Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

DARIO

“ I didn’t hit him,” I growl down the phone at my father. “I just reminded him of who’s in charge. What did you want me to do, allow him to abuse our charity?”

“I’d rather we didn’t have weak points like charitable endeavors anyway,” he grumbles.

“The public relations benefits outweigh incidents like these. It’s not as if this sort of thing happens often.”

“No,” he sighs, “but the last thing we need while I’m busy with this deal is a feud with the Romanos. I didn’t spend half my life building up this Family just to have it fall apart because of some girl.”

“She’s my fiancée,” I snap, “and I never said it was about her.”

“You’ve never once become physical during an official meet. You use your fists and metal when you have to, but I’ve never known you to put your hands on a man during a business meeting. Now, here we are, and what’s changed? Do you imagine I was born yesterday? She affects you, and it wouldn’t be unfair to say it’s in a bad way.”

“I don’t tell you how to manage your relationship with Mother,” I point out. “I would like for you to extend the same courtesy.”

“My father—your grandfather—pledged me to your mother as an alliance to help strengthen the Family. I only met her once before our wedding day. What we did was for duty.”

“So you don’t love her.”

“Don’t get sentimental.”

“That’s not much of an answer,” I press.

Paolo and Allessio grow tense as they drive us through the city. There’s an air of “ This isn’t good” stinking up the car. They’re not used to my father and I going back and forth like this. Usually, we agree, at least on matters of business. Regarding how much freedom a Family man should be allowed, that’s a different matter.

“What alliance does your fiancée offer us?”

“You told me to find a wife. I’ve found one. Now you’re criticizing my choice. I’m thinking you’ve set up a losing game.”

“How thoroughly have you vetted her? Are you sure she’s worthy of you?”

I cringe at his choice of words. Worthy , like I’m some goddamn pope or something, and people should line up to kiss my ring.

“She was unsure of which cutlery to use at dinner. She ate bread directly from the basket. Her elbows were on the table , son.”

He says this with complete disgust, as though it’s the most reprehensible thing a person could ever dream of doing. I grind my teeth, hating his tone and feeling sick by how obvious it seems to him. It should provoke the same response in me. If I were a good son , I wouldn’t even hesitate to agree with him.

“She was nervous,” I tell him. “That doesn’t mean she’s a bad person.”

“Good or bad, I don’t care. I want to know she’s one of us.”

“You have some control over my life, Father. I’ve promised to do my best for the Family, but respectfully, you need to get your nose out of this. I’m going to get married, just like you wanted. The rest is up to me.”

“Don’t let things with the Romanos escalate,” he grumbles after a pause, “and if it does, handle it—preferably without my involvement.”

“I wouldn’t dream of involving you.”

“Then we have an agreement.”

I hang up the phone, taking a moment to compose myself. Usually, staying calm isn’t much of an issue. I can bury any feelings deep because I rarely have much to bury. I focus on the Family and what I must do on any given day. If I get freedom, I go to the gym, go for a drive, and maybe even try to get some fishing time. It is—it was —a simple life, at least as much as a mafioso’s can be.

“Everything okay, Dario?” Paolo asks.

“Hmm,” I grunt.

Allessio, who’s known me longer, says, “Your old man giving you a hard time?”

“He thinks my uncharacteristic desire to tear Vincenzo’s head off had something to do with Elena.”

There’s a long pause as we drive across the city toward the poor side of town.

“Go on,” I snap. “Say it.”

“We didn’t say anything.”

“I know, but you want to. Allessio?”

“I was just thinking …” He looks at me in the rearview, chewing the inside of his cheek. I even make my friends afraid. Not seriously, not in a crippling way, but enough to make them cringe away from me just a little. “Is he wrong? You said you only got physical when he started talking about Elena.”

“He shouldn’t have brought a civilian into this,” I grit, “and he pissed me off using the foundation like that.”

They exchange a look. I know what they’re thinking. We’ve encountered far worse during our time in the Family, and I’ve never let my rage fly like that. If I snapped because of Elena, I should call off the sham marriage and find somebody else—somebody who won’t sass me and make me feel…something.

When we arrive at her apartment building, I leave the car and walk over to the other mafioso ride. “Rocco,” I say, nodding to the driver. “Do me a favor and ride with Paolo. I’m going to take my fiancée back to the townhouse myself. You’ll tail us on the way home.”

“Sure, boss,” he says, climbing from the car and tossing me the keys.

I walk to the apartment building and press down on her apartment’s buzzer. I, of course, know where she lives and where she was working before she took this gig. Her voice crackles over the old intercom. “Hello?”

“It’s me. Buzz me up.”

