7. Chapter Seven—Rome
Chapter Seven—Rome
Iwatch Carlotta Bellucci’s mouth drop open at the familiar sound of my voice before she remembers where we are—or perhaps where we aren’t… this certainly isn’t Nameless —regaining her composure with a straightening of her spine and narrowing of those pretty forest green eyes of hers.
I haven’t had the pleasure of looking into those eyes while I make her squirm with ecstasy. The rules I set while we played at club Nameless meant she always wore a silk mask to cover her eyes; mainly so she couldn’t see who I was.
But I hardly think it matters now.
Soon, I will get to look into Carlotta’s wide eyes, framed with long black lashes, maybe even spiky with tears, while I fuck up into her and know that she was worth every minute of waiting.
That thought has my cock kicking in my trousers.
“Come, sit.” I gesture to the seat to the left of mine.
Gritting my teeth, I pat the shoulder of Alberto, who is already residing in that particular seat. “Move.”
Whatever he sees in my eyes has him following my instructions without a word, yanking out the only empty seat beside James and Luca.
Curling my fingers around the back of the chair, I wait, my jaw snapping when Carlotta steps forward.
I swallow thickly at the sight of her heart shaped ass when she turns around, encased in a pair of skintight black leggings, her curvy hip brushing against the length of my body as she takes the seat and then peers up at me.
Taking my own seat beside her, I reach down to rearrange myself, ignoring the quiet huff of amusement coming from Cassiel behind me.
“Welcome, Carlotta. Do you know who I am?”
She raises a manicured eyebrow, lips pursing, before she shakes her head.
“I am Rome Folonari.” Her entire body jolts forward at the sound of my last name.
Interesting. Whether she remembers me or not, she definitely recognizes the name I behold. “I am leader of The Thirteen.”
Carlotta’s green eyes narrow in suspicion, that gaze of hers piercing right through the amour of my flesh and into my blackened soul.
“How do you know my name?”
I scrub at the stubble coating my jawline to hide my growing smile. Sweet, little Carlotta Bellucci… if only she knew.
Thankfully, she doesn’t see the glint in my eyes.
Carlotta is too busy caught up peering at the hardened faces around the table, her attention landing on Thorn three seats down.
I don’t like the way he grins back at her, but then… I’ve never really liked the way any man looks at my girl.
“The Thirteen know everything,” I say, purposefully drawing Carlotta’s attention back to me. If I had a heart, it would leap three paces, but as is…
She blinks, long lashes fluttering, before her lips twist into something sour.
“Did you have something to do with Cristiano’s death?”
Hearing the name of my brother-in-arms has my pulse racing, a knot of guilt and grief tightening in the pit of my stomach.
I bow my head, uttering a quick prayer and then I meet Carlotta’s gaze. It’s strange—she hardly looks a thing like Cristiano—but I know the Bellucci family well enough to know she is the carbon copy of her late father, while Cristiano drew the short straw and inherited their mother’s appearance.
Her old appearance, should I say. With the number of fillers and injectables, she barely resembles the woman I met as a small boy.
Shaking my head, I fix my eyes on Carlotta’s, hoping she can read the truth there.
“I am very sorry for your brother’s death.
Cristiano was…” I swallow hard, throat bobbing.
Around the table, I can see a good number of my men always bowing their heads, their lips moving in a silent prayer.
“Cristiano was a brother-in-arms to all of us here. He is greatly missed, but I can assure you, Carlotta, none of my men here had anything to do with Cristiano’s untimely passing. ”
The twitch of her lips before she flattens them and the quick blinking of her eyes, tells me she wasn’t expecting that response.
Her shoulders fall, the straight rod of her back crumpling as her left palm touches the space where her heart resides.
I watch those slim fingers of hers, the same ones I know that feel so fucking incredible around my cock, tiptoe along her breastbone, smoothing along something hidden between the center of her breasts.
“Do you believe he was into drugs?” she asks, voice low and husky, her hand falling away back into her lap.
“I know he was.”
That has her jolting in her seat, eyes narrowed and lasered onto me, a hint of her fire blazing behind the green of her iris.
Just the way I like it.
“How?”
“How what?”
Her hands tighten into fists. “Don’t be obtuse. How do you know he was using?”
I cock my head to one side, delighting in her anger, something other than her grief and pop my shoulders. “I saw him. At his very table.”
Carlotta flinches, her swallow thick. Her gaze darts about the lacquered mahogany surface, as if trying to find the exact spot her brother lay his white powered lines of cocaine.
“Did you supply him with it?”
I shake my head wordlessly.
Just because I didn’t supply the substances to Cristiano, doesn’t mean I don’t know the man who did. A Russian by the name of Echo—who I’ve paid a visit to a number of times to warn him away from supplying my men—was the last person to see Cristiano alive.
That I know for certain.
“How long had he been taking them?”
I shrug. “I can’t say.”
“You can’t say, or you don’t know?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Nor can I say for certain that his usage of substances was the exact cause if his death, I—”
“Why?”
“I can’t trust you enough with that information, Carlotta. Not yet, anyway.”
Like timber catching alight, Carlotta’s ire burns bright, bursting out of her.
“Fuck you,” she spits, using her death grip on the edge of the table to shove her chair back and stand. “You’re the one who ordered me here and now you aren’t even going to tell me—”
“Sit. Down, Bellucci.”
