Salvatore laughs.
“I don’t think the sun is the problem,” he says.
“Can we go check out the Palermo residences?” I ask.
“Touch your nose,” he says, and I snap both pointer fingers to my nose one after another.
“See, all good,” I say cheerfully, “Remind me next time not to mix whiskey and coffee.”
“I’ll remind you now, once. This is not a fun-and-games situation. You have responsibilities. An image to build. You can’t gamble like this.”
I scoff, get out of bed and draw myself up.
“One question,” I say. “Would you have told me the same if I were a man?”
“That’s not the point?—“
“It’s exactly the point,” I say. “Because you wouldn’t have dared. Because men are allowed to do whatever they want, while women need to be silent and agreeable, not draw attention to themselves and always be perfect.”
“You want the men to respect you, so act like it.”
I chuckle dangerously.
“You better put on some big boy pants,” I say. “Because I am not making myself small to make the life of men easier.”
And with that, I open the door, gesturing for him to leave.
“I’ll be ready to roll in five, have the car ready,” I say and slam the door in his face.
The moment it’s closed, a wide grin appears on my face,because I am actually pretty good at this whole Capo thing, and I haven’t felt more alive than right this moment.
“This is it,”I say the moment we come to a halt in front of it. I get out of the Range Rover, and the black wooden doors with embossed harps are opened for me. The door is framed by beautiful sandstone columns, palms, and olive trees in pots, making it look like a dream.
I enter, and my eyes fall onto a beautiful staircase with mosaic steps.
“It spans three floors,” says Salvatore. “Eight bedrooms and it’s in the historic centre of Palermo. Living space, mezzanine area with frescoed ceiling, dining room, kitchen, a vault and catacombs downstairs if needed,” he says, emphasising the last word. I understand.
“Who has lived here?” I ask.
“No one,” he says. “It was meant for Adria one day, but she fled and cut the family ties.”
“Understandable,” I say.
“Adria? How do you know about her?”
Apparently, no one knows Adria is with Rosalia. And I won’t be the one to drop it.
“Our father raped her,” I say dismissively. It’s a truthful non-answer.
“He did. Giuseppe fucked her, too. Everyone had her.”
My head twitches, and I roll my shoulders back when Giuseppe’s name falls. And I am painfully reminded of what circles I am in. But I can’t think about any of it right now, because if I did, I’d circle down and probably fall apart. Something that cannot happen, because I have an empire to run.
“I want this set up,” I say, harsher than I meant to. “And I want a proper AC in every room, especially my bedroom.”
“Which room will be yours?”
I stroll through the two upper floors and look at every bedroom.
