Chapter 20 （Eli’s POV）
CHAPTER 20 (ELI’S POV)
EMILIANO
I t’s been three months. Three fucking months. Three fucking months of pure torture, agonizing pain.
“You need to stop watching everything they post about her. If you’re not stalking her on social media, you’ve been tasking Matteo with hacking the security system of every place she could be at and watching her. It's unhealthy, Eli,” Romiro says, but I ignore him as I watch the stupid date Valentina’s family set up for her with her fiancé. They have been sitting at their table for half an hour, barely exchanging a couple of sentences.
“Are you seriously going to ignore what he just said?” Lucio asks, his hand reaching for the laptop to close the lid.
I smack his hand away, looking at them as I snarl, “Mind your fucking business. The both of you.”
They both sigh and look at each other before Romiro speaks up again. “If you wanted her this badly, why did you give her up?”
“Because she wanted to go back; she wanted to get away from me. I won’t have her resent me for holding her back. And it’s not a want, Romiro. It’s a need, an obsession. She’s everything, and without her, everything else is meaningless. If you can’t get that, then mind your fucking business.”
I slam my palm on my desk, causing my empty cup of coffee to tip over and land sideways. My eyes snap to the screen when I see movement. They’re leaving. And he has his fucking hand on the small of her back. I’m crushing that hand and stuffing it right up his Colombian ass.
I make my way toward my office doors, ignoring both Lucio’s and Romiro’s questions. Their footsteps are loud as they follow me into the kitchen. “Ma wants to see you; you’ve been in New York for four months, and she hasn’t even heard a peep from you,” Lucio says from behind me.
I open my cooler, grabbing the two-hundred-year-old Scotch. Lucio, of course, does something stupid and goes to grab it from me.
“Fuck off, Lucio,” I say as I place it on the counter and grab one of my tumblers.
“All you do is drink alcohol or coffee and watch the CCTV footage you can get your hands on. It's not healthy,” Romiro reasons. I don’t respond, instead chugging back the Scotch. I wipe my mouth with the back of my sleeve and go to pour some more, when Lucio grabs the Scotch and pours it down the drain.
I lunge at him, popping his jaw with a right hook, causing him to drop to the floor with a thud. Romiro tries to pull us off each other, but we pummel each other’s faces till we’re both bleeding and our knuckles are busted. I finally get off my brother and extend my hand for him to get up. He takes it, laughing like the maniac he is. Shaking my head, I walk toward the cupboard near the sink and grab the first aid kit. I slide Lucio some band-aids, disinfectant, and gauze for his fists.
“What the fuck do you idiots suggest, then? Because I’m not going to stop watching her unless she’s by my side where she belongs,” I say, as I wrap my busted knuckles. Romiro leans on the kitchen island, watching me before he sighs and runs a hand through his blond curls.
“First off, you need to get yourself together. You look like death is on your doorstep. You need to keep up with your training. You’re the fucking Capo, for the love of God. Second of all, there’s talk about the Scorpion having an affair with his family’s lawyer, who's also his stepMom’s cousin,” Romiro tells me. I turn to look at him and try to recoup my thoughts. What the fuck was Moretti thinking giving his daughter to a piece of shit like that.
“Get me Guerrero on the phone,” I say before making my way down the hall, toward my room.
“Wait, what?” Romiro shouts behind me, and I turn to look at him.
“I said get me Nicholas Guerrero on the fucking phone.”
I don’t wait for an answer as I enter my room and close the door.
* * *
A week later
It’s about time that my family moves back to New York where we belong. Romiro and I are waiting in the limo for Ma and my siblings. It’s early January, so the weather still has a bite to it. It’s been snowing in New York city for the past couple of days, and to say that I feel like shit would be an understatement.
“Have you managed to contact Guerrero?” I ask Romiro as I watch the landing strip.
“Yes, he’s agreed to a call, but only under specific instructions,” Romiro says.
My face twists, and I snarl, “The sheer stupidity of that boy is astounding. Like fuck I’m going to let him have his way.” I turn to look at Romiro when he doesn’t say anything.
Romiro shrugs before he says, “Well, you are if you want to be able to talk to him; otherwise, he refuses to even entertain the thought of talking to you.”
My teeth grind together at the thought of even agreeing to play nice with the asshole who gets to live the rest of his days with the object of all my desires, and the fucker decides to fuck it up before it even starts. I run my hand through my hair as I mutter, “What the fuck does he want?”
