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ALESSANDRO

T he old world has always enchanted me.

The way the architecture persists, the old ways, the culture, and the slow pace of the people. They treasure their history, their roots. None of this “toss out the old for the new.”

Maybe that makes me old-fashioned.

Sentimental.

The older I get, the more I appreciate the artistry, style, consistency, and quality. This new school of thugs, gangsters, and criminals doesn’t have a clue what it’s really about.

To be part of something like our family.

An institution.

A force to be reckoned with.

“For fuck’s sake, Alessandro, you sound like a maudlin old man…” I mutter to myself, turning away from the view from my luxurious hotel suite window.

It’s one of ours, this and so many other hotels across Europe. It’s a source of revenue, and handy for when I need to travel. Especially when I need to stay undetected, untraced.

My ping-ponging retreat across the globe on my way to my temporary hiding spot is exhausting.

All so I can go hide my head in the sand like a fucking coward. A necessary evil.

It goes against every fiber of my being.

As does the act of pampering and reassuring our allies in every city along the way. Coddling these so-called leaders of industry, these made men serving our enterprise, who need me to hold their hands and tell them everything will be alright.

Many, however, are distant relatives, true members of our family from generations back. Sworn to the Diamantes and our way of life.

Meeting with them cements our ties and ensures support. Like my meeting today, with my aunt’s cousin. Or maybe he’s my cousin’s uncle-in-law?

Regardless, it serves two purposes, meeting with Beto Salvatori and his daughter.

At 39, I’m the oldest single don to take over the family. I couldn’t really care less about it, and age shouldn’t matter to do my job as our leader.

Except that it’s also part of my job to appease the elders.

To wed, produce an heir, continue the Diamante bloodline.

It’s tradition. It’s our legacy.

And it’s fucking annoying.

Uncle Giancarlo hammered our culture and traditions into us growing up—the importance of maintaining our way of life. I understand all too well the significance of family, surrounding yourself with your blood.

Nothing can touch you when you’re shielded with that kind of loyalty.

Unless one of them turns.

A knock at the door pulls me back to the issues at hand, away from my seething rage toward Domenico Vipera. My fingertips press into the bridge of my nose, relieving the headache already forming behind my eyes.

“Come.”

"Alessandro Diamante, my boy! My friend, mio fratello , my cousin, how are you?”

Beto Salvatori storms into the room, his girth and presence warm and boisterous. He was always a jolly man, making all of us kids laugh growing up.

“ Zietto , so good to see you again.” We shake hands, hug, then he bows to kiss my ring.

“Too long, my friend, too long. Not since you were just a little bambino , I have not seen you.”

“And since you had far less gray hair!” I prod, and he claps me on the back, chortling.

“You used to be such a jokester, a little pagliaccio . Teasing your father, your mother, Dio rest their souls.”

Some of these traditions, like meeting with family I haven’t seen in years, still sting. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t speak of my parents ever again.

Mamma, Papa. Catalina.

Just scars that fester. But they give me anger and drive me to do what must be done.

“Let us go sit in the parlor, have some espresso, and get down to business,” I deflect, gesturing.

“Ah, there’s the stern, serious Don Alessandro I’ve heard so much about.” Beto settles down on one of the love seats, taking up most of the couch by himself. “Business, business, but what of the matters of love? I think you will be very impressed with my daughter. She is a true beauty. One that will captivate your heart.”

“I'm sure she's lovely, Beto. How old is she?” I try to keep my voice casual, almost disinterested.

“She has but 20 years, but that is a beneficio ! That many more years of her staying like a pretty jewel, and so many years to give you heirs.” He winks conspiratorially.

“Hmm. You make a good point.” The same point every one of my potential brides’ families try to hammer home.

“You must make sons, daughters, a family of your own, then you will understand! Grow the family, enjoy it. It’s the lifeblood, nephew, the joy of the world.

I keep my expression schooled, as pleasant as possible.

The thought of kids makes me want to toss Beto out the fucking window into the canal. Raising my three brothers was a trial; one I didn’t take lightly or refuse. But it changed me. Aged me inside.

Not to mention the horrible things I’ve done contrasted with the idea of a baby, that innocence tarnished by my blood-stained hands.

It’s my duty, though.

“I would be honored for you to introduce me to your daughter.”

We both stand as he hollers for one of his men to see her in. Beto has always been laid back on rules and hierarchy, much to Giancarlo’s dismay. It doesn’t bother me, the way he dismisses protocol and defers to me.

He’s my elder after all.

Even if I am his don, it pays to show respect, especially since he’s essentially trying to marry off his daughter to me. Better to behave as if he’s already my father-in-law.

Hell, who knows? Maybe I’ll settle for this one and be done with it.

She's exactly what I expected. Same as so many others.

Slender, generous curves complimented in current fashion—high-waisted dress pants and a top that shows off her midriff. She clearly cares about her appearance more than anything, her long black hair done up professionally for the occasion.

