We spend some more time negotiating everyone's cut. Eventually, we settle on a third each, and I'm handed the briefcase.
The flight is booked for early the next morning—Palermo to Malta. Somehow, I don't see this job being too hard. I'll finish the delivery tomorrow, and I'll still have two days to spare until Wednesday. I may just spend some time in La Valletta since they have some great libraries.
While I enjoy artifacts, my true hobby lies in collecting old books. Another perk of the job is that I'm the first one to get an alert if there's a new first edition being sold anywhere in the world. It's also why I can't really begrudge our mysterious buyer for paying so much for a bauble. I've paid a pretty sum for a book too—a first-edition Gutenberg Bible. Considering there were only a few ever printed, it was worth every penny.
Putting the briefcase in the hotel's safe, I take off my clothes and head to the shower. When the steam greets my skin, I sigh in relief, finally allowing myself to relax a little.
But even that is cut short by my phone ringing.
With a curse, I stop the water and drape a towel around my waist. I reach the phone just in time to see it's my father calling. I roll my eyes but answer, as any dutiful son would.
"Enzo," my father starts, his voice a notch higher than usual. He's in a good mood. I've learned to listen to his cues, so I know exactly how to deal with him. He might think himself a strong and unyielding capo, but he's nothing but a proud fool.
"Father," I answer back, adjusting my tone accordingly so he doesn't catch the annoyance I'm feeling.
"Splendid news! I just met with Benedicto Guerra. We decided to sign the marriage contract in two weeks," he blabbers on happily. I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from saying something in return. "I've emptied your schedule so you're free to return when you're done with this job." He continues to singGianna's praises, emphasizing her beauty and her upbringing. "If everything goes according to plan, you should be married by the end of the month." I clench my fist, my lips twitching in disgust.
"Perfect, Father. I can't wait," I say through gritted teeth before hanging up.
Closing my eyes, I count to ten, feeling the rage leave my body.
I'd known it was going to happen, eventually. I just didn't realize it would be this fast.
Gianna Guerra.
I snort just remembering her. I'd met her once last year when our parents had decided it was time to see if we suited each other. Benedicto, for some unfathomable reason, wanted his daughter's opinion. Maybe because his own second marriage was allegedly a love match, he'd decided to try the same for his daughter.
I'd indulged my father and gone to the meeting, but I'd realized from the start it was a mistake. She'd taken one look at me and fitted herself to my body, quite obscenely I might add, trying to find topics of conversation. When she'd gotten nothing out of me, she'd just prattled on about some mundane things—like her clothes, her jewelry, and other material things. I may have only listened with half an ear, but somehow she'd gotten it into her head that I was the perfect prospect for a husband. Just as I'd excused myself to leave, she'd leaned over to whisper in my ear.
"I look forward to our wedding night."Her hand had crept lower over my crotch in what she probably perceived as a seductive gesture.
I'd only been further disgusted.
It was only after that that I heard the rumors floating around in some restricted circles. Gianna Guerra had a penchant for public bathrooms and ass-fucking. Not that it was too surprising,given its increasing prevalence among young Italian principesse. Since virginity's still a hot commodity, especially among the more traditional upper class, they'd certainly found a way around it. And as long as the sheets are bloodstained on the wedding night, some people turn a blind eye to it.
I don't.
I've been surrounded by whores my entire life; I don't want to be tied to one forever.
And it's because I know how these high-society women behave, and how men take advantage of them, that I've tried to shield my baby sister from it. I've done my best to shelter and protect her, even from our own parents. Even so, it had not been enough. She'd been ripped from her safe haven and shown the worst the world has to offer.
And I'd failed her.
I still have nightmares of the night we found her in front of the house, her dress in tatters, her back destroyed by some lunatic's blade. I'd taken her in my arms and she'd whimpered softly in pain—I'd felt my heart die that very moment. Catalina's always been my one weakness, the reason I complied with Father's dictates. And to see her so battered, so hurt… I'd tried my best to help her recover from her ordeal, but some wounds never heal.
I should know…
It had all come crashing down when she found out she was pregnant. That was the day I'd cursed God and all other deities out there. It wasn't enough that she'd been defiled in the worst manner; she'd had to suffer further consequences.
As expected, our family hadn't reacted well, and Father had been ready to send her packing to the streets, especially when she'd declared she wanted to keep the baby. I'd improvised on the spot by suggesting she could go to a convent.
Sacré Cœur has had a tight connection with the mafia for generations, and at least there, I was confident enough thatshe'd be safe. At least for now. I'd made a vow to my sister—as soon as my father died, I'd come for her.
A few months ago, Lina gave birth to the most precious little girl. I'd been right there with her as she was brought into the world. The moment I'd laid my eyes on her, I'd known that I'd do everything in my power to ensure she will never come to harm. I wouldn't fail her like I did her mother.
I stare down at my phone, at the photo of Lina and Claudia that I'd set as my wallpaper. They're the only thing that matters, and if keeping them safe means I'll have to marry Gianna, then so be it. Father knows very well that she is my weakness, and hewilluse her against me if he has to.
Even if it weren't Gianna, it would be another Italian girl of impeccable breeding and far-reaching connections, and I know they all end up behaving the same—they take one look at me and want me as their personal sex slave. Just because I'm a man, they think I'd be happy with anyone. Because what healthy, sane man would refuse readily available sex?