“Manners, Dario …”

Even now, she’s got me smirking. The door makes a mechanical noise and then clicks as it unlocks. I take the stairs two at a time, too full of frantic energy. When I knock on the apartment door, she opens up. She’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt, which is no big deal, nothing that should make a man’s mouth water. Nothing that should make a man consider tearing her shirt off to reveal what is hidden.

“This is my friend, Giulia,” Elena says, waving me inside.

A small woman with a bob haircut walks over, smiling awkwardly. “Hello, Mr. Moretti.”

“Hi,” I say, looking around the small apartment.

“I know it’s no townhouse,” Elena mutters.

Before I can reply, a voice rises, taut with anxiety. “Elena,” she calls. “Elena!”

“That’s Aunt Rosa,” Elena whispers. “Excuse me. Uh, make a drink or something if you want.”

“I can do that,” Giulia says. “Coffee?”

“Sure.”

“You can take a seat,” Elena says, leaving me.

I sit on the couch. The cushions are almost entirely flat, the fabric threadbare. I can’t help thinking this isn’t the sort of place Elena belongs, which is a goddamn joke. This is the sort of place she’s lived in her entire life. I can see why my place would be such a shock to her. I hear the kettle whining from the adjoined kitchen a moment later, and Elena returns. Her cheeks are flushed in that cute way. Somehow, I think if I told her how adorable she looks right now, she’d give me more sass.

“Aunt Rosa wants to meet you.”

I stand. “Of course.”

Elena leans in, her scent coming with her. I’m not sure if she’s wearing perfume. It’s more like something primal, triggering something; it’s intoxicating. Shut the fuck up . I roar the words to myself. I need to get a grip. “She’s not well. Her illness makes her head fuzzy. Please don’t take anything she says personally.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got thick skin,” I reply, except where Elena is concerned, apparently.

Elena leads me into the master bedroom. A frail woman sits propped up on cushions. She’s got thin gray hair, her eyes dimmed with pain, but as I get closer, I’m sure I see a flair of determination.

“So you’re the man who’s going to marry my niece, hmm?”

“It’s … a little more complicated than that, ma’am,” I say.

“Don’t worry.” She laughs humorlessly. “She’s told me all about your grand scheme. I should thank you for paying for my physical therapy this morning.”

I lay my hand on my chest. “There are no thanks needed, ma’am. I’d be happy to offer more support if you?—”

“Oh, no, no, no.” She glares at me. “My niece hasn’t done her work yet, has she? She hasn’t gone to bed with you, hasn’t sucked you?—”

“Rosa,” Elena snaps, marching over to the bed. “Please, don’t talk like that. It’s disgusting and unfair. We’re just trying to do what’s best for you.”

Rosa ignores Elena, staring at me. “How many people did you kill to pay for the therapy? One? Two? Ten? How many? How many ?”

“I’m sorry.” Elena puts her hand on my arm as her aunt laughs coldly, detachedly. Tension sizzles between us. “It’s her illness. The pain meds. She doesn’t know what she’s saying.”

“No apology needed,” I reply. “Ma’am, I won’t hurt your niece. I only want the best for you and her.”

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that.”

Elena rushes me out of the room. “I’m so embarrassed.”

“You’ve got no reason to be,” I tell her. I know her situation can’t be easy. “She’s allowed to have her opinion.”

“She doesn’t know what her opinion is. Aunt Rosa would never normally act like that. She hasn’t been herself since …”

Elena begins to cry, then wipes her cheek like she’s angry at herself. I step forward. I think, if her friend weren’t here, I’d pull her into my arms and offer whatever comfort a savage like me can. Then Giulia quickly intervenes, hugging Elena as I walk to the couch and sit down, picking up my coffee and taking a sip.

Elena excuses herself and goes to the bathroom. Guila stands with her hands clasped. “This is very difficult for her.”

“It’s an unusual situation,” I say, “but it’ll be over soon. Then she can go back to her normal life,” but with more cash than she’s ever had . That’s what this is all about. I can’t trust anything, especially my feelings. I have to stay focused.

“Did you mean what you said in there? Sorry, I was eavesdropping, but did you mean it?”

“I’d never hurt her,” I say, “and I want to help Miss Rossi any way I can.”

Giulia nods. “Do you …”

“It’s okay. You can ask me anything.”

She summons some courage. “Do you sincerely care about Elena?”

There’s a reflex in me that makes no damn sense. My natural response is to tell Giulia that I care about her friend. I push the words down my throat like I’m swallowing vomit, let my stomach tighten as I repress whatever the hell this is. “I met her yesterday,” I grunt.

“That’s not an answer to my question,” Giulia replies, staring at me with determination.

“It’s a fact.”

“It still doesn’t answer whether or not you like her.”

“Like her? Am I a teenager? Is this some young-adult romance?”

Elena returns from the bathroom, looking between her friend and me. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” I stand. “Are you ready to go?”