“ Tesoro !” Beto hugs her as if they didn’t arrive together. He leans in close and I catch him muttering to her, “You really should have worn the dress.”

“Daddy, I’m a modern woman. Stop embarrassing me,” she hisses under her breath, preening under my gaze.

She is beautiful. Full lips. Long lashes. And a “fuck me” stare that has my cock hardening in my pants. She’s exactly the type of woman I’d take home from the club for a night of fun.

Which is about all I've been able to manage in the last twenty or so years since I lost Cata. One-night stands. Flirting and fucking and getting the hell out in the morning.

I enjoy a beautiful woman's presence. But it's always short lived.

I get sick of them. I have too much to do, and none of them are worth letting in.

“Veronica Salvatori, may introduce you to the infamous Don Alessandro Diamante.” He tilts his head meaningfully, as if to make the introduction official, to seal the deal.

Veronica looks me up and down, blatantly checking me out, lingering on my tight slacks, my crotch. Checking to see if Beto is watching, I flick my eyebrows up once, taunting.

Her lips curl ever so slightly, sensual and alluring. More likely ambitious for power and money hungry.

Veronica’s eyes flare as I stare her down. She likes what she sees.

“Don Diamante, it is so very nice to meet you.” Her every move is coy, smooth. As well as overly practiced and utterly vacant. Just like her stare. “I've heard so much about you. I'm very honored to meet you.”

She kisses my hand, lingering with her lips over my knuckles, dragging the bottom lip over my skin. It’s an invitation for later, the look in her eyes.

Tempting. At least for a night.

A smile pulls at those dark red lips as I look down her shirt, the edges of her nipples just barely showing over her push-up bra. She slowly raises back up, trying hard to catch my attention with her eyes.

We exchanged pleasantries for a while. I have some food brought up. Tea, espresso. She knows all the routines, the rituals, the proper seating posture. Which is a lot better than some of the women I've met with.

Most of them are vapid and social media obsessed.

Not to say Veronica isn’t like them in every other way. Every other reference out of her mouth has to do with some current celebrity. People that I couldn't give two shits about, most of whom I’ve never heard of.

Beto laughs at her anecdotes anyway, trying to ingratiate her to me through his own delight in his daughter.

It serves a purpose, at least, to keep her occupied if she winds up being my bride.

Something to keep her occupied. She’ll be obligated to mingle with the wives as well and handle organizing events and dinners too.

All of which will keep her out of my hair most of the time. Until we have three or four children to take up the rest of her time.

That’s just the way things have always been.

My mother was primarily tasked with providing children for my father, too. They loved each other, sure. But I know they were set up to be married, pressured and guided. She always spent the bulk of her time with us, especially once the twins were born.

Catalina joining the family was like giving her a gift: the daughter she never had.

And my father wanted them to have some time to get to know her better. I was supposed to go with them, until I got my orders to join Dom on that hit.

“Um…Don Diamante?” Veronica is looking at me expectantly.

“I'm sorry I was lost in thought. Forgive my distraction.”

“Always been a thinker, this one!” Beto teases me, covering for my lapse. “He's a smart man. Just like my Veronica. You are two peas in a pod, I can see it. She's so very intelligent. Tell him, tell him about your marks at the university. My daughter's getting the best education in the world. She will make a fine wife, a smart wife. Clever, too!”

“Thank you, Daddy.” She blushes.

That is good news, that she’s well educated. “Fascinating. What are you studying?”

“Fashion design for now. It piqued my interest last year when I went to Milan,” she brags, outright.

I can tell it’s a fickle thing, her interests change from moment to moment. Just like the boys that she probably hangs out with at the club, the guys she sucks off in the bathroom that her father never finds out about.

Sleeps around with her father’s men, too, probably.

I guess that’s not fair, but Adriano does his research and always gives me the lowdown on everyone I meet. Which is why I had already made up my mind about this meeting.

It doesn't do to piss off members of the family, however, so I still meet with them.

I just have to find the right moment to call them out, to find something wrong with the potential bride and send them on their way—maybe feeling cowed and a little chastised for wasting my time.

Just have to wait for an excuse…

“So, why don't you tell me a little more about yourself, Veronica?”

“Well, I travel a lot… ”

I stop listening after two sentences.

She hits the hottest clubs in Rome. She stays at the nicest hotels. She clearly thinks that I care about class or whatever her daddy's money can buy her.

I catch bits and pieces, trying to keep my face looking interested as my mind wanders. All I can think is how vapid and hollow she is. Just like the rest of them.

I can't blame her. She's grown up a spoiled brat. The daughter of a banker, a mob banker, no less. Meaning she's never wanted for anything, and she's been sheltered her entire life.

My attention slips back to her as her tone shifts suddenly, like she’s telling me some juicy secret.

“My daddy's boys beat up the last guy I dated. He was running around on me, cheating . So we showed him. Not that I would mind if you had other girls when we’re married, but no low-class fuck-boy should dare to cross me, you know?”

