Page 49 of Runaway in the Mafia (The shadows of Cosa Nostra Chronicles #3)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

VITALE

T he library was quiet, like the aftermath of a war. The world was left with dull colours. The gun smoke, a hazy vision clouding the fallout. But at least the screaming had stilled, only an echo of it left to drill through my eardrums.

My nuclear family was upstairs. Safe from any harm.

Each in their room, recovering from a day that no doubt would taint their memories in black.

The rest of my family slowly filed out the front door, fear and grief pushing them out.

I’d earned my respect now for sure. Unfortunately, it came with the heaviness of terror.

They said a don had to rule with an iron fist. I guess slicing my uncle’s neck was it, then.

I’d achieved something even Carlo hadn’t.

And the worst part was that there was nothing I regretted.

Nothing. Except for taking a father away from two girls. In front of their innocent eyes.

The whiskey in my tumbler trilled slightly when I set it on the table. I’d sat down with Anna and Mia and promised to take care of their future. Their responsibilities were mine now. But what had stricken me was not their deep sorrow or harsh sobs. It was Mia’s words. You must love her a lot.

A shaky laugh rumbled in my chest. I hadn’t bothered to tell her this had nothing to do with love. Love didn’t exist for men like me. This was about survival of the fittest. No one got to insult the Don’s choice. No one.

Endrigo had not only crossed that line, he’d crushed it with his filthy, weaponised words.

I would have killed him, anyway. Yanked him by the scruff of his neck and taken him out at the back of my house.

But when he’d said hell, we’ll take turns, a firework of rage exploded in my chest. Like she was a common commodity, accessible to all.

She was a fucking queen. Gloriously brown. Undeniably her.

The whiskey sparked and burned down my throat. I rolled my head back and closed my eyes. All I wanted was to be left alone in peace.

A few beats was all I had. It was a luxury I couldn’t afford, I realised, when the door swung open and footsteps strolled in. A light hum of frustration boiled underneath my skin. A soft sigh escaped me as I pinched my nose.

He didn’t speak. I didn’t either. The weight of the old wooden planks shifting and the crystal on my drink trolley crackling told me it was Antonio. Sergio didn’t have the patience to keep his mouth shut for that long.

The chair across from my desk scraped, and a soft thud of the glass on the leather padding resonated underneath my hand resting on my desk.

My eyes squinted open. He looked unbothered. I bet he never made a rash decision in his life. That alone inched up my turbulence. “What?” My tone showed it.

“I set up a meeting with Kola.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because it’s time we settled this rift, Vitale.”

“And how do you propose we settle something that’s been going on for three generations?”

“We can’t. But at least we’re going to stop a full-blown war.”

I narrowed my eyes. Antonio never went into a discussion without knowing the outcome. “What have you got up your sleeve?”

“Andrea will back us,” he continued.

“Why?” I frowned. “I insulted the man.”

“You did.” He nodded. “But the man loves his daughters, and he made the right choice by not giving one of them to a man who can’t even remember her name.”

“ He made the choice?”

“Yes, he did, and that’s what the story will be.”

I shrugged. Whatever. “Always knew his ego needed a boost.”

“We’re also handing over one of our clubs to him in Palermo.”

I gritted my teeth. “I thought he was thinking of his daughters?”

“He needed an incentive.”

“Fuck.” I pushed my tumbler to the middle and sat up straight. “What’s this going to cost me?”

“Batita.”

“Fuck’s sake, Antonio. That’s one of our most profitable clubs.”

“Yeah?” His look was unsympathetic. “Should have thought of that before you acted first with your dick.”

I growled.

“Not to say I blame you, but for fuck’s sake, can you next time come to me first before you blow your father’s brains out?”

So he knew. Of course he did.

My hand wrapped around the tumbler. Fingers licked the condensation and brought it back to the top. His gaze was amber. Distorted through the crystal. “How did you know?”

He sighed. “Does it matter? I’m your consigliere . I’d expect a little credit.”

“You were his as well,” I muttered.

“Yes. And I had a lot of respect for Carlo. But that was before I knew all the shit he’d done while I was in Boston.

If I had, I would have helped you out.” His glance was full of annoyance at my scepticism.

“I don’t have sisters. Nor a mother I’d waste my time on.

But if I did… of course I’d do the same as you, but just maybe go about it in a less hot-headed way. ”

A beat passed. And another. A glance of mutual respect passed between us. We didn’t say thank you in our field. But if we did, I’d utter those words to him.

“Fine,” I muttered. That could just as well mean thank you. “I’ve already updated Martello.”

“I’m assuming he took it kindly?”

“He’s more annoyed that Daria wants to come to my wedding than that I slit my uncle’s neck.”

“Of course he would be. He hates Sicily.”

A tinge of pleasure was to be taken at my brother-in-law’s messed up schedule. “But he loves my sister more.”

“Good. We need him on our side. Massimo is in the know as well.”

I pushed the chair back and stood up. “Let’s get it over with, then.”

It was past midnight when we wrapped up a tense meeting in one of the nightclubs in neutral territory. It went well. As in, no one got killed. Plenty of guns were pulled out, but no one took a shot.

With Andrea on our side and New York and Boston already on ours, it was easier to overpower Kola.

But to be honest, I wasn’t sure if he was that attached to his right-hand man.

It was more about the power play. So we made a deal.

I killed his right-hand man. He killed my uncle.

