18. Chapter 18
eighteen
Bianca
M eeting Athena was a dream come true.
She was smart, strong, and confident. Everything I wanted to be, and was actively trying to become.
And she was kind and welcoming as the cherry on top. Her beautiful blonde hair was wild and curly the way mine would never be, but she didn’t flaunt her beauty and well-proportioned curves. She instead asked for a picture of me so she could pull together an appropriate outfit that went well with my coloring.
She showed up with a pale purple wrap dress that matched the discarded flowers I wore in my hair yesterday. Like a freaking psychic. The dress was elegant, and in this style it didn’t need to be an exact fit. And she produced a cute pair of white sandals…in several sizes.
“Sorry, I couldn’t see enough to guess what size shoe you wear,” the blonde beauty said, shrugging apologetically. She didn’t care about spending money; she felt bad she couldn’t be even more psychic. What a woman. Lucas was a very fortunate man.
Athena followed me into the bedroom to get dressed, helping me situate everything, fluffing my hair uselessly, and offering me some makeup from her bag. Only when we rejoined the men in the front room did I see another side of her.
“What do you mean she’s going to wear a wire? Where is she supposed to put a wire in that damn dress?” Athena’s voice steadily rose, and she gestured pointedly to the slimming and clinging dress. Oh. Right.
The dress looked damn good—the way Mark’s eyes were glued to me heated me from my throat down to my toes—but it probably wasn’t the best choice for the event after all.
“I don’t know, we’ll figure it out,” Lucas said.
“This is just like you! Never giving me all the details so I can know enough to do my part.”
“Hello, pot? This is the kettle you’re talking to,” he snipped back. “We’ll figure it out. The transmitter is fairly small. We can stick it…”
Lucas paused, looking uncomfortable. Athena sighed, grabbing it out of his hands and stalking toward me. She leaned in to whisper, “Don’t worry, we still like each other. Fighting is pretty damn good foreplay in our home.”
Mark choked on a laugh from beside me.
“The answer is simple,” Athena said, leaning forward to eye my boobs. “We push the wire between the tits, and slip the transmitter down the front of her panties. As long as she doesn’t strip down no one will see anything. We just need a short wire because there won’t be room for any slack, really. You have great tits, by the way.”
I blushed, feeling my normal self-consciousness come back. “Thank you.”
“Of course,” she said, giving me a pat along the side of said tit. Wow. Maybe I was a little gay after all. I darted my eyes over to Mark, who was doing his best to hold in another laugh.
I appreciated the comic relief. In a couple of hours, nothing would be funny at all.
I hated to admit it, but Lucas was right. It was difficult not to act suspicious when you were wearing a wire to record a confession from your father admitting to heinous crimes.
It was hard not to scan my mirrors as I drove over, trying to find the van Mark promised would follow behind me. It took a concerted effort to exit my car without seeming stiff, not wanting to jar the microphone or cord taped precariously down my side along the seam of the dress to the transmitter strapped to my inner thigh and the receiver tucked into my panties.
The receiver would store the audio, but the transmitter would send the signal to the surveillance van so Mark and Lucas could listen to everything as it happened. It felt like too much hardware, but both items were too small to see. It was just the nerves.
Once everyone was seated along the table, it felt impossible not to stare out the window into the backyard. Mark and Lucas were parked out there on the far side of the garden wall. I couldn’t see them, but that’s where I was told they would be, and I believed Mark.
The knowledge that he was there waiting for me helped me breathe easier. I loosened my jaw, rolled my shoulders, and smiled gratefully at Aunt Dahlia when she passed me the salad bowl. I needed lighter fare tonight to make it through.
My father sat at one end of the table and Uncle Angelo at the other, the mafia brothers commanding even table settings. I held in the look of disgust as my mother fawned over my father, straightening his tie and smiling at him as if she had no idea he cheated on her. Repeatedly. With a teenager.
My eyes flicked to Frannie, seated on my father’s other side, next to her mother, and I felt queasy again. Frannie avoided my eyes, but when I gave her foot a small tap of acknowledgement, she tapped me back. It was tiny, but it was something. I ignored it when Carlo buttered Frannie’s roll for her after he buttered my mother’s. He was treating the situation as if it was normal.
Then again, he probably did these things for Fran for years and I never noticed. It broke my heart that Dahlia must have known his intentions and kept bringing her daughter around anyway.
