“Eww, gross. I’ll just stand outside.” It all starts to make sense. Luciano being overprotective again.
“He put you up to this, didn’t he? Babysitting me?” I poke his chest.
“For your safety,” Mattia says.
“I’m not a child. I’m a Carlisi. You guys need to start treating me like it.”
“Charlie, chill. You know I respect you more than anyone here. Don’t cause a scene, Luciano’s watching,” Mattia warns. I almost forgot about Luciano’s unblinking, hawk-like gaze.
“Fine. Just outside,” I agree. The line for the ladies’ room moves fast. In and out with no drama. I wonder again why they fuss so much. But stepping back out, my world shifts. Mattia’s got some poor guy pinned against the wall. “Whoa, Mattia, what the hell?” I shout, pulling him off the trembling man.
“Where’d you get this?” Mattia snarls, holding up a clear bag of powder. The guy’s about to piss himself.
“From… that guy,” he stammers, pointing at a mohawked man in a grey hoodie.
“Red, go to Luciano. Tell him to meet me in the back office,” Mattia says without taking his eyes off the suspect.
“Who is—”
“NOW, CHARLIE!”
Panic clenches at my chest like a vice, my heart hammering as I sprint toward Luciano. He catches sight of me, his sharp blue eyes scanning my face, instantly reading the urgency. Without a word, he’s on his feet, storming towards me and pulling me close with that iron grip of his. “What’s wrong?”
I lean into him. Tonight just took a darker turn. “Mattia sent me,” I shout into his ear. “He wants you in the office. Now.”
Luciano’s face hardens, cold as stone. He pulls out his phone, fingers flying across the screen, before he pockets it. “You’re coming with me.” He grips my hand like it’s the only thing keeping us both anchored.
“But the girls—”
“Gabriele’s got them.”
“But—”
He stops so suddenly I nearly collide with his back. His piercing gaze drills into me, no softness. “Do you want to run the Cosa Nostra?”
I straighten, meeting his intensity head-on. “Yes, I do.”
“Then move.” He drags me through a twisting corridor I’ve never seen before, up a flight of cold, creaking stairs. When we enter the office, the tension is suffocating.
There he is, the man in the hoodie, slumped in a chair, hands bound. Mattia sits crossed legged on the edge of the desk, still as a statue, his eyes locked on the prisoner like a predator as he plays with a knife in his hand.
“What’s this about?” Luciano asks.
“Caught him dealing drugs in our club,” Mattia says, nodding towards the hooded guy.
Luciano and I circle the table, his fingers entwined with mine, the unspoken bond grounding me. He settles into the chair, pulling me onto his lap.
“What’s your name?” Luciano snaps.
“Eli…”
“Who do you work for, Eli?” Luciano asks.
Eli looks between the three of us before he stammers, “Carlisi family…”
Luciano’s patience is thin tonight. “One more time. Who do you work for?”
“Carlisi,” Eli quivers, fear written all over his face.
