Chapter 13
CHRISTIAN
I ’m not sure how or why it happened, but I’m lumbered with Carmela-watching duties again the next day. The downside, apart from having to hang out with the woman responsible for my brother being fucked over, is that I’m expected to wear a suit.
Jero, dressed casually, gives me a chin nod when I turn up at the mansion. He’s in the kitchen drinking a coffee and chatting to Brigida. “Boss wants to talk to you in his office before you head out.”
Fucking great . Either he’s going to give me the same caveman talk he gave Dante about leaving his woman alone, which won’t be hard when I hate her fucking guts, or I’ve fucked something else up.
In the short walk from the kitchen to Ettore’s office, I pass Helena with a young, nervous-looking woman in tow. “…and these will have to go.” Helena gestures at the curtains in the hallway window.
The house is classically designed, with dark wood, soft carpets underfoot, and chandeliers in every room. It’s not my thing, but still, Helena is more trashy than classy, and I shudder at the thought of her making decisions about decor.
“Christian,” she says, noticing me and smiling brightly.
She’s got her eye on Dante and his big bank balance. She probably thinks making friends with me will buy her some points—it won’t. “Morning, Helena,” I say cheerfully.
The young woman holding an iPad at her side and taking notes sends me a quick glance. I wink just to fuck with her as I pass on my way to Ettore’s office.
I knock. He calls me straight in.
“Christian,” he says, motioning to me. He looks like the lord of the fucking manor sitting behind his big ass desk. “Come in and take a seat.”
I take the chair facing him. I’ve never been in here before, but it has the same wood paneling and plush carpet theme going on, and there is a nice view of the gardens through the French doors on the left.
Cedro never spoke to me directly. My father went so far as to tell me to keep a low profile whenever events caused me to grace the presence of the don’s family.
That conversation happened around the time I got kicked out of school.
Personally, I think I should have gotten some recognition for a job well done.
A physical education teacher was giving private and very adult lessons to some of the boys.
He messed with the wrong kid whose parents were a friend of a friend of Cedro’s.
I probably saved tens of thousands in future therapy bills for the parents, and the school an embarrassing exercise in litigation.
I might have gotten a bit overenthusiastic.
Heard the teacher was on a liquid diet for a while.
He moved out-of-state as soon as he was well enough to be discharged from the hospital.
They needed someone to blame, which was me.
Given I was underage, and it was on private property in a private school, I was suspended through to the end of the school year.
It didn’t bother me. I was bored as fuck and had already passed all my exams. Sending me to college was a risk no one was interested in taking. I’ve been working with Jero ever since.
Win-win.
“Your brother has accepted the position of capo.”
Accepted is an interesting word…. “Yes, I heard, sir. He left this morning.”
He nods, leans back in his chair, and steeples his fingers, which I once saw in a TikTok was a sign of superiority.
He’s the fucking don, or close as, so I don’t think he needs to offer any additional cue. But whatever.
“Good,” he says, nodding again. “I’d like you to assume the role of Carmela’s protection whenever she needs to leave home.”
“Yes, sir.” Fuck that. I’m not going to increase my skillset following a prissy mafia princess around.
He smiles. It looks genuine, and that really fucking throws me. “I understand the two of you have had some… clashes in your past.”
“She told me I was a thug in the making after I got blood on her dress. I was fifteen at the time. It was at the summer ball Don Cedro used to host here. I’d just busted the nose of the Mancini’s youngest after he cornered her and tried to stick his hand under her skirt.
It was his blood. And it’s not like I had any control over the trajectory of the spray.
A thank you would have been nice.” I shrug.
My father, and subsequently Dante, have coached me in being less direct.
“Also, I liked to think I was a fully-fledged thug at that point. I wasn’t working for the family back then, but Jero let me cut his finger off.
I really felt like I’d found my calling, you know. ”
He bursts out laughing, like a full, deep, belly laugh.
I don’t think I’ve ever heard him laugh, and it’s very fucking disconcerting.
“The late Mrs. Accardi was not an advocate of your methods,” he says when he finally gets his amusement under control. “Carmela is bound to be influenced. Davide will drive. When do you turn eighteen?”
“Next month.”
“Good.” He nods. “She wants to go to some coffee shop she used to visit with her mother. She is your responsibility. Make sure you can see her at all times. If she speaks to someone, I want to know. If anyone bothers her, deal with it.”
