Francesca
I stepped through the double doors that led to the office.
“You pay Alphons?” my father barked as he leaned over the desk, searching for something in the sea of papers.
“Yes, I handled it,” I said as I moved to take a seat in the corner of the couch and crossed my legs. Leo stood against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, wearing dark gray chinos and a black t-shirt.
“Shall I send in Wolfe, Don?” Elio asked.
My father ignored him because he found whatever he’d been searching for.
He slipped it into the inside pocket of his jacket before he took a seat on the couch in the large sitting room in front of his desk, choosing a spot in the center.
The other couch was empty, where our guest was supposed to sit.
As if my father hadn’t heard Elio, he grabbed a cigar and slipped the cap between his lips before he lit the foot. He sucked in a couple times to get the flames going before the smoke started to rise. “Yes.”
My father always had a cigar in his mouth for important meetings. I wasn’t sure if it was an anxious tic he had or if he just needed something to do with his hands.
I’d never tried a cigar. As much as I loved the smell of the smoke, it wasn’t my thing.
Elio left, and we sat in silence until we heard footsteps on the hardwood floor when he returned. Elio walked through the double doors first, then stepped aside.
The man who came behind him was not what I expected whatsoever.
He was tall, easily the tallest guy in the room, in black jeans and a black shirt with dark boots on his feet, and every article of his clothing looked stressed by the mass of muscle underneath.
His sleeves were tight over his ripped arms, the popping veins visible even when they were covered in the dark ink that acted as a fresco over his body.
His legs were more slender than his arms because of his height, but the way his jeans hugged them suggested he was ripped there too. A black watch was on his wrist.
I hadn’t even examined his face, and I was already tense. I felt his energy the second he entered the room—like this was one hell of a man. Powerful and authoritative like my father, even in another league.
I finally took in his face…and I almost wished I hadn’t.
Cristo—he was fucking beautiful.
With midnight-dark hair that was short and slightly messy, like he fidgeted with it sometimes, and eyes the color of espresso that held a slight smile, like he was an arrogant son of a bitch.
Rightfully so, walking around looking like that.
He had a shadowed jawline from the beard that probably grew in hours after he shaved it. His jawline was cut sharp as if it’d been carved with a knife by Michelangelo himself. His neck was tight too, cords visible despite the ink that crept up from underneath his t-shirt.
Instead of taking a quick scan of the room and everyone in it, he just looked at me.
Stared, really.
Then the corner of his mouth lifted in a slight smile.
Cristo.
He helped himself to the couch across from my father, sat in the center, knees apart, his elbows and forearms resting on his thighs as his fingers interlaced.
He was such a big guy that he could sit that way without leaning too far forward.
His eyes shifted to my father and stayed there.
The hint of a smirk faded, and he looked serious, his eyes unblinking, possessing the intensity of a kingpin rather than someone looking for employment.
“Don Mancini.” He gave a slight nod as he addressed my father.
I hoped that I managed to keep a straight face.
I was warm because it was a hot spring day, but now my neck felt hot like I was sitting directly next to a roaring fire in my father’s hearth.
I felt a clamminess in my palms. Felt a discomfort in my stomach, like my muscles ached from being stiff for so long.
I hoped all this tension hadn’t crept into my features.
My father sat up, the cigar hanging between his lips. He grabbed it, took a final puff, and then removed it from his mouth and held it between his relaxed fingers. “You’re looking for work, I understand?”
Wolfe smirked, and that I-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude was so damn sexy. “No, I’m looking for a new family.”
“Family is irreplaceable.”
“So they say.” He gave a slight shrug, his smirk slowly fading away.
“Why did you leave Cosa Nostra?” my father asked bluntly.
Wolfe paused as he looked at my father, not showing fear or reverence like all the other men who’d come before him did. He seemed to be his own man, seemed to walk his own path in the dark. “We disagreed on some things.”
“Such as?”
He was quiet for a while as he stared at my father without needing to blink. Completely calm and confident and unaffected by the men in the room who all carried guns, while he carried nothing. “Business ethics.”
