Chapter 46 Enzo #2
"Papa, who's this?" I look down at my four-year-old as he wiggles his eyebrows in confusion.
"This is Papa's friend, and she's very sick," I explain, feeling a pang of sadness at the fact that he doesn't recognize his own mother.
As he'd grown, I'd stopped bringing him with me to visit Allegra, afraid he might tell someone about the woman who looks just like his mother.
While Luca thinks Chiara is his mother, I'd tried to keep their interactions extremely short—just long enough so that Allegra wouldn't be a stranger to him when she wakes up but also brief enough to avoid Chiara's bad attitude.
It's even better that Chiara doesn't seem to have any interest in being a mother.
In the last few years, she's become the center of New York social life.
More often than not, she's not even home, preferring to spend her time partying or fucking who knows who.
Observing her behavior for so long, I'd realized that she suffers from multiple addictions—alcohol, sex, and cocaine.
Add in a bad personality and you have a winning combination.
The stories I'd heard about her had given me such a headache, mostly because when Allegra wakes up, it will be her reputation Chiara has ruined.
But I can't do anything about it and still keep my act.
And even that worries me. What will my little tigress think when she wakes up only to see numerous tabloid articles with me and different women? I dread the day I'll have to see the sadness on her face as I attempt to prove to her there's never been anyone else.
Taking Luca in my arms, I grab a seat next to Allegra. Over the years, her health has improved a little, and now she's able to breathe on her own. Still, there's no guarantee when she's going to wake up.
"Why is she sick?"
"She had an accident, and now she's sleeping." Luca nods at me, his gaze lingering on Allegra's form. There's absolutely no sign of recognition in his gaze. Not when Allegra looks so frail and so pale—completely different from the glamorous Chiara Luca is familiar with.
I wish I could tell him that she is his real mother, that she loves him more than anything. But that would just confuse his little mind.
Like any rambunctious toddler, Luca is getting increasingly restless, so I send him over to maman Margot, who's waiting outside. He jumps out of my arms, running to her. She nods to me that I can take my time, so I return my attention to Allegra.
It's weird how time passes. We're getting closer and closer to the five-year mark, and my little tigress is still sleeping.
I take her hand in mine, bringing it to my lips.
"Little tigress," I start, the sight of her so helpless, so vulnerable, never failing to get to me, "I don't know if you can hear me.
Or if you heard anything I said over the last few years.
But I'm closer than ever to fulfilling my promise to you.
And when I'm done, the Agosti crime family will cease to exist." I swallow hard, a lump forming in my throat.
"When you wake up, I promise I'll leave everything behind. Just… come back to me. I can wait forever for you, but the sooner you recover, the better," I attempt a lighthearted joke.
Bending over, I press my lips against hers in a brief kiss.
"I love you," I whisper against her cheek before standing up to leave.
"Papa, can I go to maman Margot's house? She has cookies!" Luca tackles me when I exit the room. I swoop him up in my arms, and I turn an eyebrow at maman.
"Oh, come on, Enzo. One cookie can't hurt. I'll bring him over tomorrow, d'accord?"
"Fine, you can go to maman’s place." I relent, knowing I have some outstanding business to take care of.
After I drop them at maman’s, I go to Rocco's club for a meeting.
The room is dark and full of cigarette smoke. On one couch, Rocco is deep in conversation with Matthew Gallagher. Pants around their ankles, they are definitely mixing business with pleasure. Two girls are on their knees in front of them, sucking them off, their fake moans echoing in the room.
In the other corner, Martin Ashby is pumping in and out of Chiara, all the while barking commands on the phone.
I immediately avert my gaze. While I don't care who Chiara fucks, she's still Allegra's identical twin, and I don't want to have the image of my wife being taken from behind by any other man.
Chiara and Martin's affair started soon after we invited him to join our business venture, and it's been going strong ever since. It might even border on monogamy, which is a first for Chiara.
I move to the other corner of the room, where Quinn is sitting by himself, watching the others with hooded eyes.
"Not joining?" I sit next to him, taking the bottle of whiskey from the table and pouring myself a glass. Lighting a cigar, I take a big swig, hoping dulled senses will help my eyes cope with the scene before me.
"No," he downs his own glass, placing it on the table and shoving his hand toward me. "Married," he says, his Irish accent even thicker from the alcohol.
"Doesn't stop us," I shrug, nursing my drink and putting on my best charm.
"Then why don't you join?" he raises an eyebrow at me, motioning toward the stripper dancing on the pole, whose attention is currently on me.
"I'm not into…exhibitionism," I answer. It's technically true, since I'd never allow another person to see my little tigress. She's for my eyes only.
He grunts, turning his attention to the bottle of whiskey.
"Weren't we supposed to talk about the next stage?" I ask, rather put off by the orgy in front of me. I'm sure they could have found any other time to fuck. Maybe I'm a little impatient, but my plan is too close to being finalized.
We'd already set up two fighting arenas in Midtown, and both Rocco and Martin are still oblivious to the trap they're diving headfirst into. Soon they'll both end up broke and dead—the order debatable.
"My daughter and her husband are coming tomorrow.
" Martin is the first to speak, switching positions so that Chiara's now blowing him.
"We need to get them on board with this.
Theodore's influence will help make sure the arenas have enough spectators but no police," he says, his voice fluctuating with Chiara's careful ministrations. I almost roll my eyes at this.
The only relief is that Chiara recently dyed her hair, so it's not exactly like Allegra's.
"Piece of cake," my father says, pulling his dick out of the hooker's mouth and turning her around so he can have her ass.
It's all a little offensive, really. I try not to show how disgusted I am, especially when he spits in his hand and palms his cock, shoving it into the hooker's ass with no preparation or protection.
The girl releases a pained whimper she pretends is one of pleasure, but she makes no protest when Rocco starts fucking her ass raw.
I don't even want to know what types of diseases they both have, since clearly my father isn't a big fan of condoms. At least Matthew wraps it up before fucking his hooker.
"Did you really call me here to watch you fuck?" I ask eventually, annoyed that they're wasting my time and that we're not making any progress.
"We can fuck and talk," my father winks, and everyone starts laughing.
Everyone but me and Quinn, who seems to have finished the whiskey bottle and is barely awake.
"How are we going to get Hastings to comply?" I ask Martin, trying to see what he has up his sleeve.
"I'll use my daughter. She's his weakness," he smiles insidiously.
Of course he'd throw his own daughter under the bus. In the time I've known Martin, I've come to realize why he was on Jimenez's naughty list. The bastard is a treacherous dog, wagging his tail for whoever profits him the most.
He refrains from saying how exactly he'll use her, hoping to maintain some secrecy. I can hazard a guess as to what the big secret is—from her ties to the Russian Bratva to her kill count, I'd say there's plenty to blackmail them with.
I almost groan out loud when I realize I'll have to pretend to flirt with her—as per Jimenez's instructions.
In his own words, he wants his son truly cornered, and apparently, some good ol' jealousy will do the trick.
The only reassuring fact is that by all accounts, she's completely enamored of her husband, so there's less chance of her taking me seriously.
The following day, our goal is achieved, and Theodore Hastings is officially under our thumb. Now for the pièce de résistance—the fall of an empire.