Accardi by allison franklin novel

Chapter Eleven:

The words in the email on Matteo Accardi's computer swam around the screen. He sighed and rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. With his eyes closed, he saw her: dark mahogany hair, blue eyes, a freckle on the soft skin below her ear. Matteo sighed again and looked back at the computer. He had immersed himself in his work over the last week, attempting and failing to erase her image from his mind. She ran. She had run away. He kept replaying that morning. He should have stayed in bed. He had thought she was as exhausted as he was.

He had slept for a full six hours, for Christ's sake. He hadn't slept for six hours since he was fifteen and had gotten drunk for the first time. She seemed sound asleep, so he had allowed himself to get up, take a shower, and plan to wake her up with his mouth, letting her shower while he started breakfast. His mind wandered to how she had completely unraveled in his hands as his mouth explored her. God, he longed to experience that once more. Just once? He knew why she had fled.

She understood he had no intention of ever allowing her to leave his family's secure residence. She was clever enough to discern that. He could perceive the sharpness behind her ice-blue eyes from the moment they met gaze. Even if she never discovered who he was or the full extent of his influence in the city, it wouldn't have taken her long to realize that refusing him was not an option. She found a workaround. She fled! Matteo shifted and pinched his thigh under his desk. Five days had passed.

Five days since he had his most restful sleep in years. Five days since he lost her. He tapped his pen on the table's edge, attempting to keep his mind in the present. He truly needed to stay focused on his company. Following the assault on his family, significant turmoil was unfolding throughout his enterprise. He had lost seven men at various locations. His ranks were growing restless. His investors demanded explanations. Some had even withdrawn their funding since his mother's demise. He had to be strategic. No stone could be left unturned.

He began crafting a response to the track contractor in Austin concerned about a zoning issue. However, as he typed, Matteo's thoughts drifted back to Gen: the scent of her hair, the soft skin of her wrist, the sparkle in her eyes intensifying as she reached ecstasy, the firm grip of her nails on his back as they embraced. He remembered how her voice sounded calling his name just before he brought her to another climax. It haunted him at night and tormented him during the day. Damn. He was in trouble.

Fortunately, the phone on his desk rang, rescuing him from another daydream that would only deepen his torment. "Hello," Matteo answered gruffly. "We found the individual you wished to speak with. We have him securely restrained in the box," Frankie informed him. A satisfied smile tugged at Matteo's lips. "Good. I'll be there in thirty." Matteo hung up the phone, gathered the files from his desk, slung his suit jacket over his shoulder, and exited his office. His ever-loyal assistant, Alexander, immediately rose from his chair. "Sir?"

"I'll be out of the office for the rest of the afternoon. Reschedule any meetings for Monday. If anything urgent arises..." "I'll notify you immediately. Anything else?" Alexander inquired, accepting the expense reports and signed documents from Matteo's hand. "Yes, call Marco and instruct him to meet me at my car," Matteo said. "Will do. I'll inform Leo that you're on your way down," Alexander replied, already dialing his phone. Matteo strolled down the hallway, acknowledging those he passed.

Most kept their heads down, at least pretending to have an otherworldly work ethic. He pushed open the door to the stairwell and descended briskly. In the lobby, silence fell as he strode past. He comprehended why everyone in the building was on edge. He had managed to hold himself together upon learning of his mother's passing. It had been more challenging, but he still made it to work upon receiving news about Tony two days later. He had been on a razor's edge, ready to dismiss anyone who crossed his path or made a mistake.

Then she fled, and something inside him shattered. No one was safe. "Accardi!" a booming voice called out. Matteo glanced over his shoulder but continued walking as Marco caught up with him. "I was informed you needed to see me." "Ride with me." "To where?" "To the box," Matteo replied, pushing through the lobby doors. The two proceeded towards Matteo's Range Rover, faithfully guarded by his bodyguard, Leo. Matteo nodded at Leo, who headed to the driver's seat. Matteo entered the front passenger side and gestured for Marco to take the back.

"Where are we headed?" Leo inquired. "George's," Matteo responded. Leo nodded and pulled away from the curb. "I need you to review something for me, Marco." Matteo handed the file he had brought with him to Marco, who swiftly perused its contents. "These are figures for Accardi Industries. You know I'm not supposed to examine these. Segregation is crucial." Matteo found himself rubbing his tired eyes once more as he replied, "I am cognizant of the protocols, Marco. I established them. I believe I have unearthed something, and I require someone with accounting expertise to verify my findings. Will you?"

Marco emitted an exasperated sigh to convey his sentiments on the matter. "Fine." Marco reclined in his seat and began scrutinizing the numbers. He was an exceptional accountant. Matteo had brought him into the family nearly a decade ago when he assumed control of the company. Observing how intertwining business with pleasure had played out for his forefathers, he concluded that a clear division needed to exist between his legal and illegal enterprises. Those employed by the Accardi family did not work for Accardi Industries, and vice versa.

While Marco managed the finances and maintained the books for the family, Giovanni ensured everything was above board for the company known to the authorities. Matteo leaned back against the headrest, extracting his cigarette pack from his coat. He placed a cigarette between his lips, lit it, and inhaled. A smirk lingered behind his closed lips. "You should call," Leo suggested. Matteo exhaled a cloud of smoke and glanced at the man steering. "Pardon me?"

"The girl. Whoever she is. You should give her a call." "What makes you think..." "You smiled." "I smiled?" Leo glanced at him, a knowing grin lifting the corner of his mouth before focusing back on the road. "When I delivered the groceries that morning. When you opened the door, you were smiling." Matteo gazed out the window. "I have no idea what you're talking about." "Right. I just think..." "Leo," Matteo cautioned.

"I just think." Leo persisted. "Working in this field is incredibly isolating. It's challenging to form any attachments, indeed. But let me tell you. When I've had a rough day—a day where you can't quite rid all the blood from beneath your fingernails, your head is throbbing, and you feel like screaming into the void... There's nothing like coming home to a good woman who will let you rest your head on her lap while she strokes your hair." "Wow, Leo, that's profound. You should write a romance novel," Matteo remarked, attempting to lighten the mood while suppressing the anxious flutter in his stomach at how his most trusted confidant knew precisely what he desired. "Just give her a call."

"I'm working on it." "Holy crap," Marco interjected from the backseat. Matteo sighed and flicked his cigarette out the window. "I was correct, wasn't I?" "This is... there's twelve million... missing." "Drat, Giovanni," Matteo muttered. "Yes. I'm just puzzled as to how he managed this for so long." "Great question. I'll investigate." Matteo extracted his cellphone from his pocket as they turned onto a desolate street. The phone rang twice before Frankie answered. "Retrieve Giovanni."

"Giovanni? The accountant, Giovanni?" "That's correct." "Understood." Matteo ended the call as the car halted in front of an old steakhouse. He glanced back at Marco, who was still grappling with how Giovanni had siphoned twelve million dollars from their legitimate facade. "I require a new accountant. Johnson and Sinclair in Boston. Do whatever is necessary to secure them as our accountants," Matteo instructed. "Why Boston?" Marco inquired. Matteo glanced at Leo, winked, then pushed open the car door, stepping into the brisk New York air.