Rosa is possibly the only other person, apart from Don Ferrante, who I can talk with honestly. I trust her to a point, like everyone else in the world. I keep a part of myself locked away. I know it’s a way to protect myself. I learned from an early age to expect heartache. She is also my ex-lover. We have been intimate, and that builds a deeper bond.
“I know,” I reply. “I’m going to shower. Thank you for this.”
“Anytime.”
I need to get showered and presentable quickly. The Don could call for me at any moment, and I want to be prepared for what’s to come. Ms Moorside is important—more important than I realised. It’s the only reason Lorenzo is keeping me at bay. There, I said his name. I fulfilled my task; therefore, I’m back at my rightful station as Lorenzo Ferrante’s heir.
We need to talk. I have to air my frustration at being kept out of the loop. No matter how hard I try, I can’t shake the disappointment. I’ve worked too hard to be so easily demoted. And that’s what the task felt like: a demotion. There was no reason Lorenzo couldn’t have sent Mia and Toni alone. Was he sending me a message? I detest questioning myself like this.
I’ve just fastened my belt buckle when I receive a summons. Instead of my tight bun, I let my hair flow freely. I’m in all black again, but instead of combat trousers, I opt for slacks; Italian made, of course. My black silk shirt feels good against my skin. The clothes are my armour. I feel strong and in control when I wear my “Boss” attire. It might sound ridiculous, but sometimes perception is everything.
Knocking on the office door once more, I don’t wait to enter. This time, Lorenzo is behind his desk. Ms Moorside is nowhere in sight.
“Take a seat, Allegra,” he says in his commanding, yet comforting tone. “Drink?”
We often share a glass of brandy. I nod and he sets about pouring two doubles. Sitting silently, I keep my composure, just waiting for him to sit and explain.
We both take a sip of our drink, allowing the silence to descend. I learned everything I know from this man, so it’s not a shock he can out-wait me by miles. I grin at myself as I lose the game. “Okay, are you ready to tell me what is going on?”
He chuckles, “Still can’t beat my patience I see, my dear.”
“Lorenzo.”
He holds up his hand in a placating manner. “I appreciate your professionalism, as usual. I know you’ve wanted to question me from the second I gave you the order to find Bonnie.”
He is referring to her by her first name. Interesting.
“I’m confused, Lorenzo. Toni and Mia could have gone to collect her. I’ll be honest, it felt like a punishment. Have I displeased you? Offended you in some way?”
“Allegra, there is nothing you could do to displease me. You run this family honourably. Every decision you make is for the good, and the longevity, of the Ferrante name.”
“Then please explain. Who is Ms Moorside? Why was it so importantIget her?”
He empties his tumbler before answering. “Bonnie is my daughter.”
5
Bonnie
Doingamentaltallyof how many books I’ve read this year is the only way to stop myself from slipping into hysteria—again. I refuse to be the stereotypical damsel in distress. My leg bounces as I wait for someone to take me to Kelley. The demand was my only response when the crazy man in the big office told me I was his daughter.
His daughter!
I have no clue who Lorenzo Ferrante is. I never heard of him in all my years. According to my dads, they never received the name of my birth parents. Now I’m questioning the truth of it all. But even if they knew, I can’t blame them for keeping that kind of information from me, because from what I’ve witnessed so far, the man is definitely on the wrong side of the law. He is the textbook depiction of a mafia boss. If I think of every mob boss I’ve come across in books, Lorenzo Ferrante fits the bill to a T.
And then there’s Allegra. A typical henchwoman; all moody and scary. She could probably kill me with one of her icy glares. I bet grown men wet themselves when she’s in a bad mood. I’ll save the fact the thought kind of turns me on, for the therapy sessions I will absolutely need after this. How quickly does Stockholm Syndrome develop?
I’m rambling in my own head. There aren’t enough anti-anxiety meds in the world to combat this meltdown. Maybe singing “The Bottle Song” will help.
Ninety-nine green bottles sitting on the wall.
Ninety-nine green bottles sitting on the wall.
And if one green bottle should accidentally fall.
There’ll be ninety-eight green bottles sitting on the wall.
Nope, still having a meltdown, just with an annoying earworm for company. Fantastic.