“He said that he wants no mention of this to anyone, but those who already know. He also said that no one can know what you discuss. The phone call must be from a burner phone that is completely wiped out and disposed of afterwards. Only then will he agree to the phone call.” Romiro lists off the Scorpion’s demands, and I don’t think that anything is unreasonable until Romiro finishes off by saying, “He also said that if this call is about Valentina, he’ll shoot you in the face himself.”
That fucking ticks me off, and I turn to look outside.
“Get Mariano to call our contact in Guerrero's territory,” I order. Romiro doesn’t say anything, and we wait for a couple more minutes before the plane from New Hampshire lands on the strip. Mara, my brothers, and Ma all slide inside.
“Hey, Ma,” I say, going in for a kiss on her cheek, but she swerves out the way, which has Lucio and Romiro both laughing.
“Don’t even think about it. You haven’t even bothered to call for the past three months, and you have the audacity to say, ‘hi, Ma’ and try to give me a kiss.” Her eyes narrow into slits.
Sending both a glare before clearing my throat and turning back to Ma, I say, “Ma, I’m sorry. I’ve been busy trying to make sure everything is going smoothly enough for all of us to return to New York City.”
She scoffs and turns to look outside, and I decide to give her some space, so I lean back into the Italian leather seat. The drive to the family townhouse in Greenwich isn’t long, and the car comes to a halt right outside the gates. Everyone piles out the other side of the car, leaving me and Ma. She goes for the car handle, and when I lock the doors, she whips her head to me.
“Emiliano Folonari, if you do not open this-” she seethes, her fists are clenched at her sides.
“I’m sorry, Ma, I really am,” I cut her off. Her eyes soften, and the harsh lines bleed into the smile that takes over her face.
Ma searches my face before asking, “Do you love her?” My jaw clenches, and my eyes filter to the street outside.
I let the silence talk for me, because the noose around my neck has become unbearably tight, and the ache in my chest feels like a thousand gunshots.
“It’s okay if you do. Emiliano, love isn’t a weakness, nor is it a flaw. Love is strength, kindness. Love is also knowing your own shortcomings and making up for them with your actions, words. If you love her, fight for her,” she says, her warm hand resting on top of mine.
“Ma, I don’t think you realize what you’re saying.”
She shakes her head. “No, I know more than you think. If you love her truly, don’t go thinking that by letting her go you’re showing her that you love her. Unless she told you that herself, but she didn’t, and instead of giving her a choice, you took it away from her.”
“She doesn’t love me. She tried to escape. More than once, she looked for a way out,” I reason.
“She wanted to get out because she didn’t want to be a trading mare. You can’t honestly expect her to willingly sit around and wait for her good-for-nothing Dad to do something.”
I’m about to say something, but she cuts me off, “She loves you; I saw how she looked the day you took her to give her back to her Dad. And the days before then, all she ever did was randomly burst out crying and try to avoid everyone.”
I swallow, trying to rid myself of the ball that’s forming in my throat. The locks click, signaling the end of the conversation. But before Ma gets out, I whisper, “A wedding is sacred. If I take her again, it will be an all-out war. No more dilly-dallying around the threats.”
Ma pushes the limo door open, but before she completely steps out, she says, “All’s fair in love and war.”
* * *
A couple of days later
I lean back in my chair at the Diamond, staring at the damn burner phone, waiting for it to ring. The seconds tick away, and when the phone rings at five on the dot, I let it ring twice before picking it up.
“Folonari. I’m not surprised you’ve wanted to set up a call, but I’m certainly surprised that it’s taken you this long to do so.” Nicholas rolls the r in my surname, and it grates on my nerves, but I ignore it.
“Nicholas, I’d say it’s nice to meet you, but I’d be lying. So, I’ll just get to the point of this call. I want you to distract the Morettis for long enough for me to get Valentina out.”
“Why should I help you take my fucking fiancée?” he asks.
“Maybe because you don’t want to be engaged to her. Listen here, you piece of shit. If you think that nobody knows about your little girlfriend, what was her name? Sof-”
He cuts me off, growling, “Don’t you fucking dare say her name, or I’ll tear your fucking throat out, you dumb fuck. I fucking told you that if you bring Valentina up in this fucking call that I’d shoot you myself.”
I scoff as I tap my hand against my desk. “I wouldn’t be using this tone if I were in your position. After all, a sniper is positioned right outside your little girlfriend’s bedroom window. She’s sleeping so she won’t feel it.”
There’s no sound but his breathing on the other end of the phone.
“I’ll fucking kill all of you fuckers if a hair on her head is missing,” he threatens.
I chuckle before saying, “Then you agree to set up something for me to get Valentina out?”
“Fuck you,” he says before ending the call.
I’ll take that as a yes.