Don’t hurt her? Well, if I needed any additional confirmation that my sister thinks I’m a monster, that was it. I have no plans to hurt my wife, but I do have extensive plans on how to make her writhe in pleasure. If only she’d stop being so fucking stubborn.
My hunger for her is occupying a significant part of my mind, but it no longer feels as overwhelming as it did in the church. Now that she’s mine, it’s only a matter of time before she realizes resisting me is futile.
“I gave her a cell phone and a credit card. As long as she obeys the rules that are in place to keep her safe, she can do as she likes.”
“That’s a good sta—”
The door of the restaurant flies open.
Nero and I reach for our guns just as Garzolo barges in with the force of a hurricane.
A few of my men are already standing, their weapons drawn. They glance at me for instructions. I tell them to stand down with a small shake of my head. Garzolo prowls over, his cheeks red.
Nero sighs and puts his gun back into his holster. “What now?” He reaches for the bottle of wine on the table and tops off our glasses. “We weren’t expecting you, Garzolo.”
Cleo’s father looks like he’s on the verge of exploding. How can someone be a don and be this fucking emotional? It’s disgraceful. No wonder Garzolo is the worst don this city has seen in generations.
“I came to see why you were out there talking to De Rossi yesterday when we never discussed you having a direct line to him,” he snaps.
I press my napkin against my lips. “Sit down.”
“This is the kind of shit that will fuck this whole thing up, you know. The kind—”
“Sit the fuck down, Garzolo,” Nero growls. “Don’t make us ask you a third time.”
Garzolo glares at Nero before he dumps himself into the chair beside me. “Why wasn’t I allowed to attend yesterday’s event? It was my right as Cleo’s father.”
“Cut the shit,” Nero says. “We all know your relationship with your daughter is nonexistent. She didn’t even allow you to walk her down the aisle, and you seemed a lot less angry about that than this. The only reason you’re pissed we didn’t let you come is because you didn’t want us talking to De Rossi.”
He doesn’t bother denying it. “I got a call from him an hour ago, telling me I’m getting cut out of the deal. I’m the one who brokered it! Without me, you’d still be shaking down restaurant owners and getting your shoes dirty in cement. I gave you this!”
I pick up the wine bottle and read the label. “Chateau Du Soleil, Cotes du Rhone, grenache grape. Your daughter likes wine, doesn’t she? Maybe I should bring a bottle of this home.”
Garzolo stares at me, his outrage emanating from him. “Did you hear anything—”
I toss the bottle into the air, grab it by the neck, and smash it over his head.
The glass shatters, the wine spattering everywhere. Garzolo howls and raises his arms to protect his face. Nero jumps out of his seat, muttering something about getting his new suit dirty.
I’m still holding the broken bottle by the neck. I grab Garzolo’s tie and jerk him toward me until I’m right in his face. I press the sharp edge of the glass against a vein in his throat. “You ever come talking to me like that again, I’ll decapitate you with this fucking bottle. Do you understand?”
He sputters, wine dripping down his forehead and cheeks.
“This isn’t a partnership. We own you. You’re lucky I’m giving you five more years to enjoy being a don. That was a favor, or have you forgotten that already?”
“This is why we don’t like giving favors,” Nero grumbles as he wipes himself off with a napkin. “No one seems to understand how those work.”
“I understand,” Garzolo bleats, his fury replaced with fear. Pathetic.
Now that I know how incompetent this man is, it’s shocking his family has lasted this long. The foundations laid down by his father must have stood the test of time, but even the greatest of empires can be brought down by one man’s idiocy.
I let go of his tie and shove him to the ground. “If I want to deal directly with De Rossi, I’m going to deal directly with De Rossi. Did you really think he would still want to do business with you after you raised your hand to the woman carrying his consigliere’s child? Your own daughter? You’re lucky you’ve never touched Cleo, because if you had, I would have put you ten feet under as a wedding gift to her.”