“Shut the fuck up,” my tone doesn’t hold any heat.
Wolfe snorts a laugh before sobering. “Just be careful, Cian. It seems to me like we’re getting a lot more out of this deal than they are, and I don’t like that imbalance. Plus they gave you the pretty one. Heard she has a sister that’s so ugly they don’t let her leave the house.”
“Maybe it is too good to be true. Be careful and keep a watchful eye out. Check in with me tomorrow.”
“Sure will, boss.”
I end the call, pondering what I know about the Pontrelli family. Lorenzo had a son—until I killed him—which left him with two daughters. Neither has any social media presence. When I asked around about the girls, people said they couldn’t be any more different. One is the perfect mafia princess and the other is a shrew. No wonder they didn’t invite the unfavored sister to the wedding. She no doubt would have caused trouble.
In the extended family, Lorenzo has a brother, Davide, who has three girls. If anything happens to Lorenzo, Davide will step in as don of the Pontrelli mafia family.
A few years ago the city was ruled by five Italian families, until someone took one of them out. The Marino family, the most powerful of them all, disappeared overnight. No one knows who did it or why, but it shook the organized crime world to its core, and suddenly there was something worse to fear than the FBI. A nameless, faceless threat hiding in the shadows.
Some rumors point to Blake Baron being the mastermind behind their disappearance, but he’s just a mysterious billionaire, not a criminal mastermind.
At least that’s what we’ve all been led to believe.
Whoever did it, I think that incident helped spur the Italians into peace negotiations with us Irish. They know they’re not invincible anymore and the stronger their ties with people like us the better. Instead of fighting each other, they’re using us to fortify their position within the city. It’s a move that makes total sense. Too bad we had to have years of bloodshed to finally get us here. But in the end, they get an ally, and we get to expand. It’s a win-win.
I don’t think our arrangement is as out of balance as Wolfe worries about.
Opening up the notes app on my phone, I spend the rest of the day outlining how we’re going to expand into potential new business ventures and my vision for my people going forward. Iwon’t be surprised if the Italians unite with the Russians soon as well. Another marriage, perhaps? It would be in their best interests.
Elena finally appears close to dinner time. She’s wearing the new clothes I bought her, her deep auburn hair pulled away from her fresh, glowing face.
“Where the fuck have you been all day?” I growl. Apparently her absence put me in a foul mood after all.
She purses her lips and rolls her eyes. If she’s the nice sister, I can only imagine what the other one must be like. She’s most definitely a stuck up mafia princess.
“Well?” I sit back, knees spread wide, and cross my arms, expecting an answer.
She huffs. “At the spa. Isn’t that obvious? My skin is glowing, my shoulderswererelaxed until you opened your mouth, and I smell like tropical oils.”
I narrow my eyes at her, still unused to her snarky comments. Does she have no filter on that mouth? No one talks back to me.Ever.
Unsure of exactly how to handle this creature, I stand, taking charge. “Change. We have dinner reservations in half an hour.”
“As you wish, your majesty.” She bows, a little wobbly, and I peer closely at her.
“Have you been drinking?”
“Why yes, I have. Did you know they serve bottomless piña coladas at the spa?” She contentedly moans, then hiccups. “They are so good. Sweet. Fruity. Boozy. Absolutely delicious.”
I scoff. I can’t believe my wife has been day drinking. That’s completely unacceptable behavior. “Get dressed. Now.”
On second thought… She’s drunk, who knows what she’ll choose to wear to dinner. I stomp over to the closet and paw through the silk and satin dresses, finding an appropriate deep green one for the occasion, and lay it on the bed.
“Wear that.”
Returning to the closet, I grab a button down and a tie, then go into the bathroom to change. By the time I come out, she’s in the dress, heels on her feet, ready to go.
My chest swells with triumph. Good girl.
I stride to the door and open it. “Let’s go.”
She scowls at me, seemingly unwilling to budge. Now what’s the problem?
With a sigh, I approach where she’s sitting on the edge of the bed and offer her my arm. The gentlemanly gesture smooths her ruffled feathers. She loops her arm around mine and we leave for the dining hall.
