Page 2 of Unworthy Ties

Rocco

“ B y the look on your face, I take it the conversation went horribly,” Felix said, a grimace on his face.

We had left the Coscia’s mansion, and Felix had gone back to my penthouse.

I took a moment to answer, slumping onto the plush leather couch and massaging my temples.

My eyes were drawn towards the ceiling-to-floor window that offered an arresting view of the cityscape. “You could say that,” I muttered.

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly, not even asking as he broke into my stash of expensive alcohol. “I guess I shouldn’t have teased her all these years.”

Teased was putting it lightly. When Felix was twenty, he found it hysterical the ten-year-old Coscia girl had a crush on him.

He would mess with her every chance he got, pretending to be charmed by her little-girl antics while laughing it off behind her back.

He didn’t realize that these small gestures of attention had been adding fuel to the fire of her infatuation.

Felix had thought it was a silly crush that would disappear eventually. Ten years later, it was stronger than ever.

“She’ll get over it,” I said. But even as I said it, I wasn’t sure if it was the truth.

Felix poured himself a drink; far too much for someone who had work the next day. “She’ll realize you’re the better twin suited for marriage. Smart. Responsible. Unusually level-headed.”

Marriage. It wasn’t something that was on my radar at all. I had always assumed I had at least another five years before I needed to look for a romantic partner, but that was before Leone Alto was killed and the Mafia world was shaken.

Leone Alto, once the strongest of the five mafia families, was brutally murdered.

Someone put a bomb in the restaurant he was at, and the resulting explosion had left nothing of his body but charred fragments.

The news had hit the underworld like a sledgehammer—if Leone could be taken out so brutally, then no one was safe.

With the killer on the loose, relations between the remaining families had been shaky. Alliances were being made to strengthen bonds and maintain order. Marriage was one bond that, while archaic, was still highly regarded amongst our kind.

Not that Gabriella would be the worst person in the world to be married to.

To put in bluntly, she was fucking hot. The first time I noticed was three days after her nineteenth birthday when she was dressed in a figure-hugging dress that showcased her body and a temperament to match.

She was strong, smart, and fiery. Felix had laughed it off as “Coscia’s little girl finally growing up,” but I had also seen something else.

I saw potential. But in the Mafia world, potential could be as dangerous as a loaded gun.

I changed the subject, not wanting to dwell on my future wife for too long. “Where are the other three?” I said, referring to our friends Ettore, Emilio and Vincenzo.

“Probably off dicking their wives somewhere,” Felix shrugged, taking another sip of his drink.

“Felix,” I said sternly. I didn’t need to finish my sentence for him to know I was reprimanding him.

“Sorry,” he replied. “I think Vincenzo’s woman is technically his girlfriend.” A smirk spread across his face, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

Ignoring his feeble attempt at humor, I refilled my glass. The alcohol was a welcome distraction from the nagging thoughts in my head. The Mafia world was changing, and I had to change with it, whether I liked it or not.

Letting out a deep sigh at Felix’s typical irreverence, I raised the glass in a mock toast before proceeding to drain its contents in one swift gulp.

The alcohol burned as it slid down my throat, but it was a welcome feeling, taking away some of the unease that had been gnawing at me since the news of Leone’s murder.

Two drinks in, my friends finally arrived, looking as if they’d seen better days. Ettore’s eye was swollen shut and Emilio had a noticeable limp. Vincenzo, on the other hand, looked untouched, but that wasn’t surprising. The man was over six and a half feet tall and made of muscle.

“The fuck happened?” Felix asked, eyeing their battered bodies.

Emilio winced as he lowered himself into the nearest chair. “Just a small misunderstanding with some of Santino’s guys.”

“Misunderstanding,” Ettore scoffed, nursing his eye with the back of his hand. “You call getting into a bloody brawl over a game of poker a ‘small misunderstanding’?”

“Consider it an occupational hazard,” Emilio retorted, a crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Ettore responded with a grunt, sinking deeper into his chair.

I looked at Vincenzo, who, after myself, was the most rational man in our friend group. He shook his head slightly, showing that he did not approve of the so-called “small misunderstanding.”

Of course not. Emilio probably said something stupid, and Ettore jumped in to defend his honor, as usual. Vincenzo had probably joined in because he never left his friends to fend for themselves.

“You can’t just pull that shit right now,” I lectured them, pinning each with a stern gaze. “With the status of our world.”

Ettore frowned at me. As Don, he knew better than anyone about the dangerous waters we were treading in, but sometimes his temper got the best of him. “If I let them disrespect us, they will think they can walk all over us.”

I didn’t argue. The wisest course of action was to allow our frayed tempers to cool. Instead, I pulled a cigar from the inner pocket of my jacket and offered it to him. He accepted it with a nod and puffed away, his mood slowly lightening as he drew in the smoke and let it curl from his lips.

