Chapter 6
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ANASTASIA
Steam billows from out of the pan as the sauce violently bubbles away on the stove. I set it to simmer and slip on my oven gloves, before pulling out the tray of perfectly cooked salmon.
Kicking the oven door shut, I groan at the incessant buzzing at my door. This late it can only be one person brave enough to annoy me after a day of dealing with audits. “I’m coming!” I yell out as the buzzing becomes more persistent.
I quickly open the door, oven gloves still on and the salmon sizzling away in my hands. “Seriously Stasia, do you know how cold it is out here?” My dad barges into my apartment, dramatically blowing into his hands.
I roll my eyes, finally setting the tray down to take off my gloves. “There’s underfloor heating, dad.”
“Still, it shouldn’t take ten minutes for you to open the door.” At least I know where my youngest sister got her flair for the dramatics from. My anxiety spikes as I watch him casually set his coat on the back of my sofa. His gaze trails towards my dinner that’s still sitting on the stove, and I take the opportunity to grab his coat and hang it on the coat rack instead.
I move back over to the couch, smoothing over the creases in the leather. “Do you have any spare dinner for me? Your mom is on this health diet, only serving chicken and broccoli. I tried to make pork chops last night and she fed them to the tigers instead.” His lips quirk up. “I quoted that snickers ad to her — you’re not you when you’re hungry — and she threw her fucking heels at me. I almost asked her if she was pregnant again until I remembered that I value my life.”
I almost laugh, even though the concept of my mom getting pregnant again freaks me out. Forty-three is still young but there’s no way they could handle another baby.
“Let me plate it up and we can eat. Set the table?” It’s weird seeing someone else in my apartment. Though I love spending time with my family, I think Calista is the only one to have ever actually stayed the night here.
My dad moves around my place effortlessly, grabbing knives, forks, cups and even finding the tiny key I hide beneath the chopping board for the wine cupboard.
It makes me wonder if he’s been using that spare key I gave him without my knowledge.
“What?” He asks, sensing my gaze on him.
I shake my head, grabbing another piece of salmon to set on top of the rice. “Nothing.”
He huffs, knowing that I’m full of shit but lets it go anyway. Grabbing a plate, he heads to the table and I watch him stretch across to pour me some wine. “Don’t!” He pauses, glancing back at me. “I’m trying to cut down how much I’m drinking.”
I also don’t want a repeat of the other night.
Waking up on the couch in my underwear, head throbbing and memory skewed is enough to put me off wine for life. Especially when I saw the outgoing call I had made on my phone. The prospect of having to look Mancini in the eyes tomorrow is enough to put me off wine for life.
“You and your mother.” My dad snorts, as I sit myself beside him. “She’s already boxed up all the alcohol in the house, hiding in the cellar though I swear I caught her sneaking down there today.”
“She probably just misses Isla. I suppose she’s trying to distract herself.”
He nods, shoveling some salmon into his mouth. “Makes sense. I miss her too, you know. The house is so quiet now. I don’t think I realized how empty life would be once all our kids moved out.”
“Try and convince Calista to come home. Lots of struggling artists live with their parents for a while.” Also get her the fuck away from Jeremiah — although I would never actually say that to him.
My dad’s idea of getting a boy away from his daughter includes his tiger Zeus and whilst I approve of murdering my sister’s idiotic admirer, I doubt Calista would appreciate it.
He sighs. “I’ll try, but I think I’d have more luck persuading you to come home.”
I almost choke on my food. He laughs, handing me a napkin so I can wipe my mouth. “Seriously dad? I’m twenty-five and there’s no way we could handle living together again. Mom…maybe, but us? We’d kill each other.”
There’s no-one more like me in this world than my dad. We share the same raven dark hair and glacier eyes, both ice cold and stony, whilst my rage is a mold of his. Sealing us together would be almost cataclysmic, like a supernova finally exploding.
“I don’t disagree with you.” He laughs half-heartedly, and I can sense this unease that lingers in the air between us.
I set my fork down. “Dad, what’s wrong?”
He sighs, “Want the good news first?”
I need time to prepare for the worst. “Always.”
“That lawsuit that Jas was struggling to settle has been dealt with.” With my father, that either means the problem is currently leaving the country with a quarter of a million dollars in his bank account or at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean with an anchor tied to his ankles. “He’s not dead.”
“So you actually paid the bastard?”
“I’m not insane Anastasia. All it took was a little blackmail. The man frequents the Peppermint and apparently, he likes them young.” I curse myself for not thinking of that sooner. The Peppermint is essentially a brothel fronting as a casino. So many senators, business giants and police officials are now under our control because of their indiscretions.
I swallow hard. “Thanks.” My dad just smiles, knowing how rare that is for me. “And the bad news?”
“I read the letter.” My jaw screws up tight, trying to figure out which one of those bastards went running to my father .
“I didn’t realize that privacy meant nothing anymore. Was it Rutherford?”
“Lawrence actually. He said he wanted my opinion.”
I scoff. “Of course he did. He probably thought daddy could convince me to accept the bullshit offer.”
“They’re all misogynistic assholes, Stasia. I know that and your mom does — hell she experienced it as well but no matter how much we tried to fight it, the politics of business always seemed to overrule. One day, I know you’ll change everything for the better but as of right now, those are the assholes you need in your corner.”