The chair next to me sat empty, though there was a place setting there. I wondered who was missing—besides the usual cousins who were no longer with us—and what kept them. We used to have a larger gathering each week, but my mother—or the maid—had to take the leaf out of the table since we lost Antonio and Leo.
Who was missing? No time like the present to start digging.
“Daddy, who’s supposed to be eating with us?” I asked, nodding to the place setting next to me.
“Ah, but no one. We wanted to bring one of the men up from the lower ranks to work more closely with us—”
Theo Gates maybe? Mark said he was their new enforcer, the one who shot at us earlier.
“—But your uncle didn’t think it was time yet.”
“It isn’t,” Angelo interjected, glaring at the empty place setting. “Even if we’re using him more, he should stay where he is until further notice.”
The table went silent. I was still new to this whole mafia thing officially, but I didn’t think Angelo was supposed to talk to his older brother that way.
My Nonno brought the syndicate over from Italy and raised my father. Angelo was the illegitimate, much younger second son. When Nonno died eleven years ago it had to be my father, the oldest, put in charge of his estate. Carlo Morelli was the head of the family, the senior partner at their law firm, and hosted the Morelli family dinners.
Not Angelo.
My mother eventually cleared her throat, asking if everyone had enough to drink. We all muttered an affirmative and quietly moved on.
The problem was that I didn’t want us to move on. I needed to talk about the business, but every time I tried to bring up a revealing topic, someone shut it down—Mom, Dahlia, Dad himself the final time.
“Bianca Rose,” he scolded. “I’ve never talked about business at the dinner table before. We will not start now just because you’re so curious.”
Shit. I was being overeager. I had to wait, bide my time, and try again later.
“I’m sorry, Daddy,” I said, smiling at him like nothing was wrong. “I just have a lot of questions after the last time we spoke. Can I talk with you after our meal?”
“Our delicious meal,” he corrected, stroking my mother’s hand adoringly. How could he look at her so affectionately and still treat her like crap?
“Can we talk after I finish a second plate of this delicious food?” I tried again.
He glanced across the table at Angelo before nodding to me. Good. At least the Brothers Morelli were moving past that almost-spat. “Yes, we’ll head into my study after you finish eating, bambina. You’re skin and bones! Eat. Now, before Dahlia finishes all the bread.”
Dahlia snapped her hand back from the bread basket, and I reluctantly grabbed a piece, wondering how I could stuff it down when my throat was so dry. I lifted my wineglass out of instinct, but hurried to set it back down, knowing I’d need a clear head to make it through tonight. I picked up my water glass instead, taking a big gulp and hoping no one saw my stupid mistake.
I finished my salad and most of the roll before giving up. I placed my napkin to the left of my plate just as the others around me did, thankful no one actually enforced the idea that I needed to have a second helping of risotto that I couldn’t even stomach a first serving of.
“Cara mia, please follow me,” my father said, standing and pulling my chair out for me. I nodded, giving him a grateful smile. My father had impeccable manners. He always talked a big game about treating his women with respect. Apparently only in certain ways, but I was used to the gentlemanly manners and took his offered arm as he escorted me back to his study, Uncle Angelo following silently behind.
Both brothers sat in the matching armchairs next to his private fireplace, staring at me. I shut the door behind me, unsure of what to do next. The only other chairs were near the desk, so I stood in front of the two men, trying to hide my discomfort.
“I’ve given a lot of thought to what you said the other morning, Daddy,” I said, the sweet name tasting like sawdust in my mouth. “I think I’d like to be more involved, but I need to know everything first. You know I love you and won’t judge you, but I need all the details to make an informed decision.”
Yuck, that sounded so formal.
“Family First. Always,” I added, nodding respectfully at both men.
Angelo kept his steely gaze on me, giving a slight nod in agreement to Carlo. Good. Both men were in agreement.
“Have a seat by the fire, cara mia,” my dad said, gesturing to the hearth. I nodded, trying to gracefully and carefully sit on the plush carpet in my dress without detaching any of the carefully placed wires.
“Our job is to create stability and security for the family. Our family. We do this by making as much money as possible so The Family never wants for anything.”
“I get that. I’ve never gone hungry. And if I’m ever going to start a family of my own, I want my kids to feel just as secure and loved as I always did.” They wouldn’t be able to doubt the sincerity in my voice this time; everything I said was true. “I need to know specifics, Daddy. If I’m going to get involved, I will commit. Family First. But I don’t want any surprises. I want to be okay with everything, and to do that I need to know and process everything.”
The men glanced at each other again. My father cleared his throat.
