6. Davide

The Rossi Famiglia's mansion is on the outskirts of the city in a hilly residential area called Manayunk. It'd be easy to miss, tucked back behind big bushes and tall trees and down an easily defensible lane guarded by armed men and security cameras.

Bruno parks in front of a lavish home with huge columns and multiple wings. My driver squints up at the windows, trying to get a feel for the layout, probably putting together a heist situation in his head already. The guy was a petty thief when I first met him, a teenager with floppy dark hair and baggy clothes, obsessed with breaking and entering into rich people's homes. He was good at it too, and the habit never really left him, even though I turned him into a respectable member of the Bianco Famiglia. Now he's one of my most trusted friends and advisors, although he's a few years younger.

Don Renzo's waiting out front to greet me. "Be good," I tell him and get out of the car. "Don't fall back into old habits."

He flashes me a grin and runs a hand through his hair. "Never would, Capo."

I pat the roof of the car and go to greet Don Renzo. He's a big man, around my size, with thick hair going gray at the temples and a slightly stooped posture. He's handsome but grizzled, and anyone with eyes could see that the war hasn't been good to him. He walks with a slight limp and continually rubs his leg when he thinks nobody's looking.

"Thanks for coming here," he says as we head into a beautiful entryway. The floors are marble, and a large central staircase leads up to the second floor. Oil paintings cover the walls, and light streams in through a stained-glass window, casting red and blue across our path.

"It's my pleasure. I spoke with your sister last night, and she wasn't happy about our arrangement. If this helps, I'd be happy to sit down with her again."

Renzo nods and grimaces slightly. "I had hoped I could avoid telling her too much of the family business, but I understand you filled in the details."

"I only told her exactly what my father told me when approaching me with this proposal. She can make her own decisions."

"That's the thing." Renzo stops and faces me. "I've kept Stefania away from the family business for a long time. She hasn't been a part of the Famiglia and hasn't been asked to give very much of herself to our organization. This is asking a lot, and I had hoped she'd come to the right decision on her own without too much influence."

I look around at the affluent entry and try to imagine what it would look like covered in fire, blood, and broken furniture. That's what would happen if Stefania doesn't marry me. A thrill runs down my spine, the sickness inside of me trying to claw its way from the dark cage I've locked it inside, and I have to take a deep breath to find my calm again. I clench and unclench my scarred hand.

"I understand. My sisters are precious in the same way and we try to keep them away from the worst of our family, but we can't protect them forever. We both know how important this marriage is."

Renzo grunts and looks away, lost in his own thoughts. "You're right. Come on, she's waiting in my office." He limps ahead and I follow him down carpet-lined hallways covered in more art until we reach a big, ornate wooden door. Inside are bookshelves covered in leather-bound volumes, a table and chair near a fireplace, and a big desk tucked back against a window. The room is large and open, which puts me at ease. I can't stand cramped spaces.

Stefania's sitting on a couch. Her legs are crossed and she's wearing a skirt, and my eyes are immediately drawn to her thigh and that lovely olive-toned tan skin. I let my gaze rake up to her lips and linger there, thinking about the way they opened as she moaned my name, before finally looking into her eyes.

Her lips press tight and her hands clasp onto her knee like she's physically keeping herself from getting up and punching me in the face.

"Stefania, just tell him what you told me," Renzo says and backs away to the door. "I'll be down the hall if you need anything."

I nod to him and he shuts the door. I'm left alone with his sister, my future wife, and I wonder what it took to get him to allow this little meeting. A man like Don Renzo would probably be a little hesitant to leave a woman alone with a man of my reputation, but he must realize we're way past propriety at this point.

"You look good," I say and drift over toward her. I hesitate, looming over her for a moment, before sitting down at the other end of the couch.

Her back remains rod-straight. "And you still look like an asshole."

"You know, I'm trying to be patient with you, but that fresh mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble."

She sucks in a breath and flinches away from me. It's probably not the best thing to say given the circumstances, but I can't help myself.

"Yeah? And what the hell do you think you're going to do about it?"

I lean toward her. "I still have your panties. I'll shove them in your mouth again if I have to."

Her eyes widen and I soak in the mixture of outrage and lust warring across her face. But she adjusts her skirt and shimmies away, putting as much space between us as she can.

"I told Renzo to bring you here so we can make a deal, and you're already making me regret it."

"You want to make a deal?" I lean back, surprised but interested. "Alright, baby, what do you want?"

Her jaw works. "First, stop calling me baby. I'm not your baby. I'm not your anything. If we do this, it's going to be all business."

