My fingers twitched with the itch to throw him through one of the glass windows. If my wife wouldn't have sent me off with a peaceful and satiated heart after that dream, it might have occurred. But seeing as I didn't want to make waves with my wife, because she'd probably take offense, as well as my daughter, I pushed the impulse down.
Not far enough.
The vow she’d asked me to take—I don’t ask for much, do I?—suddenly felt like hot coals engulfing tongue and throat.
Saverio Macchiavellowas a fierce-looking motherfucker. He’d grow to be about my height, similar build, all darkness and no light. Rarely did he smile. All business.
Rocco had introduced us to his family—Saverio’s parents, Mac and Mari—years ago. Rocco respected Mac and even went as far as naming his second-born son after the man. He and his wife seemed decent enough, even though I knew his father was connected to that world, or had been.
Mac Macchiavello was from New York, his old man had ties, and once upon a time the world called him a ghost. Rocco claimed he was one of the smartest men he’d ever met,clever, and it only made him more dangerous. He knew how to fade.
Tito was related to them in some way, and Tito respected him, too. Tito had told me Marzio had felt the same way.
His son, Saverio Macchiavello, had earned the respect of Luca, Donato, and Guido, enough to have him protect one of my children. Vincenzo was going to work with him for a year at some point. I knew what that meant—he had it in him to kill.
All of this I had respected in him—he would have my daughter’s life in his hands when I couldn’t be there at some point. Once his training was done and he moved up ranks, if he did.
I rolled my shoulders. Those hands wanted to touch my daughter someday.
Compared to my baby, he was a raging beast who kept all his emotions trapped behind his whiskey-colored eyes. The king of his own fucking world. I knew men like him. Because we were one and the same.
One difference separated us.
He wanted mine.
He’d have to wait a long time for her.
EvenifI allowed it then. I might have made a vow to essentially keep the peace, but what I said went. End of story. There would be no war about it.
I moved loud of enough to alert him of my presence. He didn’t startle, didn’t move, only turned his head and met my eyes.
“Signor Fausti.” He nodded once.
“Saverio.” I returned the gesture.
Our eyes narrowed at the same time. He knew I had caught the look on his face—intruded on his moment in the shadows.
He didn’t seem to care—the intrusion, being caught, nothing mattered to him, except what he wanted.
Yeah, we’d have trouble, him and I.
My father-in-law and I got along because when it came to his daughter, we both knew she was my wife. A crystal-clear understanding had by all. But Everett had always been lax when it came to his daughters.
Lax was a word that didn’t exist in my world—in any circumstance. When it came to my daughter? I almost laughed, a crazed maniac sound inside of my head.
“You are dismissed,” I said in Italian.
“For how long, Signor Fausti?
Questioning my order. Realizing that things might change because he’d been had. By me.
I moved closer to him. As I stared into his eyes, there was no denying the truth. Without words, we spoke the same language.
I grinned at him, nothing friendly in my heart. “Tell me you understand what a line is,Mac.”
He nodded once. “I do.”
“So you know what happens when you a trip a line connected to an explosive device then.”
