22. Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-One
Alessandrio
S ometimes, a little intimidation is the key to pacifying an enemy, even if it is a momentary ceasefire. And I know with Olivia, it will be momentary. The girl carries storms in her eyes. Those fucking closed files in her school documents that I should have read cannot yield me any answers—yet. I have Jimmy and his team on the job, trying to crack the code and reveal all the secrets I once thought would humanize her too much. Now I just want to know all the things I fucking missed that put me in this exact mess.
My eyes flick to her again, head and eyes lowered over her breakfast. I don’t do well with brats. The Mafia society with its wealth and privilege is good at making them, but if she wants to survive living with me, she needs to curb that. I won’t tolerate it. My brother gave her the wrong idea that she has a say in all this. You need me. That was fucking laughable. Need her? A Dolmino? If she is working for her brother to bring us down whoever trained her fed her a false sense of who and what we are. There is a melting pot of anger inside me, a mix of sharing space with a beautiful demon spawn and the knowledge that tonight, I have to return to my society—as I am.
I drop my predatory gaze from the top of Olivia’s head to the terrible hands clenched around the lip of my sink. Emilio seems to fare okay in the spotlight, but I am not him. From a young age, our father assisted him in learning how to work a room, wearing a mask to hide his inner monster. A father who had no time to train a spare son. You would think with the Mafia constantly eating its young, he might have considered it. Instead, he had to suffer through the spectacles I caused, my own inner monster acting out with zero fucks given. No matter how many fights I would pick, or how many times I would be caught with my pants around my ankles balls deep in some off-limits Mafia girl, still my old man had no time to reprimand me. His withering stares were all he ever had time for when it came to me. Even now the sting of it is fresh, the memories opening old wounds. This is all a fresh hell. Emilio didn’t think this through. If he expects me to hang on her arm like some little lap boy knight in shining armour, he’s sorely confused. I am nobody’s lap boy, and I am certainly nobody’s knight in shining armour, least of all Olivia Dolmino’s.
“As I was saying before.” I can’t hide the seething anger so many unpleasant thoughts rear to the surface as I raise my eyes to her. “There is a lot to go over before tonight.”
She doesn’t even raise her head, just stares down at the cutlery sitting on her empty plate. With a frustrated breath, I reach across the counter and snatch it away. The violent clatter of her plate hitting the sink makes her head snap up with wide eyes. Ignoring the look, I make my way around the counter, through the destruction of my living room, to sit on the sofa in front of the wall of glass.
“Come,” I snap, eager to get this show started.
My eyes devour the world beyond. Clouds roll thick across the sky, the city in the grips of a miserable fall day. The rooftop bar across the way is still closed, yet it won’t be for much longer. A year of watching the world unfold beyond this glass has taught me its patterns. I feel the couch shift as she finally sits and drag my gaze over. Her body language is about as icy and uncomfortable as it gets. Her hands grip the bottom of my shirt just above her knee, as if she expects something from me that would cause it to be pulled up. My mouth is the first thing to betray me, the ideas of that something making it salivate. Fuck. My blood is the next to go, heating in my veins, but snake isn’t my flavor.And yet, my dick seems to have forgotten my taste in women shouldn’t extend to the enemy.
“As we head into the festive season.” I drag my eyes back toward the city and quell the fire in my body. “The Mafia society will hold more and more celebrations.” And inviting the worst kind of guests, not to mention the damn Outfit. “Tonight we are going to a party held by Nico Vivaldi.” Ever the great teacher, I pull out my phone and find a picture of the little Napoleonic bastard.
I hold it up for her to see his very circular bald head smiling back, one gold tooth at the front glinting. Olivia looks at it, her soft mouth puckering.
“He’s no supermodel, but what he lacks in looks he makes up for in violence.” Her grey eyes meet mine, a perfect brow raising and my lips twitch. “He and I have a lot in common,” I admit in answer.
This girl does disgust like no one else. Even in my shirt, with her long blonde hair a wavy tangle, she still manages to look like a petulant princess. Despite who she is, the urge to get under that perfect skin and see what makes her tick is annoyingly strong. I know she has a temper, a fire that is easily stoked, and that is something that may or may not work for her in my world.
