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“Boss, if I may,” Baz Rossi speaks up. “Elio will have all the support he needs. But we need to make sure we have some… measures in place that ensure that we are able to provide…guidance when he needs it. And, I’m sure you appreciate that we need to protect our interests too.”

Baz is Paul and David’s first cousin. As is the man to his right, Joseph Rossi. And, across the table from them, Champ Brown is also their cousin through his mother’s side of the family. There was a real influx of Rossis when I took over theFamiglia. Paul became my consigliere and then it seemed every relative he had back in Italy wanted to move to Sydney.

The Rossi guys have always been loyal soldiers and capos, but with so many men from one family sitting around the table, I have always been aware of the power bloc they could form. A niggly feeling in my gut tells me now could be the time that they use their numbers advantage.

“I’ll just lay it all out, shall I?” Paul speaks confidently to the room and why shouldn’t he be confident? He has been my closest advisor my entire life and he is a Rossi. “We are all loyal soldiers to the MarinoFamiglia,however, we have a suggestion as to how we could ensure that we are even more tightly bound to the future of theFamiglia…” He pauses for effect and to take a deep breath. “Five of us here are from the Rossi family and if Elio were to marry a Rossi it would bind our families together and his heirs would be Rossis too.”

My eyebrows shoot towards my hairline. An interesting suggestion and one that I think I can quickly get on board with. I couldn’t give a monkey’s who Elio marries so long as she behaves as a boss’ wife should.

It makes a lot of sense to provide an extra reason for the Capos to be loyal to Elio when they don’t have the highest opinion of him.

“Of course, the other alternative…” Baz pauses and licks his lips nervously. “...would be to bring in a Rossi instead of Elio. Stefan Rossi could unite Sydney and Melbourne…”

Heat rises from my chest and up my face. “Are you threatening me with a takeover, Rossi?” I ask him as I press my palms into the table and stand, looming over the table.

“No, no!” Paul jumps in. “Why anyone would want my son in charge of anything I don’t know. He couldn’t punch his way out of a wet paper bag. No, our best option is to marry Elio to a Rossi.”

Still bristling, I give Baz a stare imbued with so much scorching aggression it is a wonder his Brylcreemed hair doesn’t catch fire. “Don’t,” I point a finger at him. “...youeverthreaten me again.”

The room is quiet for a moment and Baz stumbles over an apology.

“Which Rossi do you suggest my boy should marry?” I direct my question at Paul.

He grins and I know what his answer will be before he has even said it. “Francesca.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Francesca

“Someone sent you flowers!” Sammy punches me in the upper arm and circles me bouncing in a fighter’s stance.

My fist shoots out and I’m sure it will connect with her shoulder, but she easily deflects it.

Dropping the goofy grin, she resets my arms in the correct stance and kicks my feet further apart. “When are you going to let me turn you into a fighter?” she asks again. “Look you’ve even got theMillion Dollar Babydouble-braid going on today!”

Sammy is waiting for a client, she trains athletes, mostly fighters, but also works with a women’s rugby league programme. She is the fittest person I know, loves running, and plays all sorts of different sports just for fun. Lean, but solid, she has an arse on her that leaves men and women drooling in her wake.

“Sammy, whatever gave you the impression that I want to be a fighter?” I try to tickle her instead, but her quick reflexes deflect my hands again.

“All women should know how to fight,” she says simply.

“Yeah self defence, I guess. But I prefer to wage my wars with words,” I wink at her.

“Oh yeah sure, definitely looked like it when you were taking a steel baseball bat to your fiance's Ferrari,” her sarcasm extends from her voice to her facial expressions.

As we approach the front desk I spot the hugest bouquet of flowers I’ve ever seen. They’re a gorgeous bunch; full of peonies, roses, and lavender. All pink, white, purple, and green. My first thought is that they are from Massimo, an apology gesture. My second thought is that someone has ordered flowers on behalf of Elio and constructed an apology gesture for him. He definitely won’t have come up with the idea all on his own.

I’m wrong on both counts.

“They must have cost $500 at least,” Sam speculates next to me.

“Is there a card?” I ask and Sammy digs one out of the side of the bouquet.

The cream card with a gold embossed daisy on the front contains a message of two words and a signature of a single letter.

Just because,

G