arrivederci (goodbye), bella."

"Bye," she said softly, flinching as she heard the ominous click sound that ended the call. She stayed outside, staring blankly at her phone. Her heart had stopped beating rapidly. It was now instead beating along at a sluggish pace, as if it were going to stop pumping life-giving blood at any moment. She remained in the zombie-like state until Max called her back in, claiming that the family wanted to cut the cake now.

"Are you alright, baby?" He asked, slinging an arm across her shoulders.

She nodded mutely.

...And just like that she had to restart her Matteo-detox.

****

2 months later...July 30

Jacob Javits Convention Center

Manhattan, NY

5:15pm



Jourdain slung her laptop bag over her shoulder as she walked out of the doors to the New York State Bar exam testing location. She was finally finished. The grueling two-day exam consisted of five essays and about 250 multiple-choice questions. Simply put, she was exhausted. She felt like she could sleep for an entire week. She heard someone whistle and decided to ignore it, writing it off as the noise of the city, and therefore none of her business. But when she heard the sound again, this time much closer, she looked up, ready to give someone a piece of her mind. Jourdain felt herself smile widely as she saw Max leaning against his unmarked cop car, his lips pursed, ready to whistle again. She quickly walked over to him.

"Oh my God, Max! You told me you were going to be in the precinct all day!" She yelled as she rushed to hug him. She felt the rumble of his laugh.

"I know. That's what I wanted you to think. I wanted to surprise you."

"Well, I am pleasantly surprised, baby," she said, giving him a quick kiss on the lips. He took her bag, placing it in the back seat of the car.

"Come, lets walk for a little bit," he suggested, throwing his arms around her. The handsome pair began to walk side by side down Eleventh Avenue. "How was the test?" He asked.

"Besides long, it was okay. I think I did pretty well."

"When do you get your results?"

"Sometime in November, so in about four months I'll either be a J.D. or a G.C.," she said.

"A G.C.?"

"A garbage collector. If I fail this exam, I don't think I'm going to have the strength to take it again," she quipped.

Max laughed, "Baby, I'm sure you didn't fail. You're one of the smartest women I know. And you and I both know you don't even like taking out your own trash, let alone other people's. Plus you can't waste that expensive NYU education; your parents would kill you."

Jourdain groaned, "Don't remind me. I owe so much in loans I'll be paying until I'm retiring age."

"Don't worry, Jo. You'll get through it," He said, smirking. He knew how much she hated it when he called her Jo. She glared at him. "Natural transition here--- remember when I told you the precinct has been really busy lately?" He continued after seeing her nod, "So the FBI and the New York precincts have really been trying to crack down on the crime in the city, and by crime, I mean the life sentence crimes: money laundering, drug trafficking, extortion. Man, I hope I get assigned one of these cases. These are career-makers, baby."

She gave him a worried look. "Max, that sounds dangerous. I much rather you stick with the paper work and let your partner, Wesley, go out in the field."

"Its not that bad. Wesley makes it back every time."

By making it back, he meant making it back alive. When they had first met, Max had reassured her that the Narcotics division of the department was not like what she'd seen in the movies, but as time went on, and his seniority grew, he was becoming more and more involved with the cases. It scared her that soon they would need him out in the field instead of paper pushing behind a desk. She gave Max a look. "There were two shoot outs in the last case, and Wesley broke his arm and sprained an ankle." She grabbed his arm and stopped walking. "Look at me," she waited until he trained his brown eyes on hers. "Promise me if they do put you out on the field, you'll be safe--- none of that heroic bullshit. If shit goes awry, you get the fuck up out of there."

Max smiled widely, briefly kissing her on the forehead before continuing their walk. "I'm not going on a call of duty. I'll be fine. You're so dramatic. You sure you want to be a lawyer? Your calling might be in acting," he wisecracked.

"Shut up and buy me a pretzel."

****

August 5

Nicoletti Estate

Long Island, NY

12:00pm



Matteo stared at the sweaty man who sat nervously on the other side of his mahogany desk. In the corner of his eye, he could see Lorenzo and Sergio standing by the window, smirking at the man's condition.

