“I cannot entertain guests. I need you to leave.” My stern voice catches her off guard.
She pouts, so I narrow my eyes at her to let her know I’m not playing.
Her eyes widen in disbelief before turning around to drop the egg on the sink, which instantly cracks.
She gives me a stink eye before disappearing to the guest room, where I clearly left her last night.
I never let one-night stands sleep in my bed.
God, I loathe people who overstay their welcome. I must have been drunk off my face last night to come home with someone so clueless.
I shake my head at the mess she left in my kitchen, but ignore it.
“Feel free to walk yourself out,” I shout on the way back to the main suite.
Then I remember I have to meet Mateo to discuss the security for my new club opening in Palermo Soho.
I walk into the shower and turn on the cold water, savoring the freezing spray. I pump a fistful of soap on my hand and start scrubbing, getting rid of the smell of cigarettes, alcohol, and sex on my body. My mind wanders off.
It’s been almost two years since I came to Argentina. It has been quiet, and I’ve grown to like it. It has given me a semblance of anormallife.
When I left Sicily, I didn’t really have a plan for where to go. I just took the longest flight I could make and ended up here. When I arrived, I slept through the night for the first time in two years.
It did get boring soon after, so I ended up opening a club to have something to do. So far, business has been doing very well.
Too well that I’ve started expanding to multiple locations.
“People like us don’t live normal lives, Damiano.”My brother’s parting words echo in my head.
I know he’s right. And I know that sooner or later, the mafia will suck me back in. But until then, I want to hold on to the peace I’ve found here.
Far from Sicily and the legacy of the Cotrini family that my father and my brother live for. The same legacy that let our enemies put a bullet in my mother’s head.
∞∞∞
By the time I reach the hotel where Mateo likes to meet, it’s already lunchtime. The Southern-American heat exacerbates the hangover I’m still nursing as I walk out the door that leads to the poolside restaurant.
I fucking hate this place; it reeks of dirty money and pretension, but the CEO of the company providing security for my club likes it because it’s usually empty, save for the occasional corrupt politician hiding out with a mistress or doing dirty deals.
“¿Cómo está mi persona favorita?” I drawl as I approach the man who is busy typing on his laptop.
He raises his tumbler to greet me, but doesn't really look at me until I’m seated.
“I’m surprised you made it. My team said you had a wild party last night.”
“I take my business seriously.” I wink, slumping into the chair across him.
He signals the waiter, who promptly takes our order. As soon as he is out of earshot, Mateo’s demeanor shifts. He closes the laptop and pulls an envelope out of his bag.
“I got intel Nicolo Guidicelli landed in Argentina last night,” he says.
Cazzo.
The rage instantly tightens around my neck, and I have to readjust my tie.
Fucking Guidicelli. Even though I'm retired, I’ll happily come out of my retirement if only to take him out, or his whole lineage, for that matter.
“What for?” I ask, my tone betraying my feigned composure.