“It’s a gamble bringing a daughter of a long assumed ruined family into the mix intending to regain control over her family’s turf. Think of the Mafia like a royal court, with multiple kings, kings who occasionally try to kill or maim each other in order to take a weaker king’s lands.” She says nothing to that, her eyes moving out toward the world beyond, something like wonder on her face. “There has never been a queen with true power. Women usually take on a more traditional role inside the families: raising children, hosting parties and appearing like a good wife.” She scoffs, those eyes swinging back to me, wonder lost to derision and I can’t help but smile. “Would you be able to torture a man for information? Put a bullet in his head when you discover he has betrayed you? Would you be able to defend what is yours with blood and sweat?” Her teeth worry the soft flesh of her full bottom lip and my fingers tingle with the urge to soothe the sting. Her silence is telling. “Didn’t think so. That is why my brother has aligned us. He knows they will not accept your play without me.”
“I don’t want to be a Mafia queen.”
“Good, because you won’t be,” I reply.
She turns back to the view, eyes hard as they drag across the city. I launch into an explanation of our rules and laws,noting ones for her to be aware of. All the while, her eyes remain trained on the cloud covered city beyond the glass. In the Mafia, tradition is deeply ingrained, with an emphasis on respect and loyalty, but it is understood that everyone can be swayed by personal motivations. Many have tasted the bitterness of betrayal in our world, but punishment is usually swift and brutal.
“Arranged marriages are used to create alliances, ones to strengthen families and smooth over old insults.”
She throws me a disgusted glance.“And the women actually agree with this?”
“They do not have a choice. Some daughters dishonour their families, ruin their reputation to destroy any chance of a respectable match. However, there are ways to keep our women in check, ensuring they follow protocol.” I see the fire in her eyes ignite, my words the tinder to the blaze.
“Oh, so the Mafia is full of weak men who have to use violence against women in order to maintain their control? Good to know.”
I can’t help but chuckle. “Do you know the things you say are relatively predictable?”
“Are you contracted to marry?” She ignores my question, parrying with one of her own.
There were no marriage contracts for the man who women used to ruin their reputations. Some of them I know set the scene for the unveiling. I willingly played the role, despite knowing they weren’t the only ones who were ruined. No, no respectable family would desire me as a son-in-law.
“Emilio’s marriage was one of alliance. He and his wife have had a rather successful marriage.” It’s hard to swallow the bitterness.
Her jaw drops. “Do they live separately since the… since the curse?” She stumbles over her words, shock clear.
“Emilio tried, but Lucia is a stubborn little thing.” It’s hard not to just roll my eyes at the memories. “Plus, they were married when he was cursed, so she knows no different.”
Her eyes widen like saucers, and her mouth pops open. “You are kidding me?”
“I wish I was.” Lucia’s desire for Emilio rattled even me. It has been hard to imagine any woman accepting us as we are—willingly.
We lapse into silence, Olivia lost to her own disturbing thoughts, undoubtedly imagining Emilio as a husband and me trapped by my bitterness staring at my claws.
Ding.
The sound rips us both from our heads, drawing our eyes to where my phone sits between us on the sofa, the screen glowing with the incoming message. My eyes snag on Emilio’s name as I pick it up, and a sense of relief floods over me.
Emilio: We are here and heading up.
My relief is short-lived.
Me: We?
I wait momentarily for the response, but nothing comes. A low growl emits from my belly, vibrating up into my throat. Olivia shifts away in the corner of my eye.
“We have guests,” I spit as the service elevator dings with their arrival.
Standing, I move toward the hall, putting myself between them and her. Emilio emerges into the hall first, followed by Lorenzo wheeling a hotel trolley with garment bags and a case. Behind them in her usual high collared dress and bun—Donatella.
“My boy.” Donatella comes toward me, arms wide.
She's the closest thing to a grandmother figure we ever had. I meet her halfway, dwarfing her and yet, her firm hands pull my head down so she can kiss both my cheeks.
“What are you doing here?” I question, throwing my brother an inquiring look.
“Preparing her for tonight,” Emilio says, nodding his head over my shoulder.
Oh yes, making Olivia suitable for her debut. Apprehension washes over me as Donatella steps around me, pulling my arm so I have to turn and face the woman sitting wide eyed on the couch resembling a deer caught in the headlights. I didn’t think it was possible, but she seems to have made herself even smaller in the couch’s corner. She watches Donatella move toward her, surprise morphing into something more assessing.
“And also you.” My brother’s words turn my gaze, confusion quirking my brow.
“It’s time, Drio,” Lorenzo adds.
“What the fuck does that mean?” I snap. They both give me Cheshire grins that prickle my temper, even as I try to keep one eye on the interaction between my family’s housekeeper and Olivia.
“You can’t reenter society in a sweatshirt and jeans,” my brother tells me, reaching for a garment bag. “A suit.” He holds it up. Prada is stamped on the black material.
“A fur and claw trim,” Lorenzo cuts in with a look at my hands.