"Listen, I got a couple of Joes down in Columbia that are willing to give you a couple of kilos to sell," the man said.

Matteo raised a brow, looking at the man with open disdain. "Oh, they're willing to sell me a couple of kilos?"

The man nodded slowly, not knowing what he said wrong.

Matteo let out a humorless chuckle. "You hear that Lorenzo? They are willing to sell to me. They call me and beg me to let them be a part of my trade, and I got this little dipshit in front of me acting like he's selling to a street corner dealer. Who--"

"That's not what I meant," the man said quickly. Matteo cut him a glare so cold he began to recite the 'Our Father' in his head.

"Don't fucking interrupt me when I'm talking, capisce?"

The man nodded quickly.

"Answer me! I don't read fucking sign language," Matteo spouted angrily.

"Yes, sir. My apologies."

"Now, you were saying? And hurry up, I'm a very busy man," Matteo ordered calmly.

"We would like to sell you a couple of kilos, the best shit, straight from Columbia."

"In exchange for what?

"A couple of weapons?"

"A couple of weapons, huh? How many is a couple?"

The man pulled out a sheet of paper and, using Matteo's pen, wrote down a figure and slid it across the table.

Matteo gave the figure on the paper a glance before snorting. "Are you guys fucking nuts? No. Absolutely not. What the fuck? Do you think I have the same intelligence as the piece of gum on the bottom of your shoe that you're leaving all over my carpet? Where the fuck did you come from? You come in here sweating all over my shit, leaving your DNA and prints all over the goddamn place," Matteo snatched his pen from the meaty hand, using his handkerchief to wipe off the sweat and fingerprints the man left behind. "And now you want me to give you a cut of my lucrative business for a shitty exchange? Yo, Lorenzo," Matteo called, his eyes still on the flustered man.

"Yes, boss?" Lorenzo answered.

"Do you think it would be smart of me, as a businessman, to accept a deal that is beneath me?" Matteo stared into the man's nervous, beady eyes.

"No, Gianni, I don't."

"So, what do you think I should do? What would you do?"

"I'd kill him, sir, for the insult," Lorenzo said, matter-of-factly.

Matteo turned to Lorenzo, giving him a genuine smile and laugh. "Of course you would, you bloodthirsty bastard." Lorenzo shrugged and grinned.

The man's wide gaze shifted back and forth between the two imposing men. He was positive that he wouldn't make it out of here alive today.

"Well don't piss and shit all over my chair. I'm not going to kill you. And I'm also not going to make that deal. Get out of my office," Matteo dismissed, sifting through papers on his desk, no longer looking at the man. Within seconds he heard the door open and close as the man rushed out.

"Gianni, there's one more here to see you. He's got a badge," his security guard, Tony, warned.

Matteo sat back in his grand chair with a blank look. "Oh yeah? Send him in."

Tony left, returning quickly with Matteo's next guest, giving the man a suspicious look. The man gave Tony a wide berth, not trusting the beefy guy. Tony smiled, but with his missing and blackened teeth, the effect was intimidating and scary. "Fucking cops," Tony said under his breath as he left the room.

Matteo looked over a few papers, signing every now and again, pointedly ignoring the man standing and waiting to be acknowledged. When he was done, he gave the man a hard glare, "Yes?"

"The name's Maxwell Peterson from the New York Narcotics division. I have a proposition for you," Maxwell announced.

Matteo stared at him; Maxwell's face was carefully vacant, not showing Matteo a sliver of emotion. It was that "cop stare." "Let me see your badge," Matteo said. Matteo scowled at Maxwell when he tossed his badge on the desk. "Don't throw shit at me. You wouldn't want me to throw a couple of bullets your way, si?"

Maxwell narrowed his eyes at Matteo. "You threatening an officer?"

Matteo paused for a second before letting out a genuine chuckle. "You think I'm scared of you? I've seen traffic cops scarier than you."

"Well, you should be."

"Yeah? And why's that?"

