Chapter 3
Tommaso
Ten minutes earlier
“What do you think they’re conspiring about?” Marco asks quietly and nods toward the group in the corner, taking their time getting a drink. “I don’t like how Caruso is so chummy with the Pisani family.”
I agree. Franco Caruso is small fish and low on the food chain to be hosting not just me, the head of this territory, but the Don and his heir of the ‘Ndrangheta’s founding family.
Vincenzo throws his head back at something his father says, and his booming laugh fills the room. His eyes meet mine, and he lifts his wineglass to me. Dipping my chin and lifting my bourbon, I acknowledge him back.
We’re roughly the same age, but we’re very different men. He prefers to lead like his father, Emanuele, issuing orders and letting his underlings do all the work. He’s a tall, broad man like me; however, his love of rich food and wine will eventually catch up with him if he’s not careful.
I hear a soft giggle behind me, and I don’t need to turn around to know that Silvio is flirting with one of Caruso’s serving staff. He’s nothing but a playboy when it comes to women.
“Silvio,” Marco quietly warns.
I chuckle. “Let him be. You know how he is.”
Marco tuts with disapproval. “He’ll meet a woman one day who will keep him in line.”
“And give Silvio at least one son to name after Raffaello.”
Silvio and his brother, Raffaello, had been close, and his death still hurt deeply.
Marco hums in approval before he turns serious. “You’ll be expected to produce an heir.” My glass freezes as I lift it for another sip. “To secure the alliance with the Alteras.”
Taking a swallow of the liquor, it burns in an entirely new way down my throat. I grit quietly, “I know how these things work.”
I had stared at the photo again before coming here tonight, hoping that there might be some sort of physical response to Rosa Altera. But there was none.
Granted, it was only a picture. She’s a stunning woman, and likely in person, I would react to her.
Hopefully.
Vincenzo leaves his father’s side and crosses the large dining room, making his way toward us.
The ornately carved table is decorated and set as if the king himself is coming.
And in a way, I guess Emanuele is king; although, he doesn’t control or rule over any of the families, as all the ‘ndrines are independent.
I eye Vincenzo as he approaches, keeping his father and Caruso in my line of sight as well.
“Looking good, Tommaso.” He smiles and nods at Marco. “Are you both keeping well? How are the American operations going?”
I shift my jaw in annoyance that he makes it sound like what we have here is just an extension of my father’s kingdom, like a colony that is ruled by the mother country. Which, essentially, it is, but I don’t need him to point that out and rub my face in the fact that I don’t have autonomous power.
“Your expansion and gaining territory all throughout California is impressive, Tommaso,” he says, almost like he’s trying to smooth the insult.
Vincenzo may come across as a gracious and benevolent man, but I know he’s a shark with razor-sharp teeth behind that smooth smile.
“Is Emanuele letting you finally have some leadership roles, given his heart condition?” I hit back with something I know he’s sensitive about.
Something that I might mistake as guilt if I didn’t know him better flashes over his face, but then it’s gone. He laughs deeply. “What do you think? The old man is a control freak and will outlive us all, I’m sure.”
One of the guards hurries into the room and goes to Caruso and whispers something in his ear. Fury flashes over Caruso’s face before he schools his features quickly and speaks to Emanuele before leaving the dining room.
Vincenzo is asking about the trouble with the port and the pressure from the Triads.
At my look, Marco takes over and steers him to the table while answering his questions.
I notice Guila is no longer in the room, and with everyone else occupied, I slip out and follow in the direction that Caruso went.
I keep my steps as quiet as possible on the marble floor. This place is like an overdecorated museum rather than a home. It feels staged and gaudy as hell, not warm and welcoming like how I envision my future home.
I actually do have a home here already. Years ago, my grandfather came to San Francisco with a vision similar to mine for the ports' opportunities for import and export, both legal and smuggling. He had bought a few lots in an affluent area and built a palazzo—a three-story stone mansion in baroque style, with high, dome-like ceilings and rows of columns. He secured the estate like a beautiful fortress. My grandmother hated the rainy season here, though, so they never fully implemented my grandfather’s plan.
My father had no desire to carry on that plan, but he kept the house.
So, when I moved here, I took over the house, had all the dust coverings removed, cleaned everything, and moved in.
It’s way too big, though; bigger than any family would ever need with four wings.
But I’ve always had visions of filling it with children as I build my own kingdom here, with sons of my own to help me lead and take over one day.
Which may be a problem if, when I meet my soon-to-be wife, my dick doesn’t even lift its head in interest.
Pushing away the thoughts of my impending marital predicament, I head toward the front entrance, hearing voices.
When I arrive there, I stop and stare at the beautiful creature in a messy ponytail and sweatpants.
She’s the most exquisite thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.
Light radiates from her, like she’s the sun.
But then Caruso slaps her, and I see red.
He. Hit. Her.
I’m across the room with the force of a hurricane as I barrel into Franco fucking Caruso and slam him into the wall.
A painting falls to the floor as I choke him. I’m fighting the lethal urge to kill this son of a bitch for touching her.
I know this is Gina. I saw her once when she was younger, and now, having heard her snarky reply of ‘Good to see you too, Dad,’ right before he hit her, confirmed it.
There’s no fucking excuse for him laying his hands on her. None. I don’t care if she’s his flesh and blood. He will not hurt her.
There’s a violent, bloodthirsty creature rippling under my skin, begging to be unleashed. Begging me to let it out and play. Begging me to let it go unhinged.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, the calm and controlled part of me is tapping me on the shoulder and saying, ‘Uh, what the hell are we doing here?’
I turn away from the bastard whose life is in my hands while still keeping the chokehold on his throat and look over my shoulder at the beauty before me.