I hadn’t even heard Cassiel move from his spot at my right-hand side, but he stands behind Carlotta now, pushing her back down until her knees have no choice but to co-operate.
“Get the fuck off me.” The anger in her eyes unwavering, she shrugs Cassiel’s touch from her shoulders, her fingertips gently grazing the space of her breastbone again.
She’s got to be hiding something there. A weapon, perhaps?
I didn’t think little Carlotta Bellucci would have it in her to disobey the rules I set, but maybe…
Smirking with sheer glee, I watch Cassiel’s large hands fold together in front of him, his hazel eyes, dancing with mirth, meeting mine.
“Do you trust us, Carlotta?” I ask, voice deadly quiet. Nobody else in the room dares makes a sound.
“Absolutely not,” she scoffs, nails digging into the soft flesh of her palms.
“Then, we’re all on the same page. You don’t trust us; we don’t trust you. Until—”
She grits her white teeth at me. “Why bring me here, then?”
“It is the rules of The Thirteen. If one of us should die, then their next of kin as it is written, is to take their place.”
Carlotta’s brow furrows. “As it is written?”
“Yes.” Before I even have to ask him to do so, Cassiel is placing the paper document on the table before Carlotta, allowing her to see for herself each individual name of The Thirteen members, their named next of kin and their scrawled signatures agreeing to our laws.
I don’t utter a word as her manicured finger touches the paper, edges soft with age, gliding down to Cristiano’s signature. In bold black letters beside his own name, lies the words—Carlotta Bellucci: sister.
She raises her head, eyes searching mine. “I-I don’t understand, Rome.”
The sound of my God given name on her sweet lips…
“You’re one of us, Carlotta. As it is written, you are member of The Thirteen from now until you die… or give up you’re place to a direct descendant.”
Across the table, a cough sounds; the first objection from my men I’ve heard all evening.
“She’s not a part of us quite yet, boss.”
I swallow down the urge to stand and punch the heir of the Katastov empire in the mouth, instead inclining my head towards him to ensure he knows I’m listening to him.
“What is he talking about?” Carlotta’s head whips from Riley and back to me. “You just said—”
“The Thirteen is a group founded centuries ago by our forefathers and their fathers before them, Carlotta,” I explain. “You’ve heard of the saying; there is strength in numbers?”
My girl nods.
“Each of us come from the thirteen largest Mafia families in North America. That has the way it’s always been. Thirteen members. No more. No less.”
“And your job is…”
“We keep the world turning, girlie,” Ivank spits from the end of the table. “Without us you’d be—”
“We keep mostly to ourselves,” I continue with a glare to Ivank. One more step out of line and I’ll be dragging him outside myself. “But the purpose of The Thirteen is to have one another’s backs. Here, you will always have an alibi. A brother-in-arms.”
“How have I never heard of you?”
“Typically, the women know of us, but are not directly involved. We’ve never had a woman join our ranks before. I suppose your mother should have told you, but you ran away before she—”
“And now here you are crawling back to us.” Ivank pounds his fist on the table, making Carlotta jump a foot in the air.
I instinctively got to make a grab for the gun I keep holstered to my hip, only to remember I left it outside in the pile to show cooperation.
“You think you can just leave our world and return when you please. Strutting in here. Demanding information about Cristiano. You, little—”
“That’s enough,” Cassiel growls, taking a menacing step away from Carlotta’s back and grabbing Ivank by the grimy collar. “Open your mouth one more time and I’ll cut out your tongue.”
The rest of my men shift restlessly, gazes flickering between me, Cassiel and Ivank, but not one dare stand. They may murmur amongst themselves, but they don’t dare place their neck on the barbed line.
“Take him outside,” I order Cassiel. “Deal with him, won’t you.”
Cassiel doesn’t need to be told twice, hoisting Ivank up off his feet and dragging him towards the door.
I see Carlotta start, her face white with shock or perhaps even fear. I wouldn’t fault her for having either of those emotions.
“I—”
Body strung tight like a bow threatening to snap at any time, I stand too, flattening my palms to the cool, scarred surface of the table.
“Becoming a member of The Thirteen is a way of life, Carlotta. Once you’re in...
you can never leave. Even in death. Should you agree to become one of us, then you will need to complete the initiation.
A test. To ensure your strength, your capability.
To win over the trust of these men before you. Myself included.”
My men nod in agreement.
“And if I decline your offer to join? Then, what?”
“The Thirteen isn’t known to anybody except those in this very room. If you should decline, then… unfortunately I will have to kill you.”
The words taste acrid in my mouth, scalding my tongue, but it is the truth.
Carlotta’s throat bobs, but her eyes fix on mine, staring me down. “So, I have two choices? Be killed or become one of you?”
“Yes.”
“And what will the test be?”
“I can’t tell you that until you agree, and your name is signed on that document.” I tip my chin towards the paper still resting on the table.
Carlotta nods. “How long can I have to think on it?”
“Three days.”
Her reply, if she has one, is interrupted by the reappearance of Cassiel and Ivank; the latter worst for wear with a cut oozing blood above his right eyebrow.
With a flick of my tongue, I fill them in on what they’ve missed, my eyes watching Ivank limp back to his seat and sit down, lips sealed.
“Three days from now, Carlotta, you will report back to this very room. The Thirteen await your answer.”