15. Chapter Fifteen

My phone rings the moment I step inside the house. A glance at my cell tells me it's my father. Odd time for him to call, but I answer because something could be wrong. I don't ignore his calls anymore.

"Are you back home from your frivolous vacation?"

Ah, so he remembered…

"It was hardly a vacation," I tell him, heading up the marble staircase to my office. It's the place I spend most of my time, where I'm most comfortable.

"There's been a war, mia mucca bella. At the ice cream shop."

I pull the phone from my ear to stare at the screen, as if it'll tell me what the hell that nonsense is about, and take a moment to process what he said.

Mucca bella?

My Italian isn't the best, but I'm pretty sure that isn't right. I sigh away from the phone.

"Is that so?"

"I need you to handle it, Amadeo, and quickly!" he growls.

I shake my head. Why the hell is he calling me?

"Papa, where is the nurse?" I ask as I enter my office and sit at my desk.

"What nurse?" he snaps.

"The nurse. The house maid. You know, the cleaner?"

"That bitch is scrubbing the chickens, figlio. Why do you concern yourself with the help?"

What the hell has he been watching lately?

"Just put her on the phone."

"You kids have no respect. No goddamn respect."

His chair squeaks, and his breathing grows heavy as he walks to find Bianca.

"Mr. Bramante, are you okay?" she says, sounding far away. "Hello?" she says directly into the phone a moment later.

"What the hell do we pay you for?" I bark into the phone.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Bramante. I was preparing dinner, and he was napping."

"He isn't supposed to have access to his phone! Do you have any idea what shit he could start?"

"I'm s-sorry. It won't happen again."

"Damn right it won't."

I end the call and immediately dial my brother.

"Vincenzo," Elio greets.

"Just got off the phone with Papa."

"Yeah, and?"

"He was going off about a war at the ice cream shop and he called me a pretty cow."

Elio chuckles. The guy never laughs, so I'm glad I could give him some entertainment for the day. "He did not."

"Oh, he did. Think it's time for a new nurse."

He sighs heavily. "No, Enzo. We can't keep going through nurses. You know that fucks him up more."

"He's going to get us fucked up if he calls the wrong damn person."

"I'll handle it."

"You better."

I end the call and drop my phone to the desk. Idiots. They're all fucking idiots.

My cell buzzes on. Elio.

"What?" I snap.

"Hang up on my again, little brother, and there's going to be a problem."

"Don't threaten me." I glare at the wall, wishing it were Elio's face so I could punch him. "What do you want?"

"Had you not ended our call so quickly, I'd been able to tell you."

"Tell me now."

"I need you to go to the warehouse tomorrow."

"No."

Fuck no, I'm not going to Mexico.

"Yes, Vincenzo. There are problems."

"They aren't my problem. I handle the nightclubs, you handle the drugs. Marco handles—"

"I'm tied up."

"With?"

"Something I can't discuss."

"Discuss it because I'm not going."

He sighs again. "I need you to do this for me, Enzo."

There's desperation in his voice. I've never heard it from him before.

I grit my teeth. "Sei fortunato ad essere mio fratello," I mutter. One of the few phrases I know well in Italian since I've said it to my brothers so damn often. "Fine."

"I owe you."

"Goddamn right you do."

I end the call and I toss my phone to the desk again, hoping it'll smash to pieces and be unusable. I turn my attention to the monitors. While I was distracted by my father being unsupervised and my brother thinking he's in charge, Jordan dashed out of the car. She's making her way down the road. I tap the other screen to focus on the camera showing the gate and enlarge it, so the screens are side by side. Antonio realizes she's running but does as I say and lets her go. I watch as she moves to the edge of the cliff. Would be a shame if she fell off. Such a beautiful girl wasted.

It's clear she thinks better of it when she steps back, which almost makes me laugh. No one would be so stupid to try to scale around the column. Though, she is pretty desperate to leave, so maybe she would.

She throws a little fit. Starts crying. Antonio talks to her. I watch the whole thing play out in front of me, and maybe for a split second I feel bad. It must suck to be in this situation, I get that. But it doesn't have to be this way. If only she'd accept her fate, I'd give her everything she wants. When Antonio finally gets her in the car, I make my way downstairs to meet her at the front door.

"What do you want me to do with her?" Antonio asks. I glance at the car. It's running, the AC probably blasted to cool her down.

"I'll get her," I say.

"Her feet are scraped up bad."

"Expect they would be."

I tug the door open when I reach the car, noting how dirty and sweaty she is.

"Are you done being a brat?"

"I'm not a brat," she snaps.

"Are you walking inside or am I carrying you?"

She glares at me, growls, and gets out of the car. She holds her chin high and makes her way up the steps. It's clear in the way she's walking her feet hurt, but I'll give it to her—she's a stubborn one.

I move past her and enter the house. When she steps into the large foyer, she looks around, almost surprised. She shouldn't be. It's just another rich-guy's house. I'm sure she's been in plenty of them.

"I'll show you to your room."

"I get my own room?" she asks with mock surprise.

I look at her over my shoulder. "I like my privacy." She scowls, like that's an insult. "If you want company, I can put you with Rafael."

"Rafael lives here?" she gapes. "Willingly?"

I head up the stairs, ignoring her comment.

"So I can fuck him whenever I want?" she asks. It's clear she's trying to get a rise out of me. I'm not stupid. She's pissed. She's Italian and has a temper. But if this is the best she's got, she's going to be disappointed. The least she could do is be a little creative. I mean, I watched them fuck many times. Does she think it's going to make me jealous if they do it again?

I smirk, knowing she can't see it. I glance at her over my shoulder. "You can try."

"What the hell does that mean?"

I don't answer her, knowing it's going to annoy her more than the truth will.

Rafael doesn't do a damn thing without permission. And he sure as hell knows better than to touch what's mine without me present and without my say-so. He, unlike her, enjoys when I call the shots.

We reach the top landing, and I move down the left corridor. She will stay on this end of the house, while I stay on the other. Rafael gets the first floor. The back end of it, anyway.

"Feel free to roam about the house as you wish, but know you aren't the only person living here. Other than myself and Rafael, I have 24-hour staff who have rooms on the first floor, so don't go into them for any reason. Any room you're not allowed in up here will be locked."

"Like your torture room?"

I pause and glance at her. "I don't keep a torture room at my house, Jordan. That would be stupid."

"Sex dungeon then," she adds, folding her arms across her chest and raising that chin of hers again. I want to sink my teeth into it. Into this full breasts too.

I grin at her. "Maybe I'll let you see it one day."

"I'll pass."

I start walking again. "I'm leaving for a business trip first thing in the morning. I'll return as soon as I can."

"Leaving me so soon? What an awful husband." She huffs out a disbelieving laugh.

"I'm not your husband yet."

"Speaking of, when is the special day?"

I stop in front of the room I had redone for her just yesterday. I place my hand on the knob.

"Handling our nuptials is the first thing I'll tend to when I return. Any suggestions?"

She taps her chin. "Yes. How about never?"

"Nice try."

"Where are you going?"

"None of your concern."

She narrows her eyes at me. "What do you do for work?"

Too many questions, Jordan.

I push open the door, stepping aside and gesturing for her to go in.

She watches me for a moment longer before turning her attention to the room. Her lack of response only makes me assume she approves, not that I care either way. It's where she's staying, whether or not she likes it. Though, if she does like it, I suppose that's one less thing to complain about.

I'll not go out of my way to make her happy, not with the way she's treating me, but if I happen to do something she likes and she doesn't complain, the easier it'll be on me.