Turning around, I noticed Vito Rossi getting up from his seat and slowly walking to the cage as his palms continued to slap each other, and he half smiled at me, which looked more like a grimace on his granite face. He paused, clicking at the bartender, and in a second, he had a glass of whiskey in his hand, raised it, and said, “Benvenuti a Firenze, Pakhan.” His bodyguards rose as Vito welcomed me to Florence, holding guns while the music was cut off, and women with shocked expressions disappeared behind the bar. More than twenty Cosa Nostra men surrounded us, and that was when I nodded, giving the signal to the Bratva.
In an instant, my byki and enforces surged into the basement, holding the enemies at gunpoint. Did I forget to mention I brought my best soldiers with me? I could never risk losing Rosa again, not to the madness that this boss seemed to have floating in his mafia house.
Vito tilted his head back, laughed, although it didn't reach his eyes, and then motioned for me to join him at the table. “Let’s talk, Pakhan. There is always time for killing later.”
Hiding my victory smirk, I sat on the opposite end of the booth and extended my hand to him. “Dominic Konstantinov.”
He shook it with a strong, tight grip. “Vito Rossi. What brings you to my territory, Pakhan?”
Leaning back on the seat, I placed my hands on the table and decided to start the game. “Your niece.”
He frowned, and something flashed in his eyes akin to fury and jealously, as he gritted out, “Ciara?”
Lifting my brow, I found the information interesting. As much as he wanted to act indifferent, it was clear as fucking day he had a thing for the green-eyed girl. Considering she wasn't his niece by blood, he had the right, but what a fucking perv for wanting a girl who grew up in front of his eyes.
Angelica’s mother, Vito’s sister, Ines, fell in love with a simple boy named Amedeo, who had an ice cream shop and lots of dreams. Needless to say, the family didn't initially approve the match, but they must have loved Ines, as they succumbed to her desire and gave her permission to marry. After one year of blissful marriage, Amedeo died in a car accident, leaving Ines alone and pregnant with their child. Vito’s father, then boss of the Rossi clan, attached Ercole to her side and ordered him to marry her so his granddaughter would have a father. Ercole married Ines, although rumors had it that he never stayed faithful, and she learned to deal with it. Based on all the pictures, she didn't feel much love for him either. Ciara was Ercole’s niece, who he had to raise as his own when his French brother died along with his wife. The girls grew up together and were close in age, so I wasn't even sure they were aware of the history between the families.
“No, Angelica.” At my reply, he lit up his cigar, inhaled it, and then exhaled the smoke with a curious expression.
“What about her?”
“I want her as mine.” As archaic as it sounded, women rarely had a say in the mafia world. Marriages or alliances formed based on the need or connections; love didn’t even factor into the matter. Men just chose who they wanted and approached the head of the family.
He threw the cigar on the floor, studied me carefully while thinking hard about something, if his rubbing his chin was anything to go by, and finally said, “Why would I give her to you?” Funny, how he thought it was his decision to make. It just confirmed that he wasn't happy about Oliver to begin with. Those Italians preferred to keep marriages in the family or when it could help the bloodline. Marrying an American clerk who had no fucking clue how to even conduct business without acting like a moron didn't speak well for an entire organization. Based on the reports I got though, Vito adored his nieces and agreed only because Angelica begged and pleaded for it. For all his bad reputation, the man seemed to have exceptional softness for females in his family.
“Because then you can have access to New York.”
He froze, leaned forward, and stated, “New York is controlled by Emiliano Giovanni.” Yeah, Don was in for a surprise, since I never told him about my suspicion or plan. I couldn't put the man through the pain for nothing. He had just started to rebuild his life recently and had enough of his own problems.
“Not anymore. He is weak. I can ensure your leadership there as long as Angelica becomes mine.”
“Yours?” he questioned, although I already had him hooked. Who wouldn't want to reign over the Big Apple? This conversation moved in the exact direction I’d predicted. Vito Rossi didn't surprise me.
Waiting for a second, my mouth spilled the words I held in my heart for a long time. “My wife.” He jerked, took a sip from his whiskey, regarded me with intensity, and then grinned.
“You have nerve, kid. I’ll give you that.” Then his grey eyes changed into steel, as he said lethally, “But you can go fuck yourself. My niece’s happiness means more to me than a fucked-up deal. Not to mention my respect for Don.”
Damian, who stood next to the booth, shared a look with me, and I raised my hand, waiting for him to place the folders in it.
Vito Rossi had just passed a test, and unfortunately, that put me back to square one.
If he wasn't the one who organized it all, then who the fuck did, and where could we find that person?
And more importantly… was Rosa really safe?
Without saying another word, I slid him the papers and he read them. Then he listened to my story.
And then he became part of my plan.
Viva, la Italy.
Rosa
Clicking of forks against porcelain china was the only sound heard in the dining room, as Father did the best he could to ignore my mother while she glared at him. Confused, I sent a glance to Ciara, who just shrugged, sipping her red wine, clearly unfazed with their attitudes. Living with them for the past months had certainly proved they didn't have a loving relationship, so I wondered why they hell they even bothered staying married to one another.
The wide room could easily be used for a photo shoot in an expensive magazine; that was how artificial everything seemed. Bourbon paper walls, expensive oak furniture handmade by Andy, who apparently was one of the best masters of our generation. The rectangular table with twelve dining chairs was placed in the center of the room under the glistening pink crystal chandelier while the wooden floor was covered with rare and luxurious Persian carpets. Vila de Rossi had golden marble as the foundation stone, so slippery I preferred wearing socks, which gave my mother a heart attack. Apparently nothing short of heels was acceptable.
Various paintings hung on the walls, somehow creating a claustrophobic feeling so strong I didn’t enjoy eating here. I usually woke early enough to eat in the kitchen, but the family dinners once a week were nonnegotiable. The villa as a whole had the same cold vibe, having more than thirty rooms with fifty people to serve us. Red, golden, and green dominated the design, and it irritated my eyes. Who the hell combined those colors?
