5
GIOVANNI
I ’ve spent three days watching my new mark—Serafina Bianchi, the newly appointed leader of La Cosa Nostra.
It’s a first for me. I’ve always guarded men too afraid of their own shadows or paranoid for their own safety. It’s a welcomed change that this time, my client is the first female leader of the Mafia. I didn’t really know what to expect, but a five foot five brunette with an undousable fire wasn’t it.
She’s in her element, whether she believes it or not. She commands a room—or maybe it’s just me. She’s got beautiful brown eyes that you could get lost in, high cheekbones and plump lips that any warm-blooded male would be blind to ignore. And that’s before I mention how well she wears suits like she’s the big bad boss. She wears the leadership role well, and even though she didn’t personally hire me, she doesn’t seem to have a problem with my company.
I check my watch. I’m standing outside the conference room where Bianchi is having a meeting. Loud voices charge at one another. Normally, I would step in if I wasn’t already in the room, but the battle playing out beyond the doors behind me isn’t for my ears.
After another minute of sharp barbs, Luca all but storms past me. I can practically feel the anger rolling off of him, and when Serafina and Levi appear, they’re wearing less than happy expressions on their faces. I don’t know what happened in there—I wasn’t privy to the meeting—but I’m almost certain it didn’t go the way any of them wanted.
“Sera, wait!” Levi calls as she slams the door. He doesn’t go after her like I expect him to. Instead, he sighs, slumping down onto the couch and burying his fingers in his hair. “ Cazzo !”
I edge towards the door, ready to follow Serafina, as I’m tasked to do.
“Give her a minute,” Levi orders me.
I pause, hoping he’ll reconsider.
“We both know she won’t leave the building,” he grunts.
But that doesn’t mean she’s safe.
Whatever happened seems to have left them both in foul moods. I guess she needs a breather and Levi is willing to give her that.
Stoically, I stay in my position, silent and obedient. It’s what I was hired to do, and it’s what I do best. I’ve been at this job for so long that I’ve become highly sought after as hired muscle. I’m trusted with the safety of prominent families like the Bianchis because I’ve never failed to protect those I’ve been hired to serve.
My silence is what keeps everyone safe. I don’t speak a word to my clients, and they seem to feel more protected that way. It’s like my silence is a vow, and I’m not unversed in those. Omertà is what these families abide by, after all.
“I don’t suppose you know any families we could align with,” Levi laughs light-heartedly.
I tilt my head, the answer sitting on the tip of my tongue. I know loads of families. In fact, I know some of the most powerful families. But it’s not my place to intervene in matters such as this.
“We need to get the Grecos on our side,” Levi explains, sitting back on the couch.
My ears perk up at the news. The Grecos are another powerful family, one that typically deals in everything illegal. I know some of the families prefer to keep things on the cleaner side of the law to avoid prying eyes, but the Grecos are a law to themselves. Somehow, I don’t think even Serafina will be able to get them on her side. If it means risking their position in the organization, they won’t do it.
“Luca has something on them, something that could sway them to side with us,” Levi murmurs, still staring blankly out the floor-to-ceiling window. “Serafina refuses to use her authority, and she won’t even consider what Luca has. We’re running out of options.”
I remain stoic, even though my ears have perked up from his second revelation, my interest piqued. I don’t know why he’s telling me this, but I have so many questions running around my head.
I decide I should go find Serafina instead, and Levi doesn’t stop me.
By the time I locate her downstairs, she has slipped into a booth facing the bar. It’s not even three in the afternoon, so there won’t be any patrons in her club until later. Still, she nurses a glass of clear liquor, clutching it tightly like someone might snatch it from her at any moment.
Her doe-eyes lift when I approach, her shoulders visibly relaxing when she sees it’s just me. “I guess he sent you down here,” she mutters.
I shake my head.
She gestures for me to sit with her. “We don’t really know one another,” she sighs.
And I intend to keep it that way.
She pats the seat beside her in invitation, and I contemplate it for a moment. Whatever she wants from me, she won’t get it. When people speak, the truth comes out. It’s another reason why I remain silent. People become far too honest in the company of those who rarely speak. It’s why I am able to hold so many secrets. I can listen, and both parties know that’s as far as those spoken words will go.
“I don’t really drink,” she laughs, running her fingertip along the rim of the glass. “I’ve never enjoyed it to be honest.”
I continue watching her closely. Her brown hair is pinned back, but the stray strands that make their way in front of her face float with every exhaled breath. She’s elegant in the way she holds herself. I’ve already noticed the composure she maintains, despite the evident emotions warring beneath the surface.
She sinks into the silence I’ve created. With her eyes pinned to the glass in front of her, I start to wonder what she might be thinking. What drew her to the bottle when she’s clearly abstinent from alcohol. I can’t even imagine what she must be going through. Losing her best friend so tragically has clearly hit her hard. So hard that she wants to fight back, and I don’t blame her. The Verdis are a piece of work. Chauvinists at best, who want to overthrow the Bianchi empire for their own piece of the pie.
“They want me to go to the Greco wedding,” Sera mentions, eyes still downcast. “They said I need to flex my authority, tell Don Greco that he must side with us.”
There’s uncertainty in her voice, like the whole time she’s telling me this, she’s considering her options. She can’t see the true power she possesses. I do, though.
While all the other fuckers leading their families look down on a woman taking the helm, they can’t see the true potential. There’s a reason women don’t lead. Men consider them too emotional, worn down by feelings that could jeopardize a family’s position. But that shouldn’t be seen as a weakness. It’s a fucking threat, because women do lead with emotions, strong emotions that could carry an army to war. Feelings that rival male dominance. Women like Serafina are fierce because they have to be, they have no choice. And losing a best friend will sure as fuck ignite that fire for revenge.