I leave his office.
Relieved.
Confused.
But also pissed off.
What’s going to be on the next episode of Ettore fucking with the Barone family?
When I enter the kitchen, the new bane of my life is talking to her sister.
“You good to go?”
Her brows pull together.
“I’ll catch you later, mate,” Jero says, heading out the door I entered through.
“Great! You’re coming with us?” Jessica asks, beaming.
“Not great,” Carmela says, her pert, prissy nose lifting. “You cannot be serious about this.”
I plaster on my most charming smile. “Boss’s orders.”
“You’re not even old enough to drive,” she says.
“I am aware of my age,” I say. “Davide is driving. I’m going to watch you… Make sure you don’t do anything wild.”
“Wild?” she chokes out, her face coloring.
Maybe she’s thinking about Dante going down on her.
“Like sweet, young pussy.”
Yeah, now I’m thinking about it too.
“Fine.” She snatches her purse from the table and the jacket from over the back of the chair. “Jessica, go collect your things.”
Her sister bolts out the door.
Carmela rounds on me the moment the door shuts. “What game are you playing?” she demands.
“Game?” I offer my best, fake-innocent expression. “Trust me. Carmela-watching was not my decision, babe.”
“Don’t call me that,” she mutters, fidgeting with the purse and jacket over her left arm.
All flustered.
Well, that was not the reaction I was expecting.
I grin. I don’t know where the endearment came from.
It just sort of popped out. Now I know it gets a rise, I’m sure as fuck going to be using it all the time.
“I’m just a thug in the making. Limited vocabulary and all that.
Please accept my apologies, Mrs. Gallo.”
Her eyes slam into mine— wounded . Her hand connects with my cheek. It sounds loud. It stings. It turns me the fuck on. I stroke my fingers over the place where the blow landed, savoring it.
She cradles her hand to her heaving chest. She put everything into it, and I’m guessing it hurt.
I want to uncurl her little fist and kiss it all better just to fuck with her some more.
“I’m not his wife,” she hisses.
“Yet,” I point out, still fighting the urge to soothe her sore palm.
“Yet,” she concedes, her eyes are a little wild, and I fucking love this look on her. “And I was mistaken when I called you a thug. You have many faces. You just choose to play that particular role sometimes.”
She’s not wrong.
“Something tells me in the days and weeks to come that you’re going to need something to rage at, someone to slap, punch, whatever.
” I take a step closer, a contented sigh escaping me as I gather her hand and carefully uncurl her fingers.
Touching her feels nice. Maybe wanting to hold her hand wasn’t only about fucking with her. “I’m here for you.”
She swallows and shakes her head like she can’t process the offer I just made. But she doesn’t take her hand back, and her eyes are on mine, guarded. “Dante?”
Yeah, she would ask about him. I’m just the brother she slaps.
“Left this morning,” I say, the bitterness returning, reminding me that this woman fucked up his life. “He was encouraged to take a position as capo. Don’t expect to see him again before the wedding.”
Confusion gathers in her expressive eyes. She tries to remove her hand from mine, but I like how it feels, all soft and tiny within mine, and tighten my hold.
“Why did you do that?” Her nostrils flare as she tugs on her hand. “Why did you send me to him?”
“Because I know he wants you. Because he doesn’t see the way you look at him when you think no one is watching. Because his mere name lights you up… But also because I’m a dick.”
She looks like she wants to slap me again. I’m good with that, so I release her hand and step back far enough to give her space to swing.
“You’re such a pig,” she snarls and stomps out of the room.
I follow, grinning. Maybe Carmela-watching duty won’t be so bad after all.
I catch up with her as she reaches the car, ducking ahead to open the door for her. My cheek is still stinging. I fucking love the way her eyes slide there before she scowls at me and flounces into the vehicle.
I get in the front beside Davide.
We drive to Le Petit Café. where Davide drops us off. I go inside with Carmela and Jessica. Tony, the proprietor, makes a big fuss over them, giving his condolences and making all the right noises.
They select a seat by the window. I find a high stool against the small counter, where I can watch her and ensure she doesn’t fraternize with anyone in a way that would break Ettore’s rules.
“How’s business?” Tony asks.
“Same old,” I reply.
The girls drink coffee and eat their pastries.
Carmela informs me she is ready to go without meeting my eyes.
I call Davide. He’s only a minute away so we step outside to wait.