My father’s cigar continued to burn between his fingertips. “Breaking your vow to Cosa Nostra is a lethal offense.”
“It can be,” he said vaguely. “But deep down, they know I’m right.”
“They didn’t try to kill you?”
He smirked. “It’s a fight they knew they wouldn’t win.”
My father paused as he stared at him, analyzing a man who seemed difficult to understand. “So where do you stand with them now?”
“It’s probably best if we don’t cross paths again.”
“You’re aware that we’re enemies?”
He smiled. “Why do you think I’m here, Don Mancini?”
The smile was so arrogant and hostile, but my thighs squeezed together absent-mindedly.
“Because you’re a spy,” my father said curtly. “And you think I’m an idiot.”
He gave a quiet chuckle as his eyes strayed momentarily, meeting mine and staying there for a heartbeat before he looked at my father once again.
“Nah, that’s not my game. I already know how your business works, so there’s no valuable information that you could provide me.
And if this were an assassination attempt, I’d just come in guns blazing and get it over with. ”
My father stared at him.
“Something about me that most people don’t like—I speak my mind. Sometimes it’s a breath of fresh air, and sometimes it’s so pungent you choke. Don’t ever ask me for an answer you don’t want to hear—because I’ll deliver it on a silver fucking platter.”
My father held his confidence despite the fact that we were all outmatched by this gorgeous stranger. “I want to know more about your disagreement with Cosa Nostra.”
“They decided to take the business in a direction that I inherently disagree with. I voiced my disdain for this venture and made it clear in very unequivocal terms that I would leave Cosa Nostra if they pursued it.” He gave a shrug before he clapped his hands together.
“They made their decision—and I walked.”
“What was the venture?”
He gave a slight shake of his head. “We may have separated on bad terms, but I’m not a rat.”
“Or you’re a spy,” my father said as he cocked his head slightly.
He gave a chuckle. “I’m fucked no matter the answer I give.
If I betray my former employer, then you have no reason to trust that I won’t do the same to you.
But if I don’t tell you, then you think I’m a spy.
” He gave a shrug. “But I stand by what I said—I’m not a rat.
If that’s not good enough for you, I don’t know what to tell you.
” He rubbed his hands together gently. “Any other questions? Or are we done here?”
I looked at the side of my father’s face, hoping he wouldn’t dismiss this hunk of a man.
Or maybe I did hope he would dismiss him, because he’d be off-limits if he worked for us.
But then again, all men were off-limits when it came to my father.
I could bring home a billionaire who wanted to whisk me away on his yacht, and my father would still find something wrong with him.
My father continued his stare. “How long were you with Cosa Nostra?”
“I was kinda born into it, so all my life. But if you want to count my adult years, it’s been fifteen years, eight spent as Don Russo’s top lieutenant.”
“Word on the street is you were going to succeed him.”
He grinned widely. “For once, the rumors are true.”
“And you still walked away?”
He nodded. “I’m a man of principle. Maybe Don Russo thought I was bluffing. Maybe he thinks I’ll change my mind and come crawling back. Whatever he thinks, he’s wrong.”
“You must have made a lot of money, serving as a lieutenant. If you need employment, then you obviously didn’t manage your money well.
Must have pissed it away on cards and pussy.
” My father continued to riddle him with a spray of questions instead of bullets, trying to understand the man who was far too confident given his position.
He shook his head, that handsome smile on his lips. “I’m not in it for the money.”
“So I wouldn’t have to pay you, then?” he challenged.
Wolfe chuckled. “A salary reflects value. So I expect to be paid well out of principle. But do I need the money? No. I could retire comfortably by the sea. But then what? Sit around and get fat?” he asked with a laugh.
“Let my mind go to shit? Cristo, I need the adrenaline. I need to know that I could get shot in the head every fucking day. Knowing you’re always a minute from death is the only way to feel alive. At least for me.”
