Page 6 of Unworthy Ties

Rocco

G abriella and I had gotten married yesterday, but we chose to forgo a honeymoon. For me, the mafia underworld didn’t stop running just because I got married. And Gabriella? Well, she preferred not being in my company, to put it mildly.

Now, I was walking up to the Salvaggio estate, because Maximo Salvaggio had requested my presence “immediately.” Maximo was Gianni’s eldest son and was set to take over as Don when he died, whenever that happened. The man would probably outlive us all.

Although I worked for and was loyal to the Moretti family, Maximo and I had been good friends growing up.

We were an unlikely duo—a Salvaggio and Marchioni, bound not by blood or duty, but friendship.

They said in our business you didn’t really have friends, just allies and enemies. But Maximo was different.

I greeted the maid, who let me in and walked up the staircase. I didn’t need to be shown the way; every dark wooden panel and ornate fresco in this opulent mansion was as familiar to me as the scars on my own hands.

I walked down the hallway and took and left into Maximo’s private study.

The room was clouded with the musky scent of leather and cigar smoke, a testament to Maximo’s tastes.

He was standing, facing away from me, gazing out the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the sprawling empire of his family’s estate.

“This shit will kill you, y’know?” I said, waving away the cigar smoke with my hand.

“A bullet will probably get me first,” he responded, taking another puff on the cigar.

“You’re not wrong there.”

I pulled out a leather tufted chair from the other side of Maximo’s desk and took a seat, settling into the familiar grooves.

I watched Maximo as he cast his gaze back over the estate, his kingdom, the one he was born to inherit.

There was a tiredness in his eyes, a weariness that seemed out of place for someone of his age and vigor.

“I didn’t come here to watch you brood,” I said.

“Yeah, I know,” he sighed, turning away from the window to face me. “I didn’t call you here for pleasantries either, Rocco.”

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

Maximo paused, his face hardening like a sculpture. He threw the rest of his cigar into the fireplace, where it sparked in protest before being swallowed by the flames.

“Our shipments keep going missing. And I haven’t been able to find out who is taking them.”

“Are you serious, Max?” I said, irritated he had called me all the way here for that. “Just switch up who—”

“You think I haven’t tried every option I have to find out what’s happening?

Drugs keep going missing; we keep finding men with their throats slit and organs gone.

Nothing has worked.” He started pacing back and forth from behind his desk.

“So, I finally came to the conclusion that it’s someone on the inside. ”

“An inside job? That would take way too many people—” I started, but he interrupted me again.

“No, someone on the inside working with another group.”

“A mole,” I frowned, processing what he was saying. “Well, that’s unfortunate.”

“Understatement of the century,” Maximo spat, his dark eyes flaring with anger. “This ‘unfortunate’ situation is costing us millions.”

I wasn’t sure why Maximo had called me here; I didn’t work for the Salvaggio family. An internal audit of his ranks was his problem.

“I’m not sure why you called me here,” I said, telling him such. “There’s nothing I can do about that.”

“There are a few leads I was hoping you would investigate. I don’t want any of my men to know, and if I showed up, it would be suspicious.”

I was going to tell him no; absolutely not, but I remembered how many things he had done for me. Plus, seeing the desperation in his eyes, I couldn’t just turn my back on him.

“I’ll look into it,” I said, letting out a sigh of resignation.

“Glad to hear it.” He threw me an envelope packed with cash. “For your troubles.”

I scowled at him, catching the weighty envelope in one hand. “I’m not doing it for the money,” I said gruffly, placing it back on his desk.

“Whatever. Buy your wife jewelry or something. Your wedding was beautiful, by the way.”

Not wanting to get into a conversation about my wedding—living it once was already terrible—I bid him goodbye and headed back towards the car.

It was late. Gabriella would probably already be asleep when I got back home, which was good. We wouldn’t have to deal with that awkward getting into bed at the same time thing.

I drove through the residential streets, the dim lights casting eerie shadows on the asphalt.

The silence was deafening, broken only by the occasional hoot of a lonesome owl or the low hum of the car’s engine.

It was a long drive back to the city, and my mind wandered as I navigated the lonely rural roads.

The solemn blackness outside did nothing to comfort me; it merely echoed in the void filling my heart.

In the hazy state between sleep and wakefulness, I couldn’t help but notice something different about the way my body was propped.

