Accardi by allison franklin novel

You Were My Favorite Hurt, And My Hardest Goodbye by Ava Knight 129 Summary Matteo enters the crowded mess hall for the first time since his arrival, feeling hungry but preoccupied with heavier concerns. He recalls the exhausting day before, spent in meetings with Roman and a harsh interrogation by Bennett, who tried to manipulate him by mentioning Matteo's wife. Matteo is determined not to show weakness, knowing his wife Gen is strong. Matteo and his friend Frankie spot their targets, a group of Russian guards, and approach a table where Greg and Philip sit.

Matteo engages Philip in conversation, probing about Philip's past and family, especially his daughter who suffered at the hands of the Irish. The tension rises as Matteo reveals painful truths and accuses Philip of hiding secrets, leading to a heated exchange that draws attention from others in the room. Their confrontation is interrupted by Jenkins, a man from Matteo's past who accuses him of framing him for murder and stealing money. The encounter quickly turns violent, with Matteo overpowering Jenkins in a brutal fight, using a metal food tray to inflict serious injuries.

The chaos escalates as Frankie joins in, wielding mattress springs as a weapon to take down the Russian guards protecting their boss. Frankie's fierce and bloody assault leaves several men wounded or fleeing, while the guards watch in stunned silence. Matteo introduces Frankie as his associate, acknowledging the violence but asserting their dominance. After the fight, Matteo calmly returns to his conversation with Philip, ready to continue pressing for information despite the earlier disruption.

Continue Regular Chapter Reading Below Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Nine Matteo stepped into the bustling mess hall, his eyes scanning the crowded room. It was the first time since his arrival two days prior that he had been permitted to enter this common area. Around one hundred men were seated, eating their lunches in scattered groups. Though his stomach rumbled loudly, craving nourishment, Matteo's mind was occupied with far weightier concerns.

Yesterday had been a grueling day-he and Frankie had spent the morning locked in meetings with Roman, and the afternoon had been consumed by a relentless interrogation led by Bennett. The memory of Bennett's sly mention of Matteo's wife, and the image of her devastation, made his eye twitch involuntarily. It was a calculated ploy-a web of deception designed to manipulate him into revealing information to protect her. But if Matteo knew Gen at all, she was no one to show weakness to a sniveling rat like Bennett. "The guards are ours?" Frankie's voice broke through Matteo's thoughts.

His gaze was fixed on a table in the far corner where six Russians huddled closely over their trays. Matteo nodded lazily, watching the uniformed men casually patrol the dining area. "Mhmm." "There's Philip and Greg over there. We'll start with them, and once you're done, I'll handle my own business," Frankie said with a hint of amusement. "Such generosity, letting me go first," Matteo teased as they weaved between tables toward their target. Frankie smirked. "The guards won't have a choice once I get started." Matteo glanced at his friend, noting the intense focus in Frankie's eyes.

As they neared the table, Greg caught sight of Matteo and broke into a wide grin. "Mr. Accardi!" Greg exclaimed, standing up and pulling Matteo into a firm embrace. He clapped him hard on the back. "How's it going, Boss?" "Doing well, Greg. Orange really suits me, don't you think?" Matteo replied with a roll of his eyes. "Oh, come on, it's not that bad." "Yeah, says the guy making a million a year to be here," Frankie muttered under his breath. Greg nodded in agreement. "True.

But we both know neither of you will be here long." Matteo's gaze shifted to the man who had immediately averted his eyes when Greg spoke. "Are these seats taken?" Matteo asked, gesturing to the empty chairs. "Not at all!" Greg said, waving them over. "I made my other guys move when I heard you were coming. Sit down, sit down." Matteo settled across from Philip, who pretended to be absorbed in his meatloaf, avoiding eye contact. "How's life in the pen treating you, Greg?" Matteo inquired casually. "You know me-love the gossip, love the scoop. I like feeling useful.