The one already dead. Win-win for both sides.

Some of the men drove further to one of our clubs, looking to rid themselves of all the hyped-up testosterone.

Antonio’s eagerness to get to his wife was obvious when he drove off, taking his right-hand man, Marco, with him.

To think that I had once considered their lives to be boring.

I jumped into the car and drove in the opposite direction from where my bed was.

On the way, I called Martello again and updated him.

He was grumpy. Much more than his usual self.

Still annoyed that Daria wanted to come to my wedding.

But that wasn’t my problem. My problem was probably fast asleep in her room smelling of sweet fucking Frangipani .

She wasn’t.

I stepped inside the room and shut the door quietly. She was seated behind her laptop, headphones and video on. I moved out of view to the armchair in the corner and sank into it.

It was past midnight, and she was still working.

Talking to a client in New York, from the sound of it.

She was dressed in a white shirt, her gold locket resting on her open collar, pretty, little Indian earrings dangling from her ears, and her face lightly made up.

But my favourite part? Underneath the desk and out of view, she’d only got yellow satin on.

And fuck if that wasn’t hot. Opportunity arose in my mind.

One of them was to crawl under her desk and suck on her clit.

But a warning glare kept me pinned to my seat.

I’d let her be. This time. Next time, I was eating her out.

I rolled my head and rested it on the back of the chair.

I didn’t have a cigar with me to calm the constant noise buzzing in my head.

Nothing to lull my senses except her voice.

She was confident. Firm but polite. Her voice hummed and rested on my skin like a familiar touch or a warm fucking blanket.

I dreamed of a calm, tranquil place. One where only she and I existed.

Where she was naked, and I was… also naked.

She spoke of numbers and deadlines. I heard our future and smelled her sweetness.

I listened to her speak of budgets. Something warm pooled in my ribcage.

It felt like pride. It felt new to me. She was fucking smart.

She’d not only started her own business, she had international clients.

I’d have to get a list so I could blast their heads off if they messed it up for her.

I knew this company she was speaking with, and it wasn’t a small one. Fuck! My wife was an entrepreneur.

“You know I’m still going to work, right?”

It took me a moment to realise she was done with the call. I pulled my head up and observed her lazily. She was turned towards me. One long naked brown leg crossed over another. Yellow satin playing a game of hide and seek.

“Hello?” She snapped her fingers to her face. “I’m still going to work.”

“Sure,” I grunted.

She frowned. “What do you mean, sure?”

I shrugged. “Of course you are.”

“No.” She shook her head.

God dammit. I needed a dictionary to understand this woman.

“You don’t want to?” I frowned.

“No. Don’t lie to me and tell me I can work and take it back later.”

I pulled myself up and sat up straight. “ La mia ammaliatrice, do I look like I’m lying to you?”

Scepticism clouded her eyes. Jesus. The damage that fucking bastard had done to her. It made me want to bring him back to life so I could saw each limb into ten pieces instead of six. “You can work. I won’t get involved with your work.” I’d have to forget about that list.

“You won’t?” she asked, not bothering to hide her surprise.

“No.” I shook my head. “I know you think you want this financial independence. You don’t, but if it helps you sleep better, I won’t stand in your way. And you sure don’t need anyone’s help to rule your fucking kingdom. You’re more than capable of doing it yourself.”

She was still. I followed the slow swallow of her throat. “Thank you.” Her voice was low. Woven with threads of emotion.

I crooked my finger at her. “Come here.”

She got up and trotted up to me, actually doing what I told her to, but stayed just out of reach.

“I’m not changing my name.”

She was full of demands, this one. Made me want to fuck out a ‘please’ for all her demands.

“Yes, you fucking are,” I bit out. I wasn’t budging on that one, but she was too quiet.

Too busy following the path of her toes, tracing the grains on the wood.

“You’re not keeping that fucker’s name, Ahana. ”

“Not him.” She looked up, annoyance on her face. “My Pāpā’s.”

Regrets were etched into her stance. Mine was built on possession.

It itched me all wrong that she didn’t want to carry my name when I wanted the fucking world to know she was mine.

Only mine. A violent ‘no’ was at the edge of my tongue, but it came to a sudden halt by a faint line etched along my heart.

It whispered that I needed to give her the space.

Like I’d backed off and given her the space to involve her family.

Whatever she needed to grow back to who she wanted to be, with the memory of that fucker erased out of her vision. “Fine,” I grumbled.

Her head shot up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” I leaned forward and grasped her hand. “On paper. But here everyone will call you Signora Di Matteo. Capisti? ”

“Capito.” She nodded enthusiastically.

Fuck, she was cute. I yanked her to my lap. She was so fucking beautiful that sometimes she made me forget to breathe. Who was I kidding? All my decisions were based on the effect she had on my groin. I traced her cheek with the back of my hand. “You know you’re incredibly strong, right?”

She shook her head. “Selfish,” she muttered almost to herself.

And stubborn. I gripped her chin. “No, you’re not. You got away. Walked away from him. You didn’t let him break you. You came out of it better. Stronger. A fighter. Don’t ever underestimate that.”

Her eyes filled with emotion. And guilt.

It was almost like she couldn’t bring herself to accept that she’d been strong.

I’d never understand this woman. She was a mystery.

Full of secrets she didn’t want to reveal.

But I would uncover them. Layer by layer.

I’d be the one to heal her. Even if it took the rest of my life and the last of my breath.