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Matteo Colombo wasn’t a bad guy ’cause he was part of the mafia, but bad in the sense that he ain’t have no morals, all black, with little spots of gray.
I ain’t ever thought I’d end up tied to somebody as powerful as him. You’d think, being in the music industry, I’d be on some wild shit. selling my soul to the devil, taking blood baths, drinking blood, or doing Illuminati rituals.
But in some way, Matteo Colombo was equal to the devil.
We were always alone, always sharing drinks, just talking. He’s my sponsor, so it was only polite to meet for lunch, for drinks, or just ’cause he wanted to. Never ’cause I did.
The conversations used to stay about my music, until today, over glasses of Japanese vodka.
“You just want someone to own,” I said, taking a swig. The liquor burned my throat, warmed my chest.
For a month, Matteo been dropping hints at wanting something more with me. I always brushed it off, played dumb to the shit he was laying down.
But he knew damn well playing dumb wasn’t something I was real good at.
“I never knew how to play nice with things that belong to me. I always break them,” he said.
“I ain’t a thing, and I sure as hell ain’t gonna belong to you.”
He only smiled, like my words,or maybe me,amused him.
“Is it wrong to want you? To have you belong to me? I can literally give you the world.”
“I don’t wanna belong to you.” I stared at my half-empty glass before Matteo filled it again.
I ain’t know how the music industry really worked, but I knew you had to give a part of yourself away to get what you wanted. That part of me that wanted to stay authentic, real. but the label wanted me to play an image of a street gangsta, say what they wanted me to say, do what they wanted me to do.
And whatever your sponsor Matteo wants? You do. No questions asked.That’s what the label manager, Billie, said.
“I won’t be some possessive nutjob that forces you,” Matteo said. “But I can ruin your career. Get you blacklisted. Send you right back to that crumbling city you used to call home. And when you’re tired of trying to survive again, you’ll come crawling to me. Begging me even: ‘Matteo, please help. Get me back out this shit hole.’"
My fingers tightened around the glass. Heat and anger prickled under my skin, liquor burning in my chest.
“Shit.” I laughed. “Ain’t nothing to surviving. Been doing that shit since I was ten. Go ’head and do it. Ruin me if that’s what your ass wanna do. Shit ain’t gonna hurt me the way you think.”
Matteo’s eyes lit up like he just found a new game to play and already loved it. He tapped a finger against his glass.
“You shouldn’t have said that, Boogie.”
