Page 9

Everyone's eyes are turned to him now. There better be a good reason for this disturbance. It’d seem everyone's hell-bent on disobeying me these days.
“I’m sorry, boss,” he pants, “but a Rossi delegate’s here.”
Consternating murmur ripples through the room. My heart stops beating for a nanosecond, then picks up pace and then pounds. A Rossi here? In my fucking manor? “What the fuck? Who the fuck let him in?” I roar, grabbing my gun from the table, holstering it to my pants. “They’ve got balls, coming here.” I storm out, my crew trailing me.
The yard’s open, gravel stretching under the clear afternoon sky. I see the delegate then, he's a lonesome figure looking around like he's got no clue how he got here. He’s a wiry guy, should be around mid-forties, in a cheap suit, hands raised like he’s scared.
Is this a ploy?Send over a man so scared he can't even get his hands to stay still, and maybe I'll cave? What sort of stupid game is this?
I stalk over, gun heavy at my hip. “You lost, Rossi scum?” I snarl, stopping a foot away. His eyes flicker nervously.
“I’m just a messenger,” he says, voice thin. “I was ordered to give you this letter from Domenico.”
My laugh is cold as I move into the man's, my stance threatening. “You think I care?”
“I…d-d-don’t…” he stutters, then stops to take a deep breath. I don't say a word, I continue to glare down at him. He fumbles, pulling an envelope from his jacket, and holds it out.
I eye it suspiciously.
“What the hell is this?”
The man flinches and takes a step back as if I'd just struck him.
“Let me get that for you,” Matteo says beside me. In my rage, I hadn't noticed him standing there. He snatches it from the man's loose grasp and rips it open.
I flick my eyes to Matteo's bent head as he reads the content of the letter, but my gaze remains steadfast on the man who wouldn't look at my face.
“Enzo.” It's Matteo. He tries to contain it, but his voice is stricken. I've never heard him like that.
My face contorts into a frown. “What is it?”
He hands over the letter to me and without fully taking my eyes off the man in front of me who two of my men are now flanking, I grasp it.
It’s an intelligible scrawl, probably Domenico's, but I make the words out without difficulty. I read the words, but they fail to make sense…until they do.
What the fuck?!
It says in the letter that he wishes to offer Serafina—his fucking daughter—as my bride. A peace deal of some sort.
Dear Enzo,
I’m proposing a truce to end our families’ feud. I offer my daughter, Serafina, as your bride, a bond to seal peace betweenus. This isn’t a game—it’s a chance for both sides to move forward. Consider it carefully. We can discuss terms soon.
Domenico Rossi.
“What the fuck is this?” I explode, dropping the letter as though it scalded me. It probably did. It's an enemy's object after all.
At my explosion, the two men flanking the Rossi messenger grabs his arms and he starts to protest, pleading for mercy. My men probably thought what I'd read was incorrigible…
And it is.
Matteo takes the crumpled paper from where I'd dropped it on the gravel and lights a match to it. As the fire lights, so does my rage.
“Over my fucking corpse,” I spit. Rossi blood in my home? After the act they carried out on my mom? My hand grips the gun holstered to my hip, finger itching to blow this bastard’s head off. He’s shaking now, his eyes going from the gun to my face. He's trying to step back, but my men are holding on steadfastly to him.
Matteo sees what I'm about to do and he grabs my arm, his grip hard. “Easy, Enzo,” he mutters to only my hearing. He turns to the delegate. “He’ll respond. Now, get out.” His voice drips with abhorrence, same as mine, but he’s calm, dismissing the guy like trash. He nods to the men holding on to him, and they release him.
The delegate scrambles off, gates creaking shut behind him. The rest of crew’s spilling into the yard now, eyes glazed over in anger, already spoiling for a fight.