My heart thumped as the seconds ticked away, but then he smiled warmly at me.
“We have our fingers in a couple different pots. We have a drug business, of course. Mostly fentanyl these days.”
Bingo.
“We also have our hands in the sex trade.”
I tried to keep my expression neutral, but needed to know more. “Prostitution and strip clubs or human trafficking?”
Angelo’s face actually broke out into a smile at that. It didn’t look friendly. “The former. For now.”
I swallowed and nodded.
“Do you have an issue with that?”
Use your honesty to tell them a lie , Lucas had advised. Don’t lie outright.
I couldn’t deny the obvious issue I had with literal human trafficking, so instead I said, “I’ll work on it.”
My father nodded approvingly.
“How do you manage it all? I mean you guys are lawyers. You have to know how hard it is to get away with this stuff.” Did that sound too accusing?
“No, bambina, that makes it easier! When you’re a pillar of your community, the people don’t know they’re getting manipulated until it’s too late.”
“This is why we own so many buildings,” Angelo said, speaking up. “I just bought a restaurant last year over in the North Shore area. People are excited that I saved the place from closing down, but in reality we use it to launder money and import narcotics into the country.”
I remembered the fluffy article that was published recently, touting the restaurant’s fresh start. It made me sick that I’d complimented Uncle Angelo on his investment. He’d made a misogynistic swipe at his wife’s cooking in the article, but I was still proud that we were giving back to our community. I was dead wrong.
The anger was bubbling up, and I needed a minute to rein it in. I opted for a distraction.
“And how is your wife, Uncle? Has her cooking improved at all?” It was a longstanding tradition for Angelo to berate his young wife in her absence, which was basically all the time. I’d always assumed the poor woman was just very shy and desperate to please, but now I was seeing things differently. She reminded me a lot of Frannie: meek, quiet, and trying desperately hard not to be seen. Hell, I think I’d only ever seen her a handful of times in the decade or so they’d been married.
Maybe when I helped put her husband behind bars the woman would come out of her shell.
“No. She seems to be getting worse. I’m about done with her. Soon she’ll have no uses left.”
Yikes. No wonder I never had a close relationship with my uncle. When he wasn’t trying to watch his words around me he was absolutely awful. I gave him a neutral nod and turned back to my father.
“What did you want from me when you asked if I’d like to take a bigger role in the business? More than just laundering money through selling fake antiques, that is.”
There. Now he knew that I knew. All the cards were on the table.
And my crazy father smiled at me. Proud. Proud of me for figuring it out!
“Ah, I was wondering when you’d notice. You’re very smart, bambina. So very smart.” His eyes still looked delighted, smug. He didn’t know I knew about the bug in my destroyed watch, and I wanted to keep it that way. “I don’t need anything more from you than your cooperation.”
My cooperation?
“It’s come to our attention that you’re a beautiful young woman.” It didn’t sound like a compliment the way Angelo said it. “It’s time for you to settle down and start the next generation of Morellis.”
“Okay?” I just let my boyfriend come inside me two hours earlier, so I was clearly working on it. “I want to settle down. You know I’ve always wanted a big family,” I said to my father. “That hasn’t changed.”
“Good. We have just the man for you.” Whoa, hold up. “He was supposed to come to dinner this evening, but…alas. It wasn’t to be. Not yet. But it will be your job to make nice with him and make nice grandbabies for me.”
Totally not where I expected the conversation to go.
“He’ll pick you up at your apartment tonight for a date. He will be waiting in your living room when you get home. Play nice, Bianca Rose.”
That was a clear dismissal. But still.
“In my living room? In my loft?”
“Of course,” Angelo scoffed. “You want in with the family? Your home is ours. Your body is ours. Your life. Congratulations, you’re in. You’ll be the next Don’s wife, if you please him enough. If not, you still belong to the Family, and the Family will make sure you do right by him.”
That…sounded a lot like human trafficking. I was being given away to some random man I’d never met. But Mark…
“I can’t do that,” I said firmly.
“Already uncooperative,” Carlo tsked. “Strike one.”
“I just. I want to meet him. What’s his name?”
“You’ll meet him when you get home. To the building The Family paid for.” So my father wasn’t being generous when he purchased my storefront for me; there was an ulterior motive, six years in the making.
“Maybe you paid for it, but it’s my name on the documents. You can’t just let anybody into my home without permission.”
“I can do whatever I want,” Angelo said, the ire in his eyes telling me I should shut up and just exit the conversation gracefully.
