Chapter 9 Carlo
Carlo
Enzo De Luca is surprised when I appear on his doorstep, but it’s easy to convince him and his ego the flight to Reno was more convenient to talk about our latest heroin shipment. He’ll tell Silvio all the pertinent details at least. He’s not a fool like that son of his.
“Things too hot in Vegas for you to risk showing face there?” that very fool asks me as I’m formulating excuses to see Francesca.
“Has Alessio’s beating healed enough that you find yourself in need of another, Rocco?” I may owe Sofia an apology, but I'll never say as much to this piece of shit. His oily grin disappears, and I turn my back on him. “Is your sister at home, Enzo? It’s long since I’ve paid my respects to her.”
“No one who matters pays her any respect,” Rocco scoffs. Alessio should’ve slit his throat after the fucking nightmare at his reception.
“Beatrice prefers the quiet of her rooms, but you may certainly see her if you wish, Carlo,” Enzo says before I end his son's worthless life.
Based on things I’ve heard, I half expect Francesca and her mother to be living in the cupboard under the stairs. Their sitting room is not large, and the furniture is shabby, but at least there’s plenty of light, and it overlooks a garden.
The rat’s wife is still a beautiful woman, though the toll her grief and humbling have taken on her is evident.
She is nervously chatty and quietly depressed by turns, clearly flustered by my unexpected visit.
“I have never forgotten your extraordinary kindness and forbearance that terrible day, Don Vicini.”
“I am not the Don yet, signora.”
“Yes, yes! Of course, not yet! Your good father is still with us, isn’t he? I’m terribly sorry I misspoke,” she cries, devastated by her faux paus. Her hands shake as she attempts to pour me a cup of tea I don’t want.
Enzo soon finds an excuse to leave us, and the maid and guard’s demeanors shift from attentive to contemptuous once he does. No one wants her here, and she’s well aware of it. No wonder Francesca wants to escape mob life.
No sooner than I’ve thought of her, that melodious voice is calling from the next room. “Mom? Are you alright?”
The door opens and I stand, surprised by the way my heart speeds up. She’s dressed simply in jeans and a t-shirt. Her red hair is haphazardly piled up on top of her head with that ‘lucky’ silver hair tie. She’d be radiant wearing a burlap sack.
Her look of concern melts into one of utter hatred when she sees me. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Francesca!” Beatrice shrieks, aghast.
“I’m delighted to see you, too, Red.” She stares at me like a venomous snake that’s slithered across her path.
“I had a long flight earlier and a long drive out here. I need to stretch my legs. Would you care to show me around that garden down there?” I may have made up my mind - and lost it - on the way here, but I’ll be damned if I’m making this offer in front of her mother.
Her pretty blue eyes widen as she looks nervously toward the guard. Then, she gulps and nods before soothing her mother. In silence, Francesca leads me down the balcony steps to the garden full of rocks, brush and the occasional desert bloom, all the more lovely for its rarity.
How do I ask her this? It’s not a question I’ve ever posed before and certainly not to a girl like her. It is not an honorable thing to do, and my family prides itself on honor almost as much as we do in our cutthroat ways. Yet, I can’t stop myself.
“If you’re going to kill me, take me somewhere my mother won’t see.”
“Why would you think that?” I ask, stunned when I realize she's serious.
“You don’t have to pretend. I saw you in the garden at my second cousin’s wedding the day we met. The Best Man was never seen again. You came back to my house the following week to kill my father, didn’t you?”
“I hoped to get Beppe away if I could.” She’s also correct. My primary goal was to protect the Trio and kill the fucking rat in our midst since the goddamn Irish had failed to do so. “You think I’ve come here to kill you because you admitted you want to go to college and live outside our rules?”
“I…” Her pert mouth closes as she studies me, some internal battle raging behind those narrowed eyes. “Yes, that’s why. I haven’t done anything else, have I? Though I suppose I’m not important enough for you to do it yourself.”
This girl, why does her babbling enchant me so? “You are important, important to me.”
“I don’t want to be important to you. I hate you. You broke Sofia’s heart,” she whispers, harshly.
I should be put off by the mention of my fiancée, her cousin, but I can't resist reaching out, the back of my hand gently stroking her soft cheek. Some mad sense of triumph sings in my blood because she isn’t flinching away from my touch.
My confidence that I’ll get my way grows.
She shudders when my thumb sweeps across her plump bottom lip, sending a current of desire straight to my cock.
“You don’t react to my touch like a woman who hates me. ”
“Because betrayal runs in my blood.”
I take another step closer on the gravel path. She doesn’t step back. She smells delicious, so sweet with those big blue eyes blinking up at me. “No, you are innocent, Francesca, and no man or woman will dare offend you ever again once you’re under my protection.”
“Your protection?” she repeats, her red eyebrows drawing together, questioningly.
I’m not a man for beating around the bush.
She will be free of Enzo’s house, the Las Vegas Trio and their judgment.
She’ll have her own apartment in New York, a driver and servants, the very best, and her mother is welcome to join her…
though perhaps in her own set of rooms. Every opportunity to pursue college and the stage will be hers, no expenses spared.
“All I want from you in return…”
“Is me in your bed?”
“Yes, you in my bed,” I murmur, barely able to contain how much the thought excites me.
“Why, you spoiled-rotten, arrogant, princeling asshole!” she screams, slapping me hard across the face.
I can’t believe I didn’t see it coming. And princeling? What the fuck?
“That is the second time you’ve taken me by surprise today,” I admit, tasting the metallic flavor of blood in my mouth as she winces and cradles her palm. “Does it sting?” I think she means to murder me with her glare. “I thought my offer might be acceptable while giving you what you want.”
“You thought I’d be pleased to be your whore?”
“No one will ever call you that.” Or they won't live to repeat it.
“How could you believe for one instant I’d betray Sofia that way? I love her. And I hate you all the more now.”
Biting back my irritation, I clip, “Sofia no longer wishes to marry me.”
“Because you cheated on her!”
“We’re not married yet.”
“Do you really think that justifies anything? What if you’d caught Sofia with a man that way?”
Fuck, she has me there. I’d murder any man who touched what was technically mine. “Look, what I did was dishonorable but-”
“Yes, it was. You disgust me. Call off the wedding since Sofia can't.”
I pause, considering. Can I go that far? It would bring disgrace to my family and mean war. Many of our soldiers would die for our cause, all because I'm obsessed with this woman. It would negatively (and unfairly) reflect on both Sofia and Francesca, too.
Dismissing the notion, I choose to dangle the carrot again. "I’m offering you the life you want on a silver platter. This will ensure your safety in my city while you chase your dreams. Think of your mother. She must grow tired of-”
“Don’t you dare use my mother to get your way! The answer is no.”
“What might change it to yes? Be reasonable.”
“Reasonable? Do you even hear yourself?" I do and reasonable is the last thing I’m being. Why am I so obsessed with having this woman? Why did I think she’d accept my offer?
She has her pride, she loves her cousin, and I’ve clearly offended her deeply.
"I’m sure no woman has ever told you no before, but there’s a first time for everything.
You will never have me in your bed! Not EVER! ”
I watch her storm away, furious and lovely, and realize I’ve completely fucked it up. I should let her go, fly to Las Vegas, make amends with Sofia and forget this madness, once and for all.
But my hunger for my siren won’t allow that.