Maxwell pulled out a rolled up white paper from his back pocket, this time lightly placing it on Matteo's desk. "That right there is a warrant for your arrest on grounds of drug trafficking, loan sharking, extortion and suspicion of murder. I could arrest you right now and it would be perfectly legal."

In his peripheral, Matteo could see Lorenzo reaching for his gun. Keeping his eye on the narc, Matteo warned, "Lorenzo, stand down." Giving his full attention back to Maxwell, Matteo asked, "So what? Clearly you're not going to arrest me, or you would've done so already. What do you want?"

Maxwell smirked nastily, shaking his head. "You must have a guardian angel, you fucking bastard," Maxwell leaned over the desk, "just know that if I could, I'd have you arrested immediately. But unfortunately, the FBI and NYPD want to make a deal with you. If you become an informant for them, you'll have total leniency. If you do what we ask and tell us what we want to know, we won't arrest you, charge you or convict you for any crime. We'll give you a total blind eye."

Matteo sneered, "And what's in it for you, officer?"

"I get to keep other smug bastards like you off the streets," Maxwell informed.

"Oh really? That's it, huh? You're just doing this for the good of mankind and all that shit? Not for a promotion or two?"

Maxwell was quiet for a moment. "No. Either way this isn't about me, it's about you."

"Oh, I believe it's about you just as much as me. So I give you a couple of inside tips, do a couple of hit man jobs for you and you reap all the benefits. You'll run to your superior and he'll congratulate you on another job well done, for getting another crook off the street. When, in actuality, it's me doing so," Matteo said smugly. Judging by the look on Maxwell's face, he'd hit the nail on the head. Matteo shrugged, pulling a cigar out of a gold case and lighting it. "Makes no difference to me. The world needs a couple of crooked cops, right?"

"I am not a crooked cop," Maxwell said through clenched teeth.

Matteo grinned devilishly, "You better work on that poker face."

"Are you going to accept the deal or not?" Maxwell spat.

Matteo stood, grabbing the warrant and throwing it into the fireplace. He pulled the matches from atop the mantle, striking the matchbox and throwing the lit match into the pit. As he watched the flames lick up the paper, he said, "I'll accept."

****

After working out a few details, Maxwell left.

"That went exactly according to plan, boss," Lorenzo said.

"Of course it did. I came up with it," Matteo said cockily.

Lorenzo rolled his eyes at him, "Smug bastard. I'm gonna go get a sandwich from the kitchen, you want?"

Matteo shook his head, watching Lorenzo leave the home office. "Sergio, make sure you get a written contract of this deal with the Feds. I wouldn't want them rescinding the offer at the most opportune time."

Sergio nodded, "Sure thing, Gianni."



When he was alone, Matteo felt himself begin to smile. Everything had gone according to plan. Maxwell had fell right into his hands.

A while back, Matteo started to form a plan; a plan that would allow him to infiltrate the FBI and NYPD. He got a couple of his friends---crooked cops--- in the department to push his file through the system. From what he heard, it wasn't that extensive, since he had covered his tracks so well over the years.

He planned for the file to land on Maxwell's desk. He knew that Maxwell was power hungry and lazy, interested in rising in the ranks after years of being a paper duty while his senior partner, Wesley went out and did the field work, but not willing to do the gritty, dirty work that came with the job. And just as Matteo thought, Maxwell snatched up the opportunity that quite literally fell into his hands, going to speak to the feds, without his superior's knowledge. The feds, enticed with the idea of getting more crooks off the streets, snatched up Maxwell's offer. It was a win-win situation all around.

The feds got a couple of problems off the streets.

Matteo got immunity from the government.

Maxwell got to take credit for Matteo's dirty work and rise in the ranks.


Perfetto.

Jourdain being Maxwell's fiancée was an unforeseen twist, but still worked to his advantage nonetheless. Matteo expected that Maxwell wouldn't be able to keep his mouth shut about the deal and would unwittingly tell Jourdain all about Matteo and what he really did as a 'businessman.' And then she would try to contact the mob boss...

Matteo smiled, putting out the cigar. Yes, he'd get the power, the immunity and the girl.
****
AN: Team Matteo or Team Max?