For a while I just sit beside Sera. She tells me about Enzo; about what it was like growing up with him. I’m envious that she got that upbringing, that she had a best friend, even if she lost him tragically. Then, she tells me about her relationship with Luciano Verdi; about how toxic and manipulative he was. That makes my blood boil. Nobody should have to go through what she did and just the mere mention of his name having any involvement in her loss has my fists curling.
Eventually, she talks about her father. I recognize the admiration in her eyes because it’s the same way my daughter used to look at me. Her mother died when she was born, something I understand the pain of, but she reverts back to happier memories; ones where her father would spend days with her, despite his position. Taking her out, spending quality time with his daughter the way a father should.
I swallow past the baseball sized lump in my throat. Her stories dredge old memories up, moments from my past that I can’t seem to wipe away nor drown myself in liquor to avoid. I shake my head, needing to get a hold of myself. I should be concentrating on Serafina instead. She clearly needs my attention right now and it will do me no good to dwell on the past. I have to look to the future.
Slowly, Serafina warms up to the idea of drinking the liquor in her glass. I don’t stop her because I know too well how grief can creep up on you. She needs to wallow. She needs to numb whatever is hurting her today because tomorrow is a new day.
One glass becomes three. In turn, Sera decides to keep the bottle close to her, eventually discarding the glass entirely because being sober is not on the cards tonight. She hasn’t drunk a lot, but clearly she isn’t used to this much alcohol in her system.
“Do you think I’m making a mistake?” she murmurs. Her brown eyes find mine, and all I see is worry brimming in them. She doesn’t trust herself to carry her family name. She doesn’t believe she can lead La Cosa Nostra. She might show confidence and strength in the boardroom, but you know what they say about drunks; the truth spills when the vodka does.
I wish I could assure her, tell her something to ease the worry. But all I have is worry of my own. I do believe she can do this. I do believe she can lead the Bianchi family and avenge her best friend’s death, but I can’t be the one to aid her in that quest. It’s not in my job description.
Just like she expects, I remain silent. She’s imbibed too much to take note of my reaction, but she does notice the club starting to liven up with staff and visitors wandering around. It’s only a matter of hours before this place is overcrowded, and I can’t risk Sera safety.
I stand abruptly, gesturing with an outstretched hand for Sera to come with me. She takes it without complaint, sliding out of the booth with her fingers twined with mine. She doesn’t let go as we walk through the club, and I’m content with that. I just can’t figure out why.
I expect Sera to tear away as soon as we get to the car parked outside, but she doesn’t. She lingers, staring at the shiny black paint like it’s showing her exactly what she doesn’t want to see. She squeezes my hand, but I don’t know her well enough to know what that means, so I just step forward. I open the car door, and wait until she’s inside and belted before closing it. She’s quiet, and remains that way throughout the ride through the city, until we’re at her complex in the hills above Iris Bay. When I look in the mirror, she’s fast asleep. Her face is a depiction of beauty and exhaustion blended into a hot mess. I can’t seem to tear my gaze away from her. Her lips are pouty, swollen and red from too much alcohol. Her cheeks are rosy too, while her long dark lashes fan out delicately.
I’m instantly reminded of my daughter, of what I lost. The thought has my knuckles whitening and I clench the steering wheel. It’s hard to focus when you have constant reminders of your past, of the emptiness your future holds. It’s difficult to remain calm when the world is so clearly fighting against you. I sense that must be how Sera feels, or felt before she drank herself to sleep.
My chest feels heavy as I push out of the driver’s side and open her door. Despite Sera’s weightlessness, I feel the pang of guilt and suffering gnaw at me from inside. The gravity of my situation grows deeper the more I focus on it. I shake my head, making my way through Sera’s home. I can’t think about anything else right now. I can’t afford to. I need to focus on my job.
When I reach Sera’s room, I carefully place her on the bed. It’s early, but she needs the rest. I’ve only been here a few days, but it’s long enough to know she isn’t sleeping properly. I’ve overheard the conversations between Levi and Sera about it, too.
I do a sweep of the room, the usual routine to make sure we don’t have any unwanted guests. I check the bathroom, ensure the windows are locked, and then I head out.
“Gio,” she sighs, eyes closed .
I freeze, turning to see her still curled up where I left her. Her eyes are shut, but there’s a frown marring her beautiful features. She’s hypnotic. I could get lost forever watching her sleep. She has that ethereal quality about her, like she’s not meant for this place. I see so many similarities between her and…
Sera sighs, snapping me from my memories.
I step closer, tugging the blanket over her body. I stop when she grabs my wrist. It’s a delicate touch, but one that has my heart racing.
“Who are you?” she breathes out. She doesn’t expect an answer, at least not in the way a sober person would. She seems to drift off to sleep, and I use that moment to make my way downstairs and into the living room, ensuring every door is closed.
The moment I sit down to relax, I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. I know who it is before I’ve even looked at the screen, my gut churning at the prospect of yet another uncomfortable conversation.
Right on time.
“Hello,” I answer abruptly.
“How are you, Giovanni?,” the voice sneers. I have to grit my teeth to avoid snapping back. I’ve never liked these calls.
“I’m fine, thank you.” I glance at the staircase. “What do you want?”
“I don’t need a reason to call you, do I?”
“Clearly not.” My fist clenches in my lap.
“Do you have anything to update me on?”
“Nothing of use to you, no.” It’s supposed to come out more confidently than it does, but the situation has my voice cracking under pressure.
“Fair enough. Speak soon.”
The line goes dead. All I’m left with is the bitter tone of an ended call and my thoughts, my feelings warring with one another.