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“Not as much as I thought I’d be.”
“You’re going to look like a princess in your wedding dress.”
“I’d better, considering how much I paid for it.”
“Pittance, considering.”
Gina comes from a wealthy family. Not that she lords it over anyone. She’s humble and generous. I couldn’t be her friend if she were any different. I hate pretense. Wealth is great as long as you’re not a dick about it.
I decide to go for a walk after breakfast while Gina talks to her mom and aunt. I stop at a shop and buy some pistachio gelato. It tastes divine. I keep an eye on the time. It wouldn’t be right for the maid of honor to be late on the big day.
Okay, it’s time to marry Gina off, Mia. Who knows? Your very own Prince Charming may be waiting for you somewhere in the crowd of celebratory guests. If not, a good shag would do just as nicely.
2
DANTE
The knuckle on my middle finger is gushing blood where my fist connected with the man’s snaggletooth. Man, it feels good! I’ve been itching to deck this asshole for a long time now, and today his proverbial chickens have come home to roost.
“Get this piece of shit out of my sight before I kill him,” I growl, standing over the lump of flesh cowering at my feet.
“Yes, Boss.”
“And tell Bruno I want to see him,” I bark.
Damn it! There’s blood on my new Egyptian cotton shirt. I rip it off, watching in frustration as the delicate buttons fly off in all directions. I hate starting my day off this way. It sours my mood unnecessarily.
“Leila! Get me a new shirt!” I yell to my assistant in the other room.
A tall, gangly girl with big tits rushes in a few moments later carrying a new shirt, still in its packaging. She unwraps it, takes out the pins, unfolds the delicate white cotton, and hands it to me.
“Thank you.”
“You have a spot of blood on your chest,” she remarks and hands me a Kleenex.
“Oh, yeah. Thanks.”
“Shall I have this one cleaned?” she asks me, picking the soiled shirt up.
“No. Throw it out.”
She nods and leaves my office, taking with her the proof that Dante De Luca doesn’t suffer fools lightly. And why should I? I’m not an unreasonable man. I hold others to the same standards as I do myself. Work hard, show loyalty, and, above all, do what’s expected. Why is it so hard for my underlings to adhere to these simple principles? It’s not fucking rocket science!
“You wanted to see me, Boss.”
“Yeah. Come in, Bruno.”
Bruno is my consigliere. He’s been with me from the word go. I trust him implicitly, as he’s never given me a reason to doubt his loyalty. I’d never tell him this, but I consider Bruno an equal. He’s the closest thing to a best friend a boss in the mafia could hope for.
“What happened?” he asks, pointing to my hand. “I passed a rather defeated looking lump of meat in the hallway.”
“I finally lost my sense of humor with the moron. Nephew of a made man or no, he’s gotta go, Bruno. That fool is going to get someone killed.”
“I agree. What do you want me to do with him?”
“Use your imagination.”
“Okay.”