“The fur you can have at, but the claws stay.” I curl my fingers into fists, the claws in question biting into my palms.
“All but two, right brother?” Emilio sniggers and Lorenzo scoffs.
Yes, motherfucker, all but two . I shoot him a warning look, not to air my dirty laundry in front of feminine ears, and he gives me a satisfied smirk. The two fingers in question require a trim soon. The way I have been feeling around Olivia has made my need a constant ache, and Monique will appreciate the gesture.
All of our attention reverts to the two women, the older of whom is whispering to the younger, palms up as if to show she means no harm. There is a strange feeling in my gut watching Olivia, her face uncertain as she stiffly stands and nods.
“We will go to your room,” Donatella says, and she gestures for Olivia to lead her.
“To hell with that.” The words fly out like accusations. “I’m not leaving you alone with her.” She isn’t one of us. Olivia could harm Donatella, feigning innocence to milk information from the older woman.
“Boy, I am in no more danger than you are,” Donatella admonishes.
I shake my head, my mouth poised to strike again as Olivia peers over her shoulder at me. Her face is such an open book of confusion. Emilio steps around me and walks toward them, striding purposefully until he’s blocking Olivia entirely from view. A guttural growl rips up my throat before I can even swallow it back, making his head turn—face surprised.
“Relax Drio,” he says and I feel a firm hand on my shoulder—Lorenzo.
Have I lost my damned mind? I turn to my uncle, using him to anchor my emotions and the flurry of confusion that makes me rub a velvet palm down my face. The look Lorenzo is giving me, however, is anything but comforting. There is a small smile playing out on his lips, his eyes assessing me from my tense shoulders to my now clenched fists.
“Feeling protective, are we?”
I growl low in warning at his words.
“Okay, okay.” He holds up a hand, placating me.
Protective? Protective of Donatella for sure. However, I have a feeling Lorenzo meant Olivia, and the only reason he would get that idea is if I had handed it to him on a platter.
“They will be fine,” Emilio says and I catch Donatella’s form as she disappears down the hall.
“I need to speak to our men. I’ve been away too long and they need to be filled in on this recent development,” I add.
“Lorenzo is taking care of that for you,” Emilio replies, and my brow raises in question. “We need you with Olivia. She cannot be left alone—”
“No.” I shake my head vehemently. “I am their leader. It’s important that we keep a choke hold on their movements to ensure nothing like Frankie happens again.” That name poisons the air.
Emilio growls in response, his body tensing with so many dark memories. The betrayal still chafes at all of us. Our cousin, murdering his own brother, and aiding Riccardo Dolmino in the torturing Lucia. I know Emilio still blames himself for it, but snakes are good at hiding. You don’t fucking see them till you step on them and then it’s already too late. Olivia Dolmino. Her very image is conjured by the idea and the urge to go to her room, if only to check on Donatella, is an incessant itch demanding to be scratched.
“Drio,” my brother snaps, commanding my attention.
“I’m not giving up my command over my men,” I snap back, the seams of my control fraying as I watch my whole life be turned on its head because I kidnapped one girl.
“I am your Don. You take orders from me and you will listen.” He steps in front of me now and I know he means business. “You brought her here and, like it or not, I tasked you with taking care of her.” The moody prick is glowering back, and I wonder how my sister-in-law is so in love when his face is constantly this gloomy.
“I can take care of the men,” Lorenzo inserts.
“I know that,” I snap at him. “God, I don’t know how Lucia stands looking at you,” I tell my brother.
A knowing smile pulls at his dark lips, sharp canines revealed as his eyes flash. “She loves me. I wouldn’t expect you to understand the meaning of that.”
“Love,” I spit the word like it burns. “Who needs it?”
Emilio gives Lorenzo a look, a small smile quirking my uncle’s lips and I glare at them both.
“Okay, Lucia’s husband. What’s your plan?” I ask sarcastically.
“A fake engagement.”
“A fake what?!” I am in his face immediately, outrage coursing through my veins at the mere idea.
“You heard me brother.” We are eye to eye now, two monsters physically matched. “We will announce it tonight. Let the wild fires of Mafia gossip do its work.” He pokes a furred finger in my chest. “Now we are going to go to your room. I have the trimmers. Lorenzo has the nail clippers—”
“You aren’t trimming my fucking claws,” I bark out.I turn my ire on Lorenzo.“You aren’t trimming my claws, old man.”
“Fine, the claws stay. But you will look the part. The suit is the right size and ready to go. I also have the ring.”
A ring, a fake engagement, and the daughter of our enemy. My life has just become a fucking inferno.
“You got it boss,” I grind out, curling my fists and itching for a fight.