As if I harbored any secret desire to fall in love with this girl. I'm not even sure I'm capable of an emotion like that. "Fine with me. What else?"

"We stay in Philadelphia."

"Unacceptable. We can spend the summer here if you insist on it, but no more."

"Six months here. Six months in Chicago."

I cock my head. "I'm not negotiating. We'll spend July and August in Philadelphia, and the rest of the year at my home. What else do you want?"

That pisses her off but I'm not going to bend on this point. She's no use to my family if she refuses to be seen with us for six months at a time.

"No children."

I rub my temple and shake my head. "Baby, please, you're having as many children as you can squeeze out from between those beautiful thighs of yours."

"Absolutely not." She crosses her arms. "You can have me, but you won't have my kids."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "You're a mob wife, Stefania. There are certain expectations. You think I want to be a father?" The idea almost makes me laugh. My own father is a good man, one of the best men I've ever known, and I'd never be even half the parent he's been to me. I lost that part of me a long time ago, had it snuffed out and burned away.

"Give me something," she whispers as she stares down at her lap. "I don't want to do this, but what you said last night—" She chews her lip and I can tell she's fighting back tears.

A spark lights deep inside my chest. It's primal, ancient, an emotion I've never felt before. I want to walk over to her and wrap my arms around her body and make sure that nothing can ever fucking hurt her again. It's protective, it's instinctual, and I get to my feet and walk over to a small bar cart as my heart races in my chest and sweat breaks down my back.

What the hell is happening to me? I've never cared about crying girls before. I'm the vicious brother, the brutal and violent brother, the Capo my father calls upon when he needs to send our enemies a message, and I obey his bloody orders with glee. I don't protect the harmless and I don't hold crying women; I cut throats and blow up cars.

I pour some whiskey and take a sip. My left hand trembles and I have to hide it behind my back so she won't notice.

"We'll wait to have children," I say, not looking at her. "We can delay it for a while until you're more comfortable with your situation. I won't say never, but I'll give you time."

Why? Why the fuck do I care what she wants? Except some part of me does and wants to make her feel better.

Some forgotten part of me I thought had been lost a long time ago.

"Okay, I can live with that," she says, taking a deep breath and blowing it out. "I know you probably don't want any of this either. I'm aware we're both in this shitty situation together. It's just that, I've been trying so hard to have my own life, and I was starting to think that maybe I'd gotten away from all this madness, and now?—"

She lets the rest hang in the air. And now she's trapped again, but even worse than before.

"You'll survive," I say, not looking at her, because I don't trust myself not to feel something for her right now, and I don't know how to handle real emotions anymore. I thought this kind of human empathy had been seared from my flesh when I was twelve years old.

Her tone hardens. "Yeah, you're right, I guess I'll survive. What do we do now?"

"Tell Renzo I'll come back tomorrow and we'll sign the papers. You should go home and pack up."

"That's it?" Desperation slips into her tone. "There's nothing else?"

"If you want a ring, I'll get you a ring." And I'll love slipping it onto her finger and kissing her wrist as I do it. What the fuck is wrong with me? "If you want a wedding, we'll walk down the aisle. If you don't care about any of that, get packed, because marriage isn't much more than paperwork."

Her laugh is ugly and angry. "What a terrible way to talk about our future life together."

"Sorry, baby, but if you're looking for someone kind and gentle, you're going to be disappointed." Except for one brief moment that first night we met, I wanted to be that man—I wanted to dry her off and make her comfortable again, and later, when she'd said those words and I'd shoved her panties in her mouth, I wanted to make her feel good. Not for some selfish self-gratification, but because I wanted to see her lose herself in bliss.

I leave the office and find Renzo waiting in the entryway reading something on his phone. He looks up and struggles to his feet. "Done already?"

"We reached an understanding. I'll come back tomorrow if you can have the paperwork ready."

"Tomorrow." His expression flattens. "That's fast."

"No reason to wait around. I'm anxious to get back to my family."

He nods very slowly. "Tomorrow then. I'll have everything ready."

"Thank you, Don Renzo." I walk to the door, but he calls my name, and I pause.

"You'll treat her well," he says, and it isn't a request. I look back and catch a glimpse of the Don Renzo that won a war against the combined strength of two crime families while building new, powerful alliances. He is not a man to be underestimated.

"I will," I agree, because as heartless as I may be, I have no reason to make her life miserable, and because this stupid itch under my skin's making me want to go back to the office, touch her cheek with the backs of my knuckles, and kiss her again.

Which isn't supposed to happen anymore, and I don't know what to do if Stefania Rossi's making me feel things I've been running from for a very long time.