6. Leo
6
LEO
“ N ormally, when a don takes a wife, she’s been thoroughly vetted by his consigliere or the Commission.” Uncle Gino sits on the arm of my father’s chair and crosses a leg. “I don’t recall you running the Riccis by anyone when you left this afternoon.”
I lean back against the sofa in the center of my living room and throw my arms across the top. Through the condo’s massive wall of windows, the Boston skyline glitters against the stars, and I can’t help wondering where Stella is right now. After leaving the church, I sent her home with a guard to retrieve a bag of her things, and she still hasn’t arrived.
Can’t say I enjoy the waiting.
Shaking my head, I tear my gaze from the city and level my uncle with a look. “Well, I’m not the don, am I?”
“ Ti sei rincoglionito ?” my father demands, slamming his fist on his knee. He’s seated on the edge of an armchair across the glass coffee table from me, anger sparking from him like invisible flames. “If I wanted to fraternize with the enemy, I’d take a trip to the goddamn Orsinis.”
I cock my head at him. “You’d be dead before you even stepped foot in Corsica. Besides, Stella isn’t the enemy. She’s barely even a pawn.”
“Your infatuation with her has always been a fucking problem,” my father grumbles, leaning forward to stamp out the cigar he hasn’t smoked since entering my home. “I should’ve known it wouldn’t pair well with your impulsivity.”
Ignoring that dig, I make a sweeping hand gesture, indicating to my house staff lurking close by that we’re ready for drinks. Anna, a petite strawberry blond with a matching pink-ish complexion, scrambles in quickly, setting a silver tray of cocktails before us.
Silence settles in the air while she’s here, and she pauses, looking at me for direction. Despite being among us for a few years now, she’s never been comfortable in the presence of De Tore men. Not that I blame her when they’re sizing her up in the white polo and black dress pants she has on, as if she’s their next meal.
The others hate cocktails, but I’m a fan of them, so I lean forward and snatch one up. Taking a sip, I bask in the raspberry flavor and give Anna a curt nod of dismissal.
I don’t miss the sideways glance she tosses Frankie Galenti, who stands just behind the couch, his wrists crossed over the juncture of his legs. He doesn’t return it or meet the gaze of the men here, choosing to remain close enough to react only if I need him to. He’s my right-hand man, the only one I really trust in this room.
“We’re worried about the way it looks.” Ranolfo D’Avanzo, the oldest and most revered Elder, shakes his head, pointing his lit Cuban at me. “She’s Italian, which is good, but we don’t want to be seen as an ally of a known traitor. Not when we’re trying to move in on former Ricci trade and protection sanctions, make them our own.”
A few glances are cast in Frankie’s general direction, at the blue diamond inked on the tanned skin beneath his left eye. The informant’s diamond.
I smother a smirk at their discomfort. If his loyalty weren’t enough to make them uneasy, the fact he’s a former boyfriend of mine certainly would. Not that we were ever that serious; I’ve always been too involved with the family business to entertain deep commitments, and Frankie prefers a partner he doesn’t have to answer to. Our relationship is better suited to the dynamic we have now.
“We can still do those things whether she’s here or not,” I tell them. “I fail to see the issue.”
“It makes you look weak,” my father notes. “Which makes me look weak. Like I don’t have control over my own son. What else might I not have control over? How can I be trusted to organize deals with premium product, or to facilitate services that’ll keep officials off our asses?”
I roll my eyes and get to my feet, strolling across the room to the connecting kitchen. A knife block rests on the breakfast bar, and I run my fingers over one of the larger black handles, removing it slowly. My back is to them when I speak again. “Please. Rafael didn’t have the cash we wanted, and he said he didn’t know where his wife was, so I made an executive decision and took what he valued. If anything, our allies will thank me for getting leverage on the bastard. Christ knows you were never able to.”
They're barking up the wrong tree if they’re looking for remorse over my taking of Stella. I won’t apologize, and I won’t give her back.
Not now that I know how terribly sweet she tastes. Like rainfall at night. A beautiful song in the midst of utter silence.
My father grumbles something to Ranolfo. I listen to them silently, the tip of the knife still lodged just inside the block, taunting me.
“You’ll have to deal with your nonna then. Not to mention Aunt Regina and the cousins who’ll look at a Ricci as a slap in the face,” says Zeno Zorzi, a second or third cousin and the head of import oversight.
“They’ll be mad that there was no wedding,” my father adds. “Expect a formal ceremony soon, if your nonna gets her way. Lord knows she’s been dying for the chance.”
“Aurelio’s gonna want bedsheets,” Ranolfo points out.
My heart drums an unsteady rhythm in my chest.
Why hadn’t I thought about all the bullshit I’d be dragging Stella through just to be with me? Aurelio’s pushing one hundred, but since he’s the former underboss to my great-grandfather, his desire to uphold tradition is generally respected by the rest of the De Tores.
There are rules in this world. Expectations.
But I didn’t give a fuck about any of that when I had the woman of my dreams offered up on a silver platter.
