15. Chapter Fifteen—Carlotta #2
The three men closest to the doorway scrabble to close us in, effectively shutting out the outside world.
My eyes track Cassiel as he takes up his place behind Rome, his gaze trained on me. It’s difficult to think, to breathe, when he looks at me like that; like he wants to eat me whole.
I lace and unlace my fingertips together, finally deciding to settle them in my lap when Rome calls my name.
“Miss Carlotta Bellucci, do you understand why we’ve gathered here tonight?”
I nod silently, desperately trying to ignore the unwelcome stares coming from the other members of The Thirteen.
It’s not easy to do when they feel like barbed wire cutting deep into my flesh, marring me, leaving a painful mark.
Instinctively, my shoulders round, curving inwards to make myself smaller. Just as I did as child as my mother towered above me, her piercing screech echoing through my ears, her sharp manicured nail in my face.
I feel just as trapped as I did then, exposed.
All around me these men are watching, waiting to see me crack under pressure.
They crave it, the stench of my fear, acrid and sour.
They’re probably going to get off on it—the sick bastards—because that’s what they’re here for; to watch the downfall of the Bellucci’s.
I wonder if their little shit filled pea brains have any idea how much they’ve underestimated me.
Have they even bothered to prepare in case I don’t fail?
They should have; because over my dead body am I going to let them erase the Bellucci’s from history.
I’ve fought too hard to have the freedom I bask in now, to just let them take it from me without a fight.
Silently mouthing a quick prayer to Cristiano and my father to protect me as they tried to do when I was a small girl, I steal my spine and sit up tall, eyes narrowed.
“Let’s get on with this shit show, Folonari. I don’t have all night.”
He blinks once while Cassiel chuckles loudly behind him, not bothering to try and contain his whoop of laughter. Not for the first time, I wonder what the dynamic is between the two of them? How did they meet? And when?
“If I say you’re staying here all night, then you’re staying here all night, Bellucci.”
I scoff at Rome’s desperate attempt to rein me in. It’s an impossible feat; I’m too wild now, uncontained, after years of fending for myself.
“Just because I agree to join your gang, doesn’t mean you’re in charge of me, jackass. I am never going to take orders from you.”
Rome’s brow quirks, the corners of his lips twitching.
Maybe I shouldn’t have said that last part. After all, it’s not exactly true, is it? I’ve taken plenty of orders from him inside the walls of club Nameless.
I ignore the quiver and jolt of Cassiel’s broad shoulders—his silent laughter—praying that Rome does too.
“So, you’re agreeing to join us, then? Is that what you’re saying, Carlotta?”
Thank fuck.
“Yes.”
Rome dips his chin and spreads his hands wide, gesturing to the other men dotted about the small space. “We are The Thirteen and we welcome you, Miss Carlotta Bellucci.”
“Welcome, Carlotta Bellucci,” chants back twelve deep voices, excluding Cassiel who simply bows his head.
I just barely repress the shiver snaking up my spine, feeling goosebumps erupt over my arms at the archaic sensation passing through my body.
“We are made up of The Thirteen oldest, most influential and notorious Mafia families in twenty-first century America. We meet every three months to discuss the going on’s in our world, to make decisions and sometimes, to create powerful alliances in order to protect our families from being poached by wannabe gangsters.
There is strength in numbers, Bellucci, and within the confines of our group, we don’t let anything happen to one another.
That is a promise. As soon as you agree to join us, it is our duty to protect you…
as it is your duty to protect your brothers-in-arms.”
I tip my head to one side, appraising Rome. “What about Cristiano? If he was a part of this group, as you say he was, as I’m here taking his spot, then why didn’t you save him before it was too late?”
Rome’s throat bobs. I watch him lick his lips, pausing, before he answers me. “He—”
“Cristiano,” I spit with anger. “Not he. Say his name with fucking pride or I swear—”
“Cristiano was an anomaly, Carlotta. One I will never forgive myself for and one I am very sorry you have lost.” Audible sadness tinges his rough tone, wrapping itself around my cracked heart.
Shaking my head, I change tact. “Why are you the leader of this gang? Why does it have to be you?”
Why do you have to be the same man I’ve been sleeping with for months? The same man who knew my brother? The same man my body craves?
“First of all, we are not a gang, Carlotta. Second of all, my great grandfather founded us in 1912, two years before the first World War broke. Folonari’s have always been at the head of The Thirteen and nothing will change that.
” He quirks a dark brow in question, turning to survey his group of men.
“Is there anyone here, other than Carlotta, who challenges me?”
Not a single man voices his opinion.
Instead, I watch my mother’s newest beau bow his head, light reflecting across the smooth bald surface.
I rack my brain for this last name, trying to remember the list of member’s names Rome shoved beneath my nose at the last meeting, but I come up short, making a mental note to ask Cassiel for a copy.
If I’m going to be a part of this viper’s den, then I need to know who is hissing beside me, waiting to strike.
The eleven other men follow in his wake with Luca being the final member to submit, a grin playing about his thin lips.
“You see, Carlotta?”
I turn to find Rome smiling at me, a wild look about in his eyes, like an animal cornered.
“I never said I was challenging you, I said—you know what?” I huff. “Forget it. I’m agreeing to join for one reason, and one reason only. Will you help me find out the truth about what happened to Cristiano?”
Rome’s answer is instant. “Yes.”
“Thank—”
“After, you complete your initiation.”
I swallow, balling my hands into fists in my lap to hide my tremors. I knew this was coming, I just didn’t exactly know when. “Fine. What do I have to do?”
Rome shakes his head. “I can’t tell you that.”
Rolling my eyes, I cross my arms beneath my breasts. “What? So, I can’t prepare myself?”
“Exactly.”
“Exactly,” I mimic. I can’t help myself; he’s sitting there so smug, legs spread wide, not a care in the world. “Won’t you at least tell me when, Your Mafia Highness.”
Rome smirks at my words, glancing over his shoulder at Cassiel. “That’s got a ring to it, don’t you think, Cass?”
“Don’t start thinking I’m going to call you that.” Cassiel shakes his head, a lock of blond falling across his masked forehead. “Not unless you’re on your knees and—”
I snap my fingers, annoyance rising to the surface of my skin. “Flirt later, won’t you. Tell me when—”
“Tonight.”
“Tonight?” Cassiel and I ask in unison, our voices blending together.
“Tonight,” Rome repeats, fingers curling across the table. “Whin, pass me the blindfold.”