Chapter Four #2
For ten seconds, the pier was silent.
Then, Marco exploded.
"Oh my god," Marco gasped, bracing his hands on his knees as he burst into hysterical laughter. "Oh my god, did you just—did that just happen?"
Enzo was gripping the forklift, his shoulders shaking violently. "She has no words! The assassin has no words!"
Roselia whipped her head up, her face burning hotter now out of sheer rage. "Shut up! Both of you, shut your mouths right now or I will throw you into the harbor!"
"You blushed!" Marco yelled, pointing a victorious finger at her face. "You! The woman who didn't even blink when a car bomb went off in Palermo! You just blushed at a poet in a navy suit!"
"I did not blush!" Roselia hissed, slapping the clipboard against Marco’s chest. "It’s the wind burn! It’s the diesel fumes! Get back to work!"
She stormed off down the pier, her boots striking the concrete with force, ignoring the roars of laughter trailing behind her.
That evening, the Falco estate was bathed in the warm, ambient glow of the dining room chandeliers. Willa was still miles away on the Amalfi Coast, indulging in mud wraps and ocean views, leaving the estate to the family.
The mahogany table was crowded with platters of roasted lamb, garlic potatoes, and bottles of deep red wine. The atmosphere was loud, chaotic, and brimming with the kind of relaxed intimacy that only existed in Willa’s absence.
Bruno was curled comfortably under the table, his head resting heavily across Roselia’s boots.
Renzo sat at the head of the table, cutting his lamb in quiet observation. He was enjoying the peace, listening to the rhythmic, familiar cadence of his family’s voices. But the peace was abruptly shattered when Marco aggressively cleared his throat, tapping his wine glass with a knife.
"Family," Marco announced, a wicked, shit-eating grin spread across his face. "I have an announcement. We witnessed a miracle today at the docks. A true anomaly of nature."
Roselia, who had a piece of lamb halfway to her mouth, froze. Her dark eyes snapped to Marco, flashing with the promise of intense, imminent violence. "Marco," she warned, her voice dropping an octave. "Do not."
"What happened?" Salvatore asked, his booming voice cutting through the chatter as he leaned forward, captivated. Andre paused with his wine glass, looking equally curious.
"We were checking the Greek shipment," Marco began, ignoring the death glare Roselia was leveling at him from across the table. "And Raphael Dante walks over. Just strolls right up to us. And he asks Rose out on a date."
Ana gasped delightfully, clapping her hands together. Valentina raised a single, intrigued eyebrow.
"And?" Andre demanded, looking at his daughter. "What did you say?"
"It’s not what she said, Uncle Andre, it's what she didn't do," Marco crowed, standing up slightly to project his voice. "It is the first time a man has approached her, and she didn't flip him, dislocate his shoulder, or threaten his life! She just stood there looking at him!"
"He was being so charming, Papa," Enzo chimed in, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. "He actually looked her dead in the eye and said, 'Anyone who can be in your orbit is very lucky.'"
Valentina let out a rare, approving hum. "A smooth tongue. The boy has manners."
"And then!" Marco yelled, unable to contain his glee. "Then, the eighth wonder of the world occurred. Our very own shadow-walking, knife-wielding terror... she blushed."
The table erupted.
"I did not blush!" Roselia shouted over the noise, her cheeks flaring with a deep red hue that betrayed her denial.
She threw her napkin onto the table, looking wildly around the room.
"I did not! It was the wind! He caught me off guard, I was doing inventory!
Shut up, Marco, I will poison your espresso tomorrow! "
"I saw it with my own two eyes!" Marco laughed, sitting back down and taking a victorious swallow of his wine. "I have never seen her blush. Not once in almost two decades. And Dante managed it in two minutes."
Roselia sank lower in her chair, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes. "This is a nightmare. I don't have time for this. It’s nothing."
"Why shouldn't you have time?" Enzo reasoned, reaching across the table to grab a piece of bread. "You can go out on one date, Ro. It’s not like you're going to marry the guy tomorrow. But he seemed like a nice guy. Marco and I can run the full background check on him by midnight."
