I felt Dad’s eyes on me and headed to his side. He didn’t try to pat Momo, only regarded me. “Considering what kind of man I am and the sins I’ve committed, I don’t know why I deserve a daughter like you.”
“I’m not perfect Dad. I’m as flawed as everyone else.”
Dad gave me a look that made it clear he disagreed. His phone rang and when he saw the caller ID he picked up after a muttered curse. “Luca.” He listened to something the other man then nodded. “Getting it over with sounds like a plan.” He hung up.
“What’s going on?”
“Luca and his son are coming for another meeting tomorrow.”
My heart beat faster, my belly bustling with excitement. I lowered my gaze and pressed my face against Momo’s fur to hide my reaction from Dad.
Dad thought I was perfect.
He didn’t know how my heart picked up when I thought about Amo.
“No fights today, Amo. No matter how much Nevio provokes you.”
“I’m in control, don’t worry.”
It was true. I didn’t care about the meeting in the slightest. All I had been able to think about since Dad and I left the mansion yesterday was how I’d manage to see Greta again. Her last words to me had floated around my brain all night. I’d imagined kissing her, dreamed about it. That’s why I’d convinced Dad to ask for another meeting so soon.
Nevio wasn’t in the meeting room this time. In his stead, Alessio leaned against the wall beside his father Nino.
Remo perched on the edge of the desk with his arms crossed, regarding us with a challenging smile. His eyes settled on me, and his smile became harder.
If he knew how my brain kept revolving around Greta, the little spark of hate would become a roaring fire.
Dad and I settled on one of the sofas and we began our discussion about new transport routes. I tried my best to be involved and professional, even when my thoughts drifted to the doe-eyed girl.
“I have to take a piss,” I said after about fifteen minutes, and rose.
Remo bared his teeth. “That didn’t end well yesterday.”
“Would you prefer if I relieve myself in a corner of this room?”
Dad’s mouth twitched but then he sent me a warning look. He just wanted to get this shitshow over with.
Nino motioned at Alessio. “Accompany him to the bathroom.”
I stifled a very rude comment. Frustration welled up in me. I didn’t even need to piss. I just wanted to go looking for Greta. With Alessio hot on my heels, that obviously wasn’t going to happen.
Maybe it was better this way.
Alessio’s expression was on the verge of boredom as he walked by my side. He had the same cold demeanor as his father even if he didn’t look like him. Especially his more pronounced, slightly crooked nose didn’t bear any resemblance to the Falcone nose. Maybe someone had broken it in a fight.
His eyes slanted up to me, calculating. “Don’t try anything.”
I sent him a hard smile.
“Who have we here?” Nevio’s voice echoed through the hallway and I grabbed my knife.
Nevio and Massimo headed our way. I couldn’t assess the latter. Our interactions had been too sparse but the look in his eyes was like a snake waiting to strike. Nevio definitely looked like he had every intention of turning this bloody. I was ready. Fresh stitches covered his left forearm. I’d aim there first, an easy target.
Alessio shook his head and stepped in their way. “What the fuck? You know what our fathers said. Let this drop, Nevio.”
“Since when are you so eager for peace?” Massimo asked. All three of them were dressed in black as if they were part of some creepy, gothic boyband. Seeing them together I realized that Alessio was the shortest. Even Massimo who was a year younger had an inch on him. Nevio was almost my height so he towered over them.
Alessio turned to his brother. “You should know better.”
“I do,” Massimo said as if he couldn’t care less. “But I’m not going to stop Nevio.”
“Then I’ll do it,” a familiar voice said. I turned to find Greta coming down the stairs, a huge black dog at her side. She held him by the leash but I couldn’t imagine her being strong enough to hold him back if he attacked. I had to admit the thing looked more impressive than a Rottweiler. In her arm she cradled what looked like a white Flokati with a black nose.
She was dressed in an oversized white knit sweater with short sleeves and cut-off jeans that revealed her slim, tanned legs.
“This isn’t how we treat guests,” she said firmly as she came to a stop between me and the unholy trinity. She didn’t look at me.