It doesn’t shock me that Salvatori would order his men to do it. I’d probably send some guys to scare my daughter's boyfriend, too.

But as the way she says it. The way she brags . I lean into it, egging her on. “Oh, yeah? What else does your daddy do for you?”

“Oh, he takes care of everything. He sometimes even lets me tag along on raids or hits as long as I stay in the car.” Her eyes are as wide as saucers as she says it.

“Tell me more. What's, what's the craziest thing you've ever done?”

“One time, I tagged along with Vito, Daddy’s right-hand guy. He let me hold the gun and everything. I couldn't stop bragging about it to my girlfriends.”

“I’ll bet. Your girlfriends are going to freak out when they hear you met me, huh?” I’m being so obvious that she has to know I’m fucking with her.

Instead, her eyes light up like I just asked her to tell me what she got for Christmas.

“Absolutely. They're going to shit their pants when they find out. My girlfriend Rita, she's already jealous. Bitching to everybody about how I'm going to be a don's wife. You know?”

“Very interesting,” I mutter, right before my tone shifts to ice cold. “So, your father approves of you sharing family secrets with people outside the organization?”

Beto locks up, his back straightening.

His lips twitch in a nervous smile as he looks at his daughter, warning her with his eyes. She's oblivious.

“What do you mean? I tell whoever I want whatever the fuck I want and I’ll do even more once I'm married to you. Nobody will fuck with you, right? Or your wife!”

“That's right. Nobody fucks with me. Least of all some spoiled brat rich girl who can't keep her fucking mouth shut.”

Beto breaks out in a sheen of sweat and his daughter’s smile drops, realization hitting her like a punch to the gut.

“I've heard enough. I appreciate you coming by, Salvatori. You've always been a good friend of the family, but I suggest that you send your daughter somewhere where she can get some proper training before she gets married off. Running her mouth like that will get someone killed. Probably you.”

Beto melts, fumbling over himself and kneeling before me. “I'm so sorry. Please, please give us another chance! My daughter she's—she can be careless with her words, b-but she's a good, um a good?—”

“A good what? Child?”

“Yes…” He looks confused.

“Yes, she is absolutely that. A child. See yourselves out.”

And like that, it's over. Beto begs my forgiveness and promises the moon, his unwavering loyalty.

“You know, she would have fallen in line with very little effort. Had a spectacular set of tits.” Adriano’s voice startles me.

“Fucking asshole. Don’t sneak up on me. I don't have the time or energy to put towards training a wife.” I pound back the shot of espresso and head to my room to finish packing.

“You’re going to have to pick one eventually.”

“Maybe once we’re not trying to prevent a war.”

“So, never?”

“Shut the fuck up. You have the tickets?”

“Flight leaves in an hour. No rush, though. We’ll drive straight onto the tarmac.”

The car is waiting out front and does just as Adriano said. He’s always spot-on with the details, making sure everyone falls in and gets their job done. He’d make one hell of a replacement for me someday. Tight ship. Our men adore him, even though he’s relatively quiet.

It’s the kind of presence that makes people underestimate him.

Until he follows through, until they see how consistent and fair he is. And deadly.

Unlike me. I’m a lion prowling. I rarely roar, but I don’t have to.

I’ve earned my place and their respect time and again.

Adriano’s a panther—cool, calculating.

“How the fuck do you do that?” I elbow him as we exit the car in the open hangar. He blends in instantly with the people around us. He's almost my height, broader build. Yet, I stand out like a sore thumb everywhere I go.

Mostly because women can't stop looking at me. Curse my father’s good looks.

“How the fuck do I do what?” A hint of a smile plays at the edges of his lips.

“Never mind. Let’s get this over with.”

The flight is a short one. Followed by a drive, another flight.

I hate every second of it. Leaving my people in the trenches, like bait to draw out our enemies.

“Relax. You know we have to do this.” Adriano scans the tarmac, constantly taking notes in his head.

“I don’t have to like it. Looks like I’m running, hiding.” I crack my neck side to side.

“Do I need to remind you what happened at the compound?” Adriano never raises his voice, but he has a way of getting under my skin, making the things he says matter with just the slightest inflection.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“You're lucky your decoy was wearing his vest.”

“Send him a bonus check when we get through this,” I snap.

“Will do, but that’s not the point. It’s the optics on everything. Ero tracked down the shooter. Backlash is that too many people know about the threat on your life. Gives us a good excuse for you to take a trip, though.”

“And making an example of anyone who makes a play on my life buys us time. No one will make a move after Ciro and Ero are done with them.” A shiver slips down my spine at the thought. Not for the piece of shit they’ll go to work on. Just the idea of being on the receiving end of their vengeance.

“For those who think he shot you, it also muddies the waters. The more time we buy the better. That’s the goal.”

“Hope they don’t make too much of a show of it.”

Adriano just shrugs. “I blame the asshole who raised them.”

“Not funny. Those boys are a fucking menace.”

“Just keep your head down for a little while, Aless. Next time we might not be so lucky.”