My lady appreciates the money, so she's happy with me. Can't complain too much, right Phil?" Greg tried to steer the conversation toward Matteo's real purpose. Philip shot Greg a sharp warning look. "Philip, as in Philip Whittaker?" Matteo asked, though he already knew the answer. "The same Philip Whittaker who used to be best friends with Michele Galante until he bent over and let his so-called friend take everything dear to him?" Philip remained silent, his knuckles whitening as he gripped his fork tightly.

"Want me to take over?" Frankie offered, casually snagging a piece of cheese from Greg's tray. Matteo sighed. "Relax, Frankie. I've got this." "You've got nothing," Philip growled. Matteo locked eyes with the older man, whose shoulders sagged as if life had drained from him. "No?" Philip's gaze lifted. "No." Leaning in, Matteo lowered his voice. "Let me tell you what I do have, alright? A woman living at 4675 Dolphin Lane, Miami, Florida. A pretty blonde with thick hips and even thicker curves who likes to walk the beach every sunrise and sunset to keep that damn fine ass in shape.

I have a young boy on the edge of manhood, trying to find his place in the world... Say, Frankie, we could use some young men at the tracks, right?" "Always, Boss. Too many thugs waving AKs around these days." "Exactly," Matteo continued, maintaining eye contact with Philip. "Then there's his beautiful twin sister, who follows her mother around like a lost puppy, crying every day for her missing daddy." He leaned forward even more. "And then there's Mira." Philip slammed his fist on the table, jabbing his fork toward Matteo. "Enough." "Maybe I'll tell Conor where she is, huh?

Let him drag her back into the world you so desperately wanted her out of." "Michele and I had a deal!" Philip shouted, drawing the attention of nearly everyone in the room. "I'm not Michele, am I? I'm just a man who knows all his secrets... well, most of them. And you're going to help me uncover the rest." "You think I'd just roll over? You walk in here, and within five minutes I spill all the dirt, and you just walk out like nothing happened?" Frankie snorted. "Yeah, pretty much." "Fuck you," Philip spat before letting saliva hit the floor.

A guard nearby smacked Philip on the back of the head. "Watch where you're spitting." The guard gave Matteo a nod before walking away. Philip clenched his teeth and resumed shoveling food into his mouth, perhaps hoping to end the conversation by finishing his meal. Matteo sat back, studying him. Of Philip's wife and three children, only one seemed to ignite his fury. "Were you told what they did to her?" Matteo asked quietly. Philip rolled his eyes but kept eating. "I saw pictures of what they did, after Conor left her crying at a train station in London." Philip's frantic eating slowed.

"The last I heard, she was finally being released from the hospital, though I can assure you, she'll never be the same." "What the fuck are you talking about?" Philip demanded, his eyes burning with defiance, his fingers tapping anxiously. "The Irish... and what they did to your daughter," Matteo said darkly. Philip shook his head. "Michele made a deal. She's safe." "She is... now. But she wasn't then." "What the hell are you getting at?" Matteo sighed. "What I'm saying is, a few months ago, I saw a picture.

Your daughter's womb, wrapped up like a goddamn present." The fork clattered against the metal tray. Matteo had just broken a sacred rule between himself and his two Don cousins-never speak of what was discussed in family meetings. But he didn't care anymore. Michele had crossed too many lines. Suddenly, something tapped Matteo on the shoulder. He swatted it away like a bothersome fly, trying to keep his focus on Philip. The tapping grew more insistent, and he sighed, glancing up at a tall, heavily tattooed man standing over him.

The face was vaguely familiar, but Matteo couldn't place it immediately. "Accardi," the man said with a nod. "Man tapping me on the shoulder while I'm in an important conversation," Matteo replied dryly. The stranger smirked. "Forgot me already?" "Apparently." "A few years back, you had me running money for your track upstate. I took a few dollars, and you pinned a murder on me." Matteo studied the man more closely, then recognition hit. "Ah, Jenkins, right?" Jenkins narrowed his eyes. "That's me." Matteo rose to his full height, though Jenkins still towered over him by nearly six inches.

