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I would make her mine.
And I did.
I frown with fury. I’ll be damned if I let anyone touch what is mine, even in her dreams. The urge to wake her up and fuck her until she doesn’t even remember his name is so strong I have to clench my hands into fists.
My father once told me, “As the head of this organization, you will have unlimited wealth and power, but in return, you will be asked to make many sacrifices and compromises. The most important one is love. You cannot afford to love; it becomes a weakness. And a weak Boss is not a Boss at all.”
My father did not only talk the talk; he lived it. He never loved anyone. Not even me. But as a child who rarely saw him, I idolized him and ate up everything he said. I wanted to be like him so desperately, but Nonna Isadora once said I was nothing like my father. I was angry with her for saying that.
But lately…
I realize Nonna Isadora was right. She understood me better than I did.
Now, I’ve become aware that my feelings for Francesca are starting to run a lot deeper than mere desire, and a part of me, the sensible part, tells me that I should nip it in the bud. I cannot afford a soft heart, but another part of me is in awe of the feelings she awakens in mine. Everything is brighter, sweeter, richer, and better with her in my life because of her. Sometimes I feel as if I wasn’t really living at all ‘til she came into my life.
My gaze continues to roam Francesca’s restful face. She has over a hundred lashes on her upper eyelid. I know that because I’ve been staring at her long enough to count. When sleeping,she occasionally scrunches up her nose, and it is the most adorable thing ever.
These are the few things I’ve noticed while she has been asleep in my arms, but there are even more details that I’ve quietly garnered about her since I slipped my ring on her finger.
She hates it when I call her Francesca. I see it in how her eyes flare when I do it. She prefers that I call her by an endearment, even though she will not admit it. Not yet, anyway.
Also, her laughter starts from her lovely eyes. Whenever she finds something funny, her eyes will crinkle up and shine like a thousand stars before her mouth moves. I think it’s the most beautiful thing ever. But like her laughter, her annoyance and irritation also start with her eyes. I’ve been a recipient of this so many times I can always tell when it’s coming.
I lived with Nonna Isadora and the boys for years before I moved out to carve my path, but I know more about Francesca in a few weeks than I know about the family I’ve known all my life.
My phone beeps from the bedside table and I quickly reach for it. I don’t want it to wake Francesca. It's a text from Dutch.
Got news, Boss. We’ll be waiting downstairs for you.
It is ten minutes past seven in the morning, and I realize I’ve been so caught up staring at Francesca I haven’t had a nick of sleep. Well, it’s too late now, work calls. Carefully, I extricate myself from Francesca and gently place her head on the pillow before drawing the sheets over her naked form.
I make a great effort not to look at her delicious body, or I know I’ll lose myself in her all over again. The Devil knows I’d like nothing more than to get back in that bed and spend all day making love to my wife.
After ten minutes in the bathroom, I return to the room to change into a suit. I take one last look at Francesca before I leave. Dutch and Vance are at the base of the stairs.
“Good morning, Boss,” Vance says, handing me his phone. There’s a video clip playing, and I instantly recognize the man in it. It’s Tom Hawkins, the newly instated New York superintendent.
“Tom has been sneaking around,” Vance says as I head to the dining table. “He’s been telling everyone who cares to listen that he intends to cleanse the city.”
Dutch meets my eyes briefly, and I chuckle, understanding the hidden meaning behind the words.
I have a lot on my plate to bother about an ambitious cop with New Broom syndrome. He doesn’t understand I went legit a long time ago. Those rumors about me are just that. Rumors. There are a few men from the past who could bring me down, but Hawkins is not one of them. I hand the phone over to Dutch.
“Call Roberto and tell him to assemble everyone for a meeting.”
“Okay, Boss.” When Dutch leaves, Vance slides over to me just as one of the serving staff appears with a tray of food. She is so shy she serves me breakfast with her head bowed, never once meeting my gaze.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“It’s chamomile tea, Don Barone. Signorina Vica asked me to make it for you.”
I shake my head with irritation and look up at her blushing face. “What’s your name?”
“Persephone,” she whispers nervously.
“Persephone, you must be new here, but remember this and you’ll never go wrong. Never again serve me tea at breakfast again. Espresso always. Small and strong.”
“I’m so sorry, Don Barone,” she mumbles and hurries away.