“Strike two.” My father tsked again. “All I’m asking for is your cooperation. I don’t know why it’s so difficult.”
“Because! What if I’m already seeing someone?”
My father waved his hand dismissively. “I’d know if you were. If I had to guess, I’d wager you just broke up with someone so the timing is perfect. But if you were, you’d stop seeing this other man immediately. Family First.”
That was why he had me bugged. To confirm my commitment to the family and make sure there wouldn’t be any boyfriend-shaped surprises. How about this for a surprise?
“I’m not sure if this man would want to be with me if I were pregnant with someone else’s baby.” I wasn’t, not yet, but people already assumed Mark’s secret girlfriend was knocked up, so why not use that excuse for myself?
The weight of both men’s stares hit me, rooting me to the spot. The heat of their combined gazes made me wish I hadn’t said anything. I could have just agreed, walked outside, and disappeared. I could have done any-freaking-thing else but say those words.
Angelo stood up. The fire behind him created a dark silhouette, his hand closing into a fist that almost looked on fire. And I still sat on the floor, trying not to show my fear and cringe from the much larger man towering over me.
“Are you?” my father asked, voice quiet.
“No,” I said, my voice a mere squeak. “It was a hypothetical.”
He looked at his younger brother. “I’m not sure if she’s telling the truth. She avoided the wine at dinner, and it was an exceptional Borolo.”
The tiniest mistake can give you away, so you need to be on the ball every single second, Lucas had warned, and I still messed it up. I tried to hide my panic, but my heart beat too rapidly in my chest to describe my feelings as anything else.
Angelo shrugged. “Better safe than sorry.” He reached down to offer me a hand, and I took it gratefully. They were going to let the Theo Gates thing go.
But Angelo used my standing position to grab me by the hair, holding me still so he could punch me hard in the stomach. Two, three, seven times in quick succession.
I gasped, unable to breathe after the first hit, but kept enough of my wits about me to hold in the scream. If Mark thought I was in distress, he’d blow everything to run in here and save me.
I couldn’t help the small grunt I let out when he threw me headfirst into the fireplace mantle, nor a second one as I rebounded and landed back down on the carpet, knocking down the fireplace tools with a loud clatter in the process.
I wanted to beg him to stop when I saw Angelo’s loafer coming toward me swiftly, but I held in the cries—Mark couldn’t know I was in pain. He was hearing everything. So when the kicks came, one after another, I just curled up into the fetal position, hands balled up over my mouth to muffle my whimpers.
“Look at that, brother!” Angelo said between kicks. “So well trained already. Compliant. Quiet.”
“Yes, she’ll make a perfect mafia wife,” Carlo agreed. “I think you’ve made your point, brother. I’m sure if there was anything in there it’ll find its way out soon enough.”
I whimpered again, Angelo’s malicious intent making me sick to my stomach on top of the physical pain. The tears pooling in my eyes broke free, traveling silently down my cheeks, but another kick didn’t come.
I let out a shaky breath, daring to look up at my father. He had the decency to look sad and a little guilt-stricken. I laid there panting, staring up at him. How could he let this happen to me?
I couldn’t bear to look up at Angelo, but saw his feet step closer to me until they were right in front of my face. He kneeled down and tried to enter my field of vision, but I closed my eyes again.
“You don’t need to look at me, but you will listen to what I say. Do you understand me?” I nodded, tears falling down to my temple. “If you are lying and there is some little bastard in your belly, you’ll be taking care of it. We don’t need to mix the bloodlines. Family First.”
I nodded again.
“Good.” He patted my cheek, like he was a kind, friendly uncle. “Now get off the floor and go home. Tonight will be a good night for us, and you should go. Take my hand and let me help you up.”
I took his offered hand, his fingers surprisingly gentle as he assisted me off the lush carpet. How could he pretend like this? How could he act like he hadn’t just beaten me into the floor?
I gasped again and clutched my side when I stumbled upright. The pain stabbed into me, sudden and harsh as I moved, but I had to get out of there. Angelo ignored me, looking at his brother with a sick glee on his face.
“That got me all worked up. I should head home and keep my blood pumping. Want to watch, brother?” He paused to acknowledge my presence. “What are you still doing here? Say goodnight to your family and leave.”
“Goodnight Daddy,” I croaked out. “Goodnight Uncle.”
“Goodnight bambina,” my father said, all trace of emotion gone from his face. Was he in shock or did he not care?
Did it matter at this point, after what just happened?