The Don's Legal Eagle's Baby: An Enemies to Lovers Mafia Romance

9. Emilio

It was a typical day at Royalty Rentals. Proposals from potential collaborators lay on my desk but my mind was distracted. It kept wandering to the events of the previous night—vivid memories of what Griselda and I had shared kept replaying in my thoughts.

Her face flushed with desire, her moans echoing in my ears… everything about her held an allure to me.

The more I tried to concentrate on the proposals, the more my thoughts drifted back to her. I couldn”t pinpoint what it was about her that drew me in so powerfully. Was it her confidence, her laughter, or simply the chemistry we shared that night? Whatever it was, it had left me fighting with the desire to see her again.

However, reality set in when I remembered that I had left in the middle of the night without a word. How would she feel about that? Would she even want to see me again? A part of me wanted to reach out to her to clear the air and express my genuine interest, but the target painted on my back stopped me.

I sighed, trying to shake off these distracting thoughts and focus on the business at hand. I dragged the proposals closer to me and began to sift through them, considering the potential benefits and risks of each partnership.

A knock on the door pulled my attention away.

“Come in!”

The door opened, and Enzo walked in. His usually composed demeanor was replaced by a semi-worried expression, instantly setting off an alarm in my mind.

”What”s going on?” I asked, leaning back in my chair.

Enzo took a deep breath as if trying to find the right words.

”We have a problem,” he began, walking in and sitting opposite me. ”Earlier today, after you had already left the hotel,” he began, ”soldiers of the Mancini family showed up looking for you.”

My heart skipped a beat. Mancini soldiers were looking for me? In a public building? That was not a good sign.

”What do you mean, looking for me?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady despite my rising concern.

”They were searching for you. Banging on doors. Getting aggressive.” Enzo explained. ”However, when it became obvious that you were no longer there, they left.”

I leaned back in my chair, absorbing this news. Why wouldn’t they leave me alone? Was I the only member of the Fiore family? It was honestly ridiculous at this point.

In a strange twist of fate, I found myself feeling fortunate for the urgent summons from my father, who had pulled me from the hotel in the early morning hours. Even though I didn’t want him to know, he had caught wind of the Mancini gang having pursued me a couple of days ago, and that prompted his call.

”However,” Enzo continued, his voice tense, ”there was a casualty. One of the occupants in the room adjacent to yours was shot.”

Suddenly, my thoughts drifted to Griselda.

Fuck!

Griselda had been in the hotel! Was she safe?

Enzo”s words hit me like a ton of bricks. A casualty!

Panic coursed through my veins as I thought about Griselda, the girl I had left alone in that very hotel. My mind raced with horrifying possibilities. Was she caught in the crossfire? Was she hurt? Was she even alive?

”Who was shot?” I asked with panic.

“A man whose room was next door to where you stayed,” Enzo replied, confused at my reaction.

“What about Griselda? Is she okay? Is she safe?”

Enzo”s eyes widened in surprise. ”Griselda? Who is she?”

”The woman I was with last night in the hotel,” I replied, my anxiety making my words rushed.

Realization flickered in Enzo”s eyes, and his eyebrows shot up in surprise. He was clearly taken aback and surprised by my urgency and concern for someone he knew nothing about. He was trying to grasp the sudden revelation.

”You were with a woman last night? Emilio, you”ve got to explain. Who is Griselda?” he pressed.

My frustration flickered, ready to burst out, but I knew I couldn”t fault Enzo for his confusion. This situation was unusual, and I had never been the type to worry about a woman”s safety before, let alone with such desperation.

Because of my ties to the mafia, I had grown accustomed to a certain way of life. Committed relationships weren”t something I pursued; only occasional encounters to satisfy my desires.

However, explaining all of this to Enzo so that he could comprehend this sudden change in me would have to wait. Griselda”s safety was paramount, and it took precedence over everything else.

I took a breath, quelling my impatience, and spoke firmly, ”I will explain everything later, Enzo. Right now, please do what I asked. Find Griselda. Confirm she”s safe.”

Enzo nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. He knew when to let matters rest for a while. ”Alright, Emilio. I”ll get on it immediately.”

“We need to find her. Make sure she”s safe,” I urged again, emphasizing the urgency of the situation. We couldn”t afford to waste any time.

”I”ll do everything I can,” Enzo assured, now fully grasping how serious I was.

He turned and walked towards the door, but before he could leave, I added one more thing. ”Enzo, please... Let me know as soon as you find anything about Griselda. I need to know that she”s okay.”

As the day went on, my focus shifted between my responsibilities at Royalty Rentals and my lingering worry for Griselda. I knew I had to find a way to quicken my exit from the mafia life.

Guilt gnawed at me for the person who had lost their life in the crossfire. I had never intended for an innocent person to be caught up in my world. This was the reason why I wanted to extricate myself from the criminal underworld.