“I know that dad.” I snap back at him. “It’s just hard when all I want to do is put a bullet between their eyes.”
“Patience, Stasia. They’ll get what they deserve one day. Now, what do you know about Mancini?”
“No dad. You promised when you handed everything over to me that you wouldn’t get involved unless I asked for your help.”
“That was before the entire fate of your legacy was up for grabs. Mancini is serious, Anastasia. It’s more than you’ve ever dealt with before.”
That stings. “And you don’t think I can handle it?”
“You're the best parts of myself and your mom. We’re proud of you. I’m just trying to help you.” He reaches out to squeeze my hand, but I pull away on instinct before he can. Inside I hate myself, but I can’t accept the gesture as a poor pat on the back. I wouldn’t be in this position if I was making everybody proud.
“So, what did you find out?” There’s no resignation of anger or hurt in his gaze, only a warped sense of understanding, proving we’re way more alike than just our appearances.
“Have you ever heard of the Camorra?” I shake my head. “They operate in Campania and control most of the criminal activity down there. Now they’re powerful, but not big. They rely on being discreet, hiding their organization from their enemies. We’ve never had much contact with them, especially since most of their network is in Italy, but they have attempted to infringe on our territory in Sicily before. I think Mancini is heavily tied to them, if not in charge of the whole thing. The way they are structured is similar to our organization. No-one knows you’re the Capo unless necessary and if Mancini does the same then it means this business deal isn’t just for the companies.”
I’m really regretting not drinking the wine now. “So you think he wants to merge the mafias? That could destroy the balance in Italy.”
“Exactly, we would control it all.”
“Only if we share it. Dad this is crazy, I mean…merging companies is one thing. At least it’s legal, but this…and the boar d…I don’t know what to do.” I admit, wishing for someone to absolve me of this stress and guilt.
Yet I chose this life. It's my responsibility to figure this out on my own.
“Me either, bunny.” I clutch onto my childhood nickname, reminiscing the time when decisions this heavy would never fall onto my shoulders. “But I know you’ll make the right decision. Just be careful tomorrow because if Mancini really is head of the Camorra then—”
My mind spins, thinking back to the lure of his voice which drew me like a spidery web. “He’s a lot more dangerous than I thought.”
***
Fisting my hair at the roots, I twirl it between my fingers until it tightens like rope. I reach towards my dresser for a claw clip and fasten my hair in place, securing it against the back of my head in a bun-like fashion.
The gel I applied earlier slicks my hair back, enhancing the sharp lines of my cheeks and jaws. My outfit is exactly what I described to him, a fitted black Chanel dress, the hem dusting my knees and flaring out at the waist. I tried to stray away from what I promised, like introducing a gold belt around my waist, but it would only invite conversation I’m trying to keep away from. No more light-hearted flirtations.
He’s probably expecting some naive bimbo who can barely string two words together.
But that night was a blip and it’s my job to prove that to him. I’ve even stayed away from coffee this morning, despite another yawn wrenching itself out of my throat.
My purse sits on the counter, already packed with everything I could possibly need and yet…I walk over to my bedside table and yank open the second drawer. At the bottom is my gun and a few spare bullets rolling around. I load two into the chamber and close it.
If what my father believes is true, then I’ll need more protection than usual.
It’s almost an hour later before my driver pulls up outside of Gigi’s, a small Italian cafe, sandwiched between a butcher’s and a hairdresser on the other side of town. Typically, the boardroom would be more than appropriate but Mr Mancini insisted on meeting here and honestly, I wouldn’t put it past Lawrence to have the room bugged.
Declan opens the car door for me. The Cosa Nostra insignia is tattooed on his neck, expertly disguised beneath a spectacle of floral imagery. I’m careful when taking his hand, noticing the litter of bruises across his knuckles from another blind attack at one of the compounds last night. The third one in a month and almost a hundred grand worth of product was torched.
Just another wonderful reason for the board to kick me out.
“Would you like me to wait outside, Miss Romano?”
“Stay by the door.” He nods, falling back whilst I step inside.
The place is cute. All the decor is vintage, the booths made of red leather with cheap paper glued to the walls and low hanging bulbs overhead. The floor is sticky beneath my heels, nagging at my urge to scrub them clean.
A mustached waiter pops up from under the bar. “Lei è qui per vedere il signor Mancini?” You are here to see Mr Mancini?
“Si.” Yes. I reply, waiting as he gestures to a booth at the back of the restaurant.
Following his gaze to a lone figure shrouded beneath dim light, I feel my heart begin to race a little. Anxiety wracks inside of my chest with each step I take towards him. The crack of my heels alerts him of my presence and I watch him straighten up, revealing his well fitted suit and obsidian-colored hair, buzzed short at the sides yet full at the top.
Slowly he stands, forcing me to step back to give him room. The ceiling dips low and despite being only 5,6 in heels, my head almost brushes the ceiling. I have to crane my neck up to look at him but before I can catch a glimpse at his face, he locks his hands around my wrists and pushes me back against the wall.
I frown, confusion mixing with white hot rage that has me ready to jam my knee into his stomach. “Anastasia.” My entire world spins off its axis as he finally looks me in the eye.