I just… wanted her.
I would’ve put the De Tore family and business through hell to have her.
Uncle Gino, at least, sighs in resigned acquiescence. “My advice? Lock her up in this tower. Get her pregnant. If she spits out a brat for you, the other families will know you’re serious and not just trying to pull something over on them. The De Tore lineage will live on, and you won’t be risking our fucking necks because you wanted to show how big your dick was.”
“I wanted a wife, not a broodmare.” My dominant hand curls around the knife’s handle, heat rushing to my face as rage simmers in my blood. “I will do with her as I see fit.”
“Perhaps we should all do that,” my father suggests, his voice cutting through the air with a screech. “Do with her as we see fit, that is. If she’s just a business asset to you, I don’t suppose you’d mind running her through more…rigorous tests to prove her loyalty?”
Zeno seems to slap someone on the back before he chimes in. “ Cristo , of course! If you’re not man enough to handle it, I’m sure any of us would be happy to break her in for ya. You’re not the only one with De Tore blood.”
Everything seems to freeze. A hush falls over the men, and my neck cracks as my head swivels slowly to the side. My shoulders come next, then my hips, and lastly my feet, until I’m once again facing my men.
A sinister smile graces my father’s angular face—my face, though older and without the influence of the mother who abandoned us three weeks postpartum. Can’t say I blame her, but she could’ve taken me along.
The chef’s knife is heavy against my palm, and I touch the sharp tip with a gloved finger, twisting it slowly. “Is that a threat?”
My father lifts a shoulder, nonchalant. “Hardly, Son. Just a suggestion. There’s no better way to ensure someone’s obedience than to send them through our ranks. The men have a history of testing out new initiates, you know?”
One of them chuckles, and Stella’s wide brown eyes and sharp smirk flash in my mind. I can still taste blueberry, mint, and a hint of blood on my tongue. I imagine that long dark hair of hers twined around my fist while I fuck her on every surface of this condo, then on others outside it.
Touching her pussy through my gloves was utter torture. I wanted to drop to my knees right then and figure out if losing my mind and marrying her was worth it.
Something in my gut says yes. If nothing else, I can tell the hellcat will at least be a great lay.
But she’s mine . Not theirs to touch, or speak to, or even look at. I made the decision to marry her, to have her by my side, and no one will fuck that up. Not some random person, not Stella herself, and certainly not the arrogant bastard before me.
“What would you have her do first?” I ask, making my way back over to where my father sits. “Service you, then Ranolfo…maybe Gino too?”
Talking about her like she’s a piece of garbage I happened to find on the street makes my brain scream, but I want to get a rise out of him. Want him to disrespect me in public so I can make him pay for it later.
I need this to be justified.
My father sits up straighter, snatching Ranolfo’s cigar. “Well, Christ, I haven’t thought about?—”
“Or maybe you’d skip the foreplay and just take her all at once?” My blood sings a song of violent chaos between my ears, rushing so loudly that I can barely hear myself over it. “She’s got three holes. I’d be willing to bet they’re great for stuffing if she fucks anything like she kisses.”
Unease ripples through the men. Ranolfo shifts away as I come to a stop in front of my father, crouching so we’re at eye level. I drape both arms over my thighs, gripping the knife so tight that my thumb goes numb.
“She’s a hot piece of ass, isn’t she? You wrinkly old fuckers are just dying to get your dicks up long enough to use her, aren’t you? Show her what the De Tore family is all about?”
A half snort comes from Ranolfo, but my father remains stone-faced. He sucks on the cigar, then blows the smoke directly at me, unbothered by my taunting.
“You’re getting awfully worked up over a girl you say you don’t care about,” my father says, his words laced with a tenor of disgust. “It’s obvious you don’t have the guts to run this business. Still too much of a petulant child.”
He’s an idiot. To Flavio, I’ll always be a kid thrust into a role too big for him. Nothing more.
But perception is not always reality, and just because my father doesn’t think I’m capable of doing something doesn’t mean it’s true. Even though he’s tried to make it impossible for me, damaging my hands and affecting the mobility of one, I’m still better than him.
He flinches when my arm rises, and I flick my wrist so fast that the motion is a blur in my peripheral vision.
When the knife lodges into Ranolfo’s thigh, inches above the knee, no one blinks. No one even breathes. The older man makes a garbled noise and sucks in a labored gasp when I pull the blade back out, warm blood pumping immediately from the wound onto his chair and the white rug beneath.
Frankie hovers near me, ready to spring into action if anyone decides to retaliate. He’s got two Glocks at his sides, and I hear someone else release the safety on a gun, but I don’t see where it comes from.
They don’t shoot, though. I don’t think any of them really know what to do, since they’d been expecting me to stab my father.
But that’s why I went in the opposite direction.
Now they’re afraid of what else I might do if I was willing to do this. Maim an Elder.
Fear shines in their eyes, and that’s the way I like it.
I pinch the blade between two fingers, wiping off Ranolfo’s blood. Then I pin my father with a look. “Come near my wife, and you die.”