"Background check?" Andre echoed, stroking his chin thoughtfully. The Capo exchanged a serious, calculating look with Salvatore Falco. "Yes, of course. We are not going to send you off to a gala with some strange guy. We must vet him properly."
"He’s not a strange guy, Andre, he's one of my Capos," Salvatore argued, waving his fork. "And a damn good one. Raphael Dante is meticulous. He is honest. He runs his territory with total integrity. He is one of the good ones."
Salvatore turned to Roselia, a broad, fatherly smile on his face. "He would treat you like a queen, mia stella. But yes, we will still do the background check. Just to be certain he has no hidden debts."
Roselia dropped her hands, staring at her father and the Don in horrified disbelief. "What are you doing? Are you matchmaking? I am an assassin, not a debutante! Stop acting like a council of meddling grandmothers!"
"We are not matchmaking," Andre said, looking offended. "He was the one who approached you. We are simply... providing tactical oversight for your social life."
"You need a dress," Ana declared suddenly, her eyes shining with manic excitement looking at Valentina. "Mama, the seamstress! We need to push her appointment up! She cannot wear leather to the opera!"
"Oh my God," Roselia groaned, dropping her head onto the table. Bruno whined sympathetically from below, resting his chin on her knee.
Amidst the roaring laughter, the teasing, and the chaotic joy of the family planning her nonexistent love life, one person remained silent.
Renzo Falco sat at the head of the table, his blood turning into liquid ice.
He looked at Roselia. She was flushed, embarrassed, and looked absolutely captivating. Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, her eyes bright with annoyance and life. She looked beautiful. Dangerously, breathtakingly beautiful.
And another man had seen it. Another man had walked up to her, recognized her worth, and possessed the freedom to try and claim it.
A sudden, violent wave of jealousy crashed into Renzo’s chest, so intense and it physically stole the breath from his lungs.
It wasn't the fleeting annoyance of a brother, or the protective instinct of a Don.
It was the raw, primal, territorial rage of a man watching someone else reach for the woman he suddenly realized he wanted for himself.
He put that blush on her face, Renzo thought, the realization twisting like a serrated knife in his gut.
Renzo wanted to be the one to do that. He wanted to be the one to strip away her defenses, to make her stutter, to make her skin heat and her eyes widen.
The idea of Raphael Dante—young, charming, unburdened Dante—standing close to her, whispering in her ear, making her smile...
it made Renzo want to commit an act of unhinged violence.
He stared at her, his dark eyes burning with a sudden, possessive fire. He was looking at Roselia Zanetti as if he had been blind for years and had just opened his eyes to stare directly at the sun.
But what could he do?
He sat frozen in his chair, his hands gripping the arms so tightly the leather creaked. He couldn't scream at his family to stop. He couldn't drag her out of the room. He couldn't march down to the docks and break Dante's jaw for the crime of asking a single woman out on a date.
He was engaged to Willa. He had built the cage he was currently locked inside, reinforcing the bars every time he had taken Willa's side against the very woman he was now desperately, furiously craving.
Roselia finally lifted her head from the table, still bickering loudly with Marco. She swept her gaze across the room, rolling her eyes at her father’s continued insistence on running Dante’s financials.
As her gaze passed the head of the table, it flicked over Renzo for a fraction of a second. She didn't pause. She didn't linger. She looked at him with the exact same unbothered, hollow indifference she always did, before turning her attention back to Enzo.
Renzo’s jaw clenched so hard his teeth ground together.
She didn't even look at him. He was the Don of the most dangerous syndicate in Europe. He commanded thousands of men. He held the power of life and death in his immaculately manicured hands.
And yet, sitting at the head of his own table, simmering in a toxic cocktail of sudden lust, jealousy, and possessive rage, Lorenzo Falco realized he had absolutely no idea how to make Roselia Zanetti look at him the way she looked at a man she had just met on the docks.