“What is it, brother?”
“I hate all those pricks,” he says, his mood darkening. “One of them killed him.”
Joey pours Sisco a drink and he takes it, downing it in one go.
“I want them to pay.”
“And they will,” I promise.
Sisco looks over at me, his features drawn in anger, but he nods in agreement, believing my every word. As he should. I will get vengeance for his murder. No matter the cost.
“Like I said, we’re in this for the long game. I want to weed out the weak links, and then I’ll take the bastards head.”
He watched me thoughtfully, and for a moment I thought he was going to question me further. Perhaps disbelieving of me, but then he leaned forwards, elbows resting on his knees.
“Can I take their head, brother?” he asked.
Joey barked out a laugh and I felt my mouth quirk in amusement.
He wasn’t bullshitting either.
He meant in the very literal sense.
“Absolutely,” I readily agreed.
Chapter 3.
Natalia
“Dolcezza,” Alfonso coos, waking me, his Italian accent accentuating each letter like he’s trying to seduce me with the endearment.
I stir, my eyes fluttering open. I’m still at my father’s bedside, and don’t intend on leaving until I know that he’s okay. I might hate the things he does, but he’s still my father and I love him. I know he only wants the best for me. A better life than he had. The doctors said it was a heart attack, brought on by stress and alcohol. That sounds about right for my father.
Alfonso strokes a hand down my back, and it takes everything in me not to shrug off his touch. He stayed with me all night, refusing to give me even a moment’s peace. The thought of a lifetime of his torment makes me feel physically sick, though I don’t know why. He’s been nothing but nice to me.
“Can I get you anything?” he asks, his hand still stroking my back.
I sit up, feeling grateful when his hand reluctantly slides away. I look up and offer him a polite smile. “Coffee, please, Mr. Rosso.”
His smile grows. “I think we can drop the formalities now, Natalia. Frank may not have been able to formally declare our impending marriage, but it is our future.” He leans down and takes my hand before pulling it up to his mouth and kissing the back of it. “And what a wonderful marriage we shall have,cara mia.”
His gaze drops to my cleavage, and I once again curse my mother for making me wear this thing.
“Very well, Alfonso. Coffee would be wonderful, please.” I force the words out. I hate the sound of his name on my tongue. The feel of it in my mouth. How am I going to marry him when I can barely say his name without wanting to be sick? How can I endure a lifetime with this man when his very presence makes me shudder?
Is this why my own mother turned to drink? Did she never love my father? Did she drink to get through the long days and even longer nights? To endure my father between her thighs. Is this why they only had one child?
“I’ll be right back. Donny is outside, so you will be safe,” Alfonso says as he releases my hand and leaves the room, and I sigh with relief, my shoulders sagging. Tears prickle my eyes, but I wipe them away before they have a chance to fall.
I stand and walk to the window, looking out upon New York City and wondering if there is a way for a woman like me to escape. To hide from my obligations and future. The tears come again, and I sniffle and brush them away once more.
How am I going to marry him?
“Topolino, don’t cry,” my father says from his bed, his voice thick and gravelly.
I turn quickly and throw myself on the bed. “Father,” I sob, so happy to see him awake. “Are you okay?” I press the button to call a nurse, and then take my father’s hand in mine. “I thought you were going to die,” I sob.
“It will take more than that to kill me off, Natalia. I’ve taken bullets and stabbings, and none of those things killed me. This never stood a chance,” he says, kissing the top of my head.