Although we had important business to discuss, casual conversation filled the air for the next few minutes as we allowed the tension to ease.

Felix was regaling us with another one of his tales, some escapade about a woman he’d met at a bar, and even in our current state it elicited a chorus of laughter.

“I heard you’re getting married, Rocco,” Ettore said. “To the Coscia girl.”

“Yep.” I didn’t give an open-ended answer, hoping he would drop the subject.

“The hot one, or the weird goth one?” Emilio asked with a sly grin, leaning forward in his chair.

I rolled my eyes at him, wishing this conversation would end. “The ‘hot one,’” I replied dryly.

I ignored Emilio’s response as a text message pinged from my phone. It was from Tomaso Coscia.

Spend time with my daughter before the engagement party. We will see you tomorrow at two pm.

“Fuck,” I muttered. The gossip about my impending marriage had already been a nuisance, but this was another level of annoyance. I guess I’d have to go play nice with Gabriella tomorrow.

If that was even possible.

At two pm the next day I was at the Coscia’s front door.

I pressed the doorbell, a sense of dread filling my body.

I’d rather be doing almost anything than this.

Even getting into a shootout with rival gangsters sounded more appealing at the moment.

But this was not a choice—just an obligation I had to fulfill.

One of the many maids answered the front door and greeted me. “You’re looking for Ms. Gabriella, yes?”

“Looking for” wouldn’t be my first choice of words. Had to, forced to, must see were all better explanations why I was on their doorstep.

“Yes,” I responded, keeping those thoughts to myself.

“She’s in the back garden. Please follow me.”

I followed the maid through the mansion, taking in the grandeur as though it was my first time. The sweeping staircase, the polished marble floors, the paintings worth more than most people made in a lifetime—all reflected the obscene wealth of the Coscia family.

Outside, the garden was a lush oasis lined with rosebushes and fountains, a stark contrast to the forbidding exterior of the mansion. The manicured lawns were dotted with sculptures, each one masterfully crafted and worth a small fortune.

The maid stopped at a set of hedges so tall that I couldn’t see what was behind them. “She’s back there. It’s the path to the gazebo area.”

“Thank you.”

I strolled through the path lined with hedges, which was almost eerie. It was impossible to see the rest of the yard from within this green tunnel. It felt like stepping into another world, one where the enormous mansion didn’t exist.

At the end of the path, I could see the gazebo, beautifully built from ornate wrought iron. Gabriella was sitting inside, and, as if she had sensed my presence, she turned to look at me.

The corner of her lip turned down, her expression changing from serene to displeased. “I had hoped you weren’t coming.”

“Well, I had hoped I didn’t have to,” I countered, mirroring her tone.

She scoffed at me and looked away; her gaze focusing on the perfectly manicured gardens around us.

The afternoon sun was shining through the wrought-iron gazebo, creating dancing patterns of light and shadow on her face.

Her hazel eyes seemed a bit brighter under the sunlight, and her usually tamed brown curls were a mess of sunlit coils.

I gritted my teeth and walked towards her, my footsteps echoing against the marble floor of the gazebo. “Unfortunately, what we hope for and what is required of us do not always align,” I said, coming to a stop before her.

She looked up at me, her eyes flashing with a mixture of irritation and disdain. “As your presence clearly demonstrates.”

I clenched my jaw, a muscle twitching in annoyance. “We have a shared responsibility, Gabriella. You can’t just ignore that.”

Her gaze locked onto mine, defiance burning in the depths of those hazel eyes.

“Look, I didn’t come here to argue,” I gritted through my teeth, sitting on the bench next to her.

She turned her head away from me, and a silence settled over us, as heavy as the humid summer air. The delicate sound of water trickling from the garden’s fountains was all that punctuated it.

The silence was painfully awkward. I hated it.

“Is there anything you want to do?” I asked.

“Nothing with you,” she responded coldly, her gaze still firmly fixed on the garden in front of us.

I was done being civil. Her attitude was that of a petulant child and had worn my patience thin.

I grabbed her wrist and turned her to face me. When I lifted my hand, she flinched, expecting a slap. But I merely held the side of her face, my thumb stroking along her jaw. I would never hit a woman.

“So far, you’ve been nothing but a pain in my ass. I wanted a sweet, docile wife who leaves me alone.”

“I can definitely do the ‘leaves you alone’ part,” she said, her tone biting, but not trying to break free from my grip.

A subtle crackle of static hummed in the air between us, a delicate thread of sexual tension so understated and faint that I questioned its existence.

It was like a gentle whisper, barely audible, that seemed to dance just out of reach, leaving me to wonder if it was merely a figment of my imagination. Surely, it had to be imagined.

Instead of letting go, I pressed my lips against hers.