Chapter 17
Damiano
The sun shines through the arched windows of my study while I scan the documents on my computer. I’ve been staring at the same files—shell company registrations, shipment records—for hours and still nothing points to Argentina. I rub my eyes and sigh.
Nicolo Guidicelli is many things. A butcher, a thief, a man who trades in human misery. But he is not better than me at concealing his tracks.
He’s good, but not that good.
In our world, business leaves a trail. When someone moves into new territory, I should be seeing front companies, bribes flowing into customs officials' pockets, bank accounts funneling pesos into Cayman laundries. But I find nothing.
La Famiglia doesn't allow members to branch out into new markets without the organization taking its twenty-percent cut.
If Nicolo were doing business there behind our backs, it wouldn't just be an insult; it would be his death warrant.
And yet, the deeper I dig into the financial sub-layers of the Argentine ports, the cleaner it looks for him.
Too fucking clean.
If he wasn't there for the money, then why was he there?
A soft knock at the door breaks my focus. I check the security feed monitor on my side and find Katarina waiting on the other side of the door.
"Come in," I say, my voice sounding rough and gravelly, a consequence of too much caffeine and not enough sleep.
The heavy oak door creaks open slowly, and Katarina steps into the room. She looks like a specter in the afternoon light, wearing a red dress. The thin straps reveal the dark, mottled bruises on her collarbone.
She looks gaunt, her eyes still haunted by pain, but a quiet, simmering resolve has replaced the look of terror.
Despite being bruised and tired, she still looks every bit like Argentina’s most besotted actress as she walks slowly towards my desk.
I can’t help the hard-on that strains in my pants as her big eyes meet mine.
"Miss me?" I tease, looking up at her. I lay my arms on the armrests of my chair and lean back.
"I couldn't stay in that room any longer," she says as she walks around the desk and stops in front of me, her fingers twisting nervously in the fabric of her dress.
“How are your feet?”
“It’s a little better, but it still hurts to walk.”
“You shouldn’t be walking too much yet. You need to heal.”
"Well, I was... thinking."
"Dangerous pastime," I reply. "Especially in this house."
She doesn't smile back. Instead, she takes a few steps closer, her gaze flickering to the monitors flashing the property’s security surveillance, before settling on mine.
"I want to go out, Damiano. I need clothes, and... I need a hairdresser."
I arch an eyebrow, my curiosity piqued. It’s the last thing I expected her to ask for.
"A hairdresser? You’re worried about your hair while Nicolo is turning over every stone out there to find you?"
"I'm worried about being recognized," she shoots back.
She takes another step, the sunlight catching the sharp line of her jaw.
"I want to change it. All of it. I want a different color. Something that doesn't look like the woman in those magazines. Besides, it would only make it harder for Nicolo to find me."
I study her for a long moment, dissecting the request. I understand her logic; it’s practical, even brilliant in its simplicity. But I can clearly see the psychological weight of it. I know how significant haircuts are for women; she wants to kill the woman she used to be.
"Sicily isn't Buenos Aires, Katarina," I say, my voice softening as I lean forward. "My brother and I have eyes everywhere, but so does Nicolo. He has connections with the local police. I can’t risk you going out to a salon."
"Then find one that isn't public," she counters, her chin lifting in defiance. "You’re in the mafia, right? Surely you own a hairdresser who knows how to keep their mouth shut and their hands steady. Or are you not as powerful as you claim to be?"
I let out a low, dry chuckle. The bite in her voice is refreshing.
She’s learning my language.
"We’ll leave in ten minutes,” I say with a smirk.
∞∞∞
It’s about a thirty-minute drive to town.
Gio drives, Julian sits in front, and a second SUV of guards follows behind.
I called in a favor to Nina—Lucian’s older sister—to arrange a visit to her boutique so Katarina can shop in peace.
It’s the only place I am comfortable letting her go because I know Lucian has this place heavily guarded for her sister 24/7.
When I look at Katarina, she’s staring out the window in deep thought. I take my time to admire her face from where I’m sitting. Her bruises are still visible, but are healing well, and so are the cuts on her eyebrow and lips.
The memory of her bloodied face that night at Lux reminds me that I’ve yet to kill the bastards who did that to her.
“What’s wrong?” Her voice pulls me out of my dark fantasy and back to her angelic face.
“Nothing,” I say.
“Mr. Nothing.” She says absentmindedly as she stares back at the window.
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“You always refuse to answer my questions,” she says, continuing to stare out the window.
“I answer you plenty,” I say, acting as if I have no idea why she feels I never respond to her.
When we were “dating,” I would avoid answering any questions she had about my life. She hated it, especially since all she wanted was to get to know me.
“Right,” she says before leaning her head back on the headrest and closing her eyes.
The silence that follows is heavy and familiar—the same silence as every time she reached for me in Buenos Aires and I pulled back.
I guess there’s no point in doing that anymore.
“ I was just thinking about all the ways I will make the men who did that to your face suffer,” I say, and her eyes snap open in surprise. She blinks, her mouth opening slightly. I reach for her and pull her close to me. After a bit, she lays her head on my shoulder.
“Mateo killed him.” She whispers after a few.
“Who?”
“The man who did this. The man who shot him.” She murmurs before burying her face in my neck.