Redness is already blooming on her cheek, but as I look into her deep chocolate-brown eyes, with depths that seem to go on forever, I calm.
Recognition of who I am flashes over her face as she gasps.
The sound goes straight to my cock.
What I wouldn’t give to hear her gasp like that as I touched her, as I toyed with her, bringing her more pleasure than she could ever imagine.
Hear her gasp as she came undone all around me, buried deep inside her, and then as I filled her with my cum.
And then gasping again as I played with her some more while my cum dripped out of her pussy and onto her soft thighs.
All the rapid and lewd thoughts have turned my cock into iron. It pulses in time with my heartbeat.
I’ve never had a reaction like this to a woman before. But sweet Christ, if I ever touch her, I know I’ll be addicted.
Flashes of Rosa, my future wife-to-be, snap me out of the lust-filled daze I was falling into as I stare at Gina.
Turning back to her father, I issue the command that everyone in our organization knows. “We do not hurt women and children.” And if he touches her again, I will kill him. “Do. You. Understand?”
I know Caruso can’t speak, because I’m choking him, but I find I really don’t want to let him go yet.
“He can’t speak with how tight you’re holding his throat,” Gina says, strong and steady.
I look at her again; this time, it’s like she’s bathed in light. Like she’s the light to my dark. The sun. My sun.
Il mio sole.
I smile at the thought.
And, fuck, she’s beautiful. And fiery as she openly stares right back at me, meeting my assessing stare without fear or any coy flirtations like most women.
I turn back to the man who has been reduced, in my opinion, to a piece of shit on my shoe. I release him, repeating my question as he heaves in the air that I stole. “Do you understand me, Caruso?”
He swallows hard. “Yes, Tommaso.”
My temper flares again. “Yes, what?”
His eyes dart to Gina and then back to me. “Sorry. Yes, Don.”
I turn from him before I actually do kill him and face the woman who has me captivated. “Welcome home, Gina.”
“Yes, welcome home, bambina.” Guila’s voice wobbles as she steps to Gina’s side.
I don’t know if the woman gets abused regularly—I’ll investigate it because that shit does not fly with the Santoro family—or if she’s in shock seeing her husband hit her daughter, or if she’s just a weak woman.
But as I stare at Gina and see her cheek getting redder from where Caruso hit her, that bloodthirsty creature within me is back and clawing to get out. However, Gina’s light acts like she just petted the monster inside me, and he heels.
I offer her my arm, wanting nothing more than to whisk her away from this house. “Please join us.”
If I can’t actually steal her away, then having her join me is the next best thing.
Guila visibly panics. “She can’t join us looking like that.”
“Why the hell not?”
She sputters, and Caruso clears his throat, but it’s Gina who speaks. “I’d rather not. I had a long flight.”
“Yes, dear,” Caruso says, forcing himself not to tremble in my wake. “Why are you here already? I was sending a plane for you tomorrow.”
I watch Gina and can almost imagine her inner dialogue right now, and I suppress a smile.
“I was in a hurry to get home,” she says.
“Well, I hope the first-class flight was comfortable.” Caruso, the simpering twat, smiles. “Run upstairs and freshen up.”
“That’s really not necessary,” I insist, not wanting her away from me for even a few minutes.
‘Ah, Houston…we have a problem.’ I can hear Silvio’s voice in my head.
“I would like a moment to freshen up.” Gina tilts her head back to look up at me, as I’m much taller than she is.
I find I don’t have much will to resist her and what she wants or needs, so I nod and step back.
But I’m not done with the guilty parties in this scenario. I’ll deal with Caruso later, but for now… “Davide, a word,” I say in cold, hard warning. I head back toward the dining room, trying my damnedest to rein in my anger so I don’t kill the man. “Now, Davide.”
When he catches up with me in the hallway, I stop and turn. I don’t even need to put my hands on him for fear to roll off him. He fucked up, and he knows it.
“I’m sorry, Don. Caruso… He’s never been violent with Gina before. I-I was in shock.”
“Shock is what will get you killed. You’re not a new recruit, Davide. You’ve been with the Santoros for years.”
He nods quickly and swallows hard. “It will never happen again.”
“Has Caruso hurt Gina before?” My words are calm and controlled, but a swirling mass of fury and rage fills me at the thought of him or anyone hurting her.
“No. Never.”
“What about Guila?”
Guilt flashes over his face. “Not that I’ve witnessed, sir. But lately, I’ve had my suspicions.”
My jaw ticks. “Why haven’t you said anything? You know this is a cardinal rule within our family.”
“I…wasn’t sure. I wanted proof before I said anything. He seems to be in favor with your father.”
Fucking hell.
“You report to me,” I say through clenched teeth.
“I know. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again, Don. Please, sir.” There’s legitimate fear in his voice.
I step closer and speak into his ear as I can hear Caruso and Guila coming from the foyer. “You will report everything that happens in this house to me. Especially about Gina.”
Davide nods vehemently. “I will. Everything, sir.”
“You’re dismissed.”
He hurries away in the opposite direction from where Gina’s parents are now coming up behind me. Before he turns the corner, I call to him, my voice pleasant.
When he turns to look at me, I draw a line across my neck with a finger. I know the look on my face is one I’m rumored to have when my unhinged side comes out to play. Menacing. Malicious. Lethal.
He understands my meaning. If he fucks up again, he’s dead.
I don’t kill easily, nor do I kill impulsively. But when I’ve decided your time is up, there’s no stopping me. And somehow, if that short encounter with Gina is any indication, I will decimate anyone who harms a hair on her head.
Was her effect on me instantaneous and inexplicable? Yes.
Am I rapidly falling into obsession? Quite certain I am.
And am I wholly and royally fucked? Most. Definitely.