My body temperature was higher, and gravity felt heavier against my chest. Blinking away the remnants of sleep, I realized Gabriella had encroached on my side of the bed.

She was nestled into my side, her head on my chest, one arm draped over my torso.

She must be a koala in her sleep. On our wedding night, she created a fort of pillows between us, and I had woken up to her snuggling against one of those.

Now here she was, clinging to me like a life raft at sea.

I shifted uncomfortably, the unfamiliar intimacy of the situation stealing away my sleep.

I looked at her for a moment, her hair splayed out in waves on the pillow, her dark eyelashes casting soft shadows on her cheeks as she slept. My stomach twisted with anxiety when I realized I didn’t actually hate her sleeping on me like this. I wouldn’t go as far as saying I liked it, though.

Gabriella would definitely hate it, though. I needed to get myself out of her grasp before she woke up and found me in such close proximity.

Slowly, I began to slide out from under her, careful not to disturb her slumber. Her grip immediately tightened around me, a groan slipping past her lips in protest. She shifted closer, unintentionally pushing her face into my chest even more.

“Merda,” I muttered in Italian, cursing the situation aloud.

A few moments passed, and I tried again, ever so gently, to disentangle myself from her.

I wasn’t as gentle as I thought I was being.

As I moved my torso, Gabriella’s eyes fluttered open and her sleepy gaze landed directly on mine.

In the dim morning light, she seemed momentarily disoriented, her hazel eyes widening in confusion as they met mine.

Then realization dawned on her and she jerked away from me as if she’d been scalded.

“What are you doing?” she hissed, picking up a pillow and hurling it in my general direction, an act of defiance in retaliation for the awkward situation she had woken up to.

She then scrambled as far as she could on her side of the bed, her cheeks flaring with a blush that was quite visible even in the morning semi-darkness.

“What am I doing?” I couldn’t help but scoff at her accusation, my grip firm on the pillow I had caught when she had hurled it in my direction. “You’re the one who turned me into your personal teddy bear.”

She scowled at me, crossing her arms defensively over her chest. “I did not,” she protested, but her face was too flushed to give her words any credibility.

“You were stuck to me like glue,” I said. “I’m surprised I didn’t suffocate.”

“Why, you!”

Gabriella threw another pillow at me again, and I was ready for it, snatching it out of the air with my left hand. I held up both caught pillows in triumph, a smug smirk forming on my face. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

If there was one thing I had learned about Gabriella so far, it was that she would not give up a fight.

So, it was no surprise to me when she reached backwards for a decorative pillow.

But, instead of grabbing the pillow, she lost her balance and fell off the bed with a loud crack, disappearing from my view.

“Gabriella?” I said, dropping the pillows and hopping off the bed. “Are you okay?”

She groaned from the hardwood floor, not able to hide the pain echoing through her voice. I rushed to her side, kneeling down to assess the situation. Her dark curls were splayed out around her head like a halo, one hand clutching her ankle in pain while the other flailed in an attempt to get up.

“I’m fine,” she grumbled through clenched teeth.

“No, you’re not,” I said, looking at her rapidly swelling ankle. I ran my fingers lightly over the injured area, trying to gauge the severity of the injury. She hissed sharply, her caramel-colored eyes darkening in pain.

I sighed, picking up off the floor bridal style. She squealed in surprise, her arms flailing around before finding purchase around my neck.

“Hey! I can do it myself,” she said defiantly, her cheeks reddening again.

“I’m sure you can,” I responded, lowering her gently onto the soft comforter. “But that ankle needs some rest and ice.”

She huffed in semi-agreement, her pout growing with every passing second as she watched me disappear into the kitchen. I returned with a first aid kit and a bag filled with ice.

“Here,” I said, gently placing the ice pack against her swollen ankle, and she sharply inhaled.

The two of us sat in silence as I tended to her injury, the only sounds in the room being the ticking of an old clock on the wall and our shared breathing.

“Will you stop?” she said, breaking the silence.

“No? Your ankle needs to be wrapped.”

“I didn’t mean that,” she said, a very familiar scowl on her face. “Stop pretending to be nice.”

I paused, my hands hovering over the bandage I had been about to wrap around her ankle. “Pretending? You are my wife, Gabriella. Whether you like it or not, I will always take care of you.”

I would always provide for her, but there were many other things I couldn’t promise her. I would never be a doting husband constantly showering her with affection and warm words.

Most of all, I could never promise her love. People like me weren’t capable of that.