“He’s lucky. Because if he didn’t, he would wish he had died anyway.”
When we pull over in front of Nina’s boutique, the street is littered with tourists. Immediately, I’m wary that someone might recognize Katarina, but I tell the guards to maintain a comfortable distance so we don’t make a scene.
As I open the car door and help her out, she asks, “Where are we?”
“A friend of mine owns this store. Unfortunately, it’s the only place we can go today. We need to go home as soon as possible.” I offer her my arm, and she hooks hers on it, using me as an anchor as we walk towards the store.
Before Gio gets the chance to open the door, it flies open. A tall, slender woman rushes out and jumps into my arms, hugging me and kissing my cheeks.
“I should have known the devil wouldn’t keep you long.” She says in Italian, her arms locking behind my neck, her body pressing to mine with a familiar ease. She’s so close to my face I can smell her perfume and the cigarette on her breath.
Nina.
“Nice to know someone actually missed me.” I grin as I scan her face. She is exactly how I last saw her.
Her smile is big when she says, “God, look at you. You look even more handsome.”
Just then, I hear Gio clear his throat. When I look at him, he shoots Katarina a look, and that is when I notice. She has let go of my arm and is now standing behind us, her arms crossed in front of her chest, glaring at me.
Uh-oh.
I push Nina away a little too fast she almost stumbles.
“You must be Katarina.” She says, after she regains her composure, extending her hand to Katarina. The scowl on her face is gone, replaced by a poised smile.
“Nice to meet you.” She says, shaking Nina’s hand before reaching for Julian’s arm and asking him to help her walk.
She doesn’t look at Nina or me again before she disappears inside, and I feel a pang of unfamiliar panic in my chest.
“I’m guessing she’s the jealous type?” Nina giggles as she catches my eyes following Katarina
“Just a little. She loves me too much.” I say, and she rolls her eyes.
“Of course she does.” She laughs.
“Can you help her get everything she needs, please?” I add as we watch Katarina, who is now scanning an array of dresses. Gio steadies her as she moves through the store, mindful of her injured foot and shoulder, while Julian grabs the items she points to.
“Lucian said you kidnapped her,” Nina says. My head snaps toward her as she raises an eyebrow and chuckles.
“Your brother is stupid. Of course not. I need to take care of her for now.” I explain.
“And why is that?” She asks, her full lips, painted dark red, twisting to one side.
“Because she’s important to me,”
“My, my… And here I thought you’d never take anybody seriously. What happened to ‘dying single is the most heroic thing you’ll do’?” She teases.
Those are the lines I gave her three years ago when we broke up after 3 months of being engaged.
It wasn’t serious between us because we both know our lives have been decided for us.
She’s a mafia-born like me. We were close growing up, also the same age, so everyone expected us to marry each other.
We were young and naive, and I guess, it just made sense.
After my mother’s ambush, everything went to shit. I knew I needed to end our engagement because there was no way I was going to start a family of my own after watching my mother die. We remained friends nonetheless.
“Sometimes, God sends you a test to see what you’ll do with it. And this one, well, she’s fucking torture.” I say, almost absentmindedly.
“Jesus Christ, you got it hard.” She laughs out loud.
“Whatever that means.” I shrug. “Can you help her, please?” I give her a pleading look.
“I am glad you’re back.” She shakes her head, smiling at me.
“Me too. I missed you.” I say, smiling at my friend.
“You better have!” She snaps before heading inside.
I take a seat on the couch in the middle of the dressing rooms as Nina approaches Katarina. I watch silently, hoping she’ll accept the help because I’m ready to pounce on Julian, who has been chuckling and making jokes that seem to make her laugh. Even Gio is chiming in.
If only I weren’t addicted to that smile, they’ll both be taking the beating now. I watch as Nina introduces herself, and Katarina shakes her hand. She smiles, that same polished smile she uses for the media, and I couldn’t help but chuckle. She really is the jealous type.
When Nina starts pulling out some clothes, I relax a little. I check my emails to kill the boredom. When Katarina passes me, towards one of the dressing rooms, she ignores me.
After a few minutes, she emerges wearing an emerald velvet dress that perfectly accentuates her curves, the sweetheart neckline showing too much cleavage. Nina comes out next, holding more clothes in her hands and winking at me before handing the items to one of her assistants.
“The heels would have matched perfectly, but you shouldn’t walk around in heels yet; that would worsen your injuries,” Nina says as she helps Katarina tie her hair up in a ponytail.
We’re all facing the mirrors, and for a moment, I catch Katarina’s eyes, but she rolls them and looks away. I try hard not to laugh. Fuck, she’s adorable when she’s mad.
“Thank you. I love all of them.” She says to Nina. “Uhmm... do you have internet here? I’ll have to pay online. I don’t have my cards with me.” She adds.
“I got it, no worries,” I say.
“No,” she says, her tone sharp.
Nina chuckles at the tension. “Rubbish. Damiano is family—no need to pay. In fact, I sent Sofia, my best hairdresser, to your villa. She’ll take care of you there.”
“You’re too nice.” Katarina beams at her, and Nina squeezes her arms before pulling her into a hug. As we walk back to the car, Katarina still won’t look at me.
It’s going to be a long ride home.