I looked directly into his espresso-colored eyes and drilled in deep with my stare, seeing a man who reminded me so much of my father, of the men who surrounded me every day. But this man truly did not fear death—and that made him different.
My father turned quiet.
Wolfe seemed to have nothing more to say. He rubbed his big palms together slowly as he regarded my father.
“I don’t trust you.”
“I’d judge you if you did.”
“Working for us is a step down from your previous employment, so I find your interest suspicious.”
“Let’s be real,” he said. “Any of the other organizations in Sicily and on the mainland would snatch me up in a heartbeat. The Skull King tried to recruit me years ago when I was in Florence. But you’re my first stop because I respect your work.”
“You respect my work?” my father asked with slight incredulity.
“You operate your business morally and honorably. I can’t say the same for the others.”
My father gauged him, as if trying to understand if this man was just blowing smoke up his ass.
I didn’t believe he was.
“You don’t know anything about my business,” my father said.
Wolfe stared my father down. “I know at the heart of your criminal activities, you’re a family business—a vineyard.
That you’re proud of the wine you make from the land that’s been in your family for generations.
I know you pay your vineyard workers more than all the other vineyards here.
When you say family is everything to you, you actually mean it.
I know you only do business with distributors who operate with the same code of ethics that you share.
That your connections are based on friendship rather than opportunity.
You’re old-fashioned, how the Mafia used to be in the early nineteen hundreds. ”
My father had nothing to say to that—probably because Wolfe was right on the money. “I’ll consider your request.”
Wolfe gave a nod. “Thank you, Don Mancini.” He rose to his feet, a statue compared to everyone else, especially those who were seated.
When he started to turn away, his eyes locked with mine, and a little smile emerged.
He did it right in front of my father because this man truly didn’t give a fuck.
He made his way behind the couch and walked out.
It was quiet for minutes after he was gone, like my father wanted to make sure Wolfe was really gone from the villa before he said a word.
“That prick is one arrogant son of a bitch.” He brought the cigar to his lips and took a drag before he snuffed it out in the ashtray.
It had almost burned down completely because of the length of the conversation. “I don’t like him.”
“I don’t like him either,” Elio said as he sat on the other couch.
Disappointment gripped me, but I said nothing. If I vouched for him, they might suspect my white-hot burning attraction to that Roman god. I wondered what other parts of his body were covered in ink.
My brother took a seat in the armchair and lit up his own cigar before he lounged against the back of the chair.
Another silence fell.
My father addressed my brother without looking at him. “Leo?”
He gave a shrug.
I stared at my brother and hoped he would say what I wanted to hear.
Leo gave a puff on the cigar and let the smoke escape his mouth. “He’s an asshole with an attitude that needs to be knocked down a peg, but…”
Yes, but.
“I don’t think he’s bullshitting us.” Leo brought the cigar to his lips again and took another drag before he released the cloud of smoke. “He doesn’t seem to realize shit is getting bad for us, and he would be a good person to have in our corner in times like these.”
“Not if we don’t trust him,” my father said.
“Trust is earned over time and trials,” Elio said. “In that regard, Wolfe is no different from our other guys. And my sources tell me that the falling-out with Cosa Nostra is true. I’ve heard it in many different places.”
“Then it sounds like I’m the odd man out here.” My father turned to me. “Frankie?”
He put me on the spot, and I still felt hot from the flames Wolfe had brought into the room.
I did my best to remain still and stoic, to not offer a clue about the attraction that nearly gave me third-degree burns.
“I agree with Leo. People are starting to misinterpret our integrity for weakness. We need new blood to maintain our position. His falling-out with Cosa Nostra could be the perfect opportunity for us to strengthen our ranks.” I felt winded by what I’d said, but I forced my words to come out slow and normal… though it felt abnormal as I did it.
Leo stared at me, smoke coming out of his nostrils as he held the cigar between his fingertips.
My father stared across the room for a while before he shifted his eyes to Elio.
“I think we have more to gain than we have to lose,” Elio said. “I’ve heard multiple accounts that Wolfe gets the job done…violently.”