He didn't let it faze him. "I remember you. And I remember you taking more than a few dollars. Two million, right, Frank?" "Two point seven," Frankie corrected. "Two point seven," Matteo whistled. "More than a few dollars. I also recall that when my guy came to collect, you killed him with a tire iron. Or am I mistaken?" "We had a deal," Jenkins growled. "I didn't get what I thought it was worth." "What you thought it was worth?" Jenkins shoved Matteo, knocking his shoulder roughly. "Yeah, you rich, Italian fuck. Sitting in your high rise, clueless about what people like me go through.

What I took was pocket change to you." "Maybe so," Matteo said evenly. "But it was my pocket change." Feigning an exaggerated punch with his left hand, Matteo watched Jenkins smile and sidestep, positioning himself perfectly for a right hook. The blow landed hard, echoing through the room as Jenkins' head cracked against the table. Matteo didn't relent-grabbing Greg's metal food tray, he slammed it repeatedly against Jenkins' face until blood splattered across the table and Jenkins went limp.

Seizing the moment amid the chaos, Frankie rose and pulled from his pocket a long, thin metallic object-mattress springs tied together. Matteo ignored Frankie's exit, focusing on hauling Jenkins' body further onto the table. Then he climbed up and planted his foot firmly on Jenkins' chest, surveying the stunned inmates around him. "My name is Matteo Accardi," he announced. "This man is right-I'm a silver-spoon Italian businessman, but I know how to use my hands. And my woman loves it when I get my knuckles bloody. So, if any of you want to take a shot at me... consider this your invitation.

But be warned-the guards who watched me turn this man into pulp will do the same to you." Matteo's gaze found Frankie, who said nothing as the Russians rose to intercept him. Frankie unwound the mattress springs from one hand, gripping the wire tightly with both hands. The first Russian lunged forward, but Frankie caught him around the throat and twisted. The wire sliced deep, leaving the man clutching a two-inch wound, choking on his own blood. The second Russian attacked next.

Frankie dodged a series of wild swings before wrapping the wire around the man's arm, slicing deeply, then slashing across the carotid artery. The man collapsed to his knees. Two others rushed in to shield their boss, who watched Frankie's approach as if staring down death itself. Both protectors ended up bleeding on the floor before landing a single blow. Of the two remaining men, one stood frozen while the other fled. Frankie's smile turned sinister as he used the wire to slice repeatedly at the standing man's skin with each defensive move.

Eventually, the man crumpled to the ground, bleeding profusely and screaming for the guards. Frankie looped the bloodied mattress spring around the man's ankles and began dragging him toward a custodial closet to continue his work in private. A trail of blood stained the floor behind him. Matteo exhaled deeply as the guards stood frozen in shock. "And that," he said, "is my associate, Frankie Donati. He's... well, he's with me. I think." He shoved Jenkins' body off the table and wiped his blood-covered hands on his jumpsuit.

Taking a steadying breath, he sipped water and laced his fingers together. "Now, Philip, where were we?" Conclusion The chapter closes on a fierce and unyielding Matteo, whose resolve to protect his family and assert his dominance is as palpable as the violence he unleashes. His confrontation with Philip reveals the deep wounds and betrayals that bind their lives, while his brutal showdown with Jenkins and the Russians underscores the dangerous world they inhabit-a world where power, loyalty, and survival intertwine in a relentless dance.

Amidst the bloodshed and tension, Matteo's unwavering focus on his loved ones remains the emotional core, reminding us that even in the darkest places, the ties of family and vengeance shape every choice. Through the intensity of these encounters, the chapter explores themes of loyalty, retribution, and the cost of secrets kept and revealed. Matteo's strength is not just physical but deeply emotional, driven by a fierce love and the pain of past betrayals.

As tensions escalate within the prison walls, Matteo's confrontation with Philip hints at unresolved wounds and dangerous secrets that could shatter fragile alliances. The emotional stakes are high, and readers will be drawn into the simmering conflicts that threaten to boil over at any moment. Meanwhile, the uneasy truce between Matteo and Frankie is tested as they navigate the perilous dynamics of their environment. The violent altercation with Jenkins signals that violence is never far away, and the repercussions of their actions will ripple through the story in unexpected ways.

Brace yourself for moments of raw intensity and the unveiling of truths that may redefine who can be trusted-and who is truly an enemy.