I came to a resolute decision. I would confront my father’s past, face the dangers head-on, and ensure that innocent lives were protected. That was easier said than done, but I had to find a way to sever the ties that bound me to this life, to create a future where people like Griselda wouldn”t have to be afraid of my shadows.

My thoughts kept circling back to the night when I had followed that Mancini mafioso to the old Chinese restaurant—that night had revealed a potential faction within the Mancini family.

I could somehow provide this information to my father. Perhaps it would give us a lead to follow, but revealing to my father about that night”s events was no simple task.

My hands clenched into fists.

I stood in front of my father, the Don of the Fiore family.

The atmosphere in the room was heavy. The Fiore family house exuded an air of grandiosity and history, bearing witness to generations of our lineage.

Mathias Fiore was seated on a plush, large sofa, radiating a commanding aura despite his age. His robust body carried the signs of years of life experience, and his face, adorned with slight wrinkles, bore a look of seasoned authority. His hair, a distinguished shade of white, added to his charisma.

People often saw him as a charming man, but to me, the scars on my body spoke otherwise.

I had left this house and the shadows of my family”s legacy behind as soon as I could. The grandeur of the mansion couldn”t erase the painful memories that lingered within its walls. A place with a rich history, it was also a place that had witnessed power struggles, betrayals, and violence.

Beside my father stood my uncle, Luigi Fiore, a formidable figure in his own right. He shared the familial features but had a head of black hair with traces of gray and a taller, slender frame that contrasted my father’s stocky form.

For nearly 15 minutes, I had been standing here, waiting for him to acknowledge me. This was how he treated me, a blend of disdain and indifference. My father”s behavior had always been a mystery to me. Why he harbored such resentment or indifference remained a secret.

The longer I stood in that room, the more I regretted coming here, but my purpose demanded it. Leaving the mafia world behind wouldn”t ensure my safety; the Mancini family and, likely, my father would relentlessly pursue me.

I had learned that escaping the clutches of this life was no easy feat, and my father”s reach extended far beyond the boundaries of our criminal empire.

Mathias Fiore, the imposing Don of the Fiore family, finally looked up from his drink, his sharp eyes piercing through me. I maintained my composure, refusing to display even a flicker of weakness. He despised vulnerability, a lesson I had learned the hard way several years ago.

”What is it that you wish to tell me, Emilio?” he inquired with an air of detachment.

I took a deep breath, preparing to recount the events at the Chinese restaurant and the potential rift within the Mancini family. However, I knew that revealing the truth—that this had already occurred several nights ago—could put me in a precarious position. I needed to present the information as if it were recent.

”Just earlier tonight,” I began carefully, crafting the narrative to suit my purpose, ”I was at a Chinese restaurant, tailing a member of the Mancini family. I observed a violent incident unfold - an ambush resulting in an execution. The individual was carried out onto the street and shot by the same people he had gone to meet.”

My father”s eyes sharpened, and beside him, my uncle wore a similar expression, revealing their shared concern for the implications of this revelation.

“Dimmi tutto. (Tell me everything.)” He demanded. I detailed the events of that night, and the tension in the room rose as I spoke.

After a contemplative silence, my father finally spoke. ”Queste sono davvero informazioni preziose, Emilio, (This is indeed valuable information, Emilio,)” he acknowledged, his gaze shifting from me to my uncle and back.

I nodded, glad that they believed me. However, my satisfaction was short-lived as my father”s stern voice filled the room once again.

”Ma avresti dovuto agire in modo più deciso, (But you should have acted more decisively,)” he reprimanded. ”Se fossi riuscito a catturare quell”uomo, avremmo potuto interrogarlo e ricavare informazioni più cruciali. (If you had managed to capture the man, we could have interrogated him and extracted more crucial information.)”

My heart sank as I anticipated what was coming. My father never let a mistake slide, regardless of the circumstances. He turned to my uncle, a silent command passing between them. My uncle”s face was blank as he looked at me.

”Emilio,” the man who called himself my father said with a disappointed tone, “Il tuo fallimento non può essere trascurato. Bisogna imparare una lezione. (Your failure cannot be overlooked. A lesson must be learned.)”

I had known this was coming. I stood still, steeling myself for the punishment. It was a familiar ritual - one that reminded me of the reason why I despised my father.

As my uncle went to retrieve the whip, the silence in the room amplified my impending punishment, and I felt like I was suffocating. Despite my experiences with the punishments, I was never unfazed by them.

My father tilted his head, signaling for me to proceed.

I began unbuttoning my shirt, exposing my bare back to the chilly room.

By the time my shirt was off, my uncle had returned with the whip, which was designed to cause the most pain and leave lasting scars. Its strands were made of leather soaked in a mixture of salt and vinegar, meant to sting and lacerate the skin with each strike. Just the sight of it was enough to make my gut revolt.

As my uncle stepped forward, I went on my knees.

“I hope you will do better.” My father said.

My uncle raised the whip and brought it down with a loud crack.