“Twenty-one?!” Giacomo complains once I’ve said what I came to say.
I turn my cold gaze on him. “Yes. Girls under the legal drinking age working where alcohol is served could give the Feds an excuse to raid our establishments. We can’t give them easy ways in.” It’s not the main reason I feel strongly about this, but it’s one they’ll comprehend.
“The Bratva aren’t so choosy,” Giacomo argues, thinking he can persuade me. “We already lose customers to them because they find virgins for their wealthiest customers-”
“The Bratva are ourenemies. We’re not following their examples. No girls under twenty-one. Definitely not minors.”
“But our own girls marry young. Your sister was barely eighteen when-”
“Marriage and this business are not the same thing. My decision is final, but, while we’re on the topic, let it be known that if I catch any of our men messing around with underage girls, their balls will be meeting my blade.”
I stand, ready to leave, and Antonio nods, but his son still doesn’t know when to shut up. “Cheryl’s newest girl is nineteen. Trust me, she’d make you reconsider this idea. Surely, with your wife dead, you’d enjoy-”
Slamming Giacomo against the wall, I cut off his stupid words and knock the wind from his lungs. He balls up his fists, so I pull my knife, pressing it against his throat. “Go ahead. Hit me if you can. I’d enjoy your attempt and what would follow more than anything.”
Eyes wide, he gulps and shows me his palms. I guess I don’t get to kill him today. Shoving him away, he stumbles into Dante who helps him into a chair. Forcefully.
“My personal affairs aremybusiness, and ourbusinessdoes not revolve around getting our cocks wet at every opportunity. If you want to be Captain after your father, you’ll get that through your head.”
Storming out, I accost the guard. “Plate?”
“They drove off when they saw me coming, Nico.”
Annoyed, I wait for Dante in the car. “Why is it thatIhave the reputation for being the volatile one?” he taunts, getting in.
“Because you are. Fuck, I despise them.”
“Let’s kill them.”
I shake my head at my brother. “That’s your solution for everything.”
Checking my phone again, I scan the cameras for Matilde and the children, grimacing when I find them heading outside.
“Goddammit, I want them to remain inside if I’m not there. Come on,” I say, starting the car. “We’re going to my house.”
***
“I will boil you alive if you hurt them!”
The shouted threat, the smashed glass, she’s spirited for certain. Her bedraggled hair, soiled blouse, bare feet and bloody hand. This girl with her big brown eyes, like melted honey, burning fiercely reminds me of a vengeful creature from mythology.
But the moment she recognizes me, her olive-toned cheeks are blasted with color. “I need to pee,” she gasps, racing past me like her life depends on it.
Upstairs, Dante is still sniggering over the debacle when I finish changing diapers. “Be useful and watch them for me,” I tell him once the children are settled in their cribs.
The door to the downstairs guest bathroom opens and instantly closes again when she sees me. “Matilde,” I say, sternly. “Come out here.”
Still barefoot, with wild hair and wide eyes, she does. She’s tried washing out the cut, but it’s already bleeding again. I grasp her hand,ignoring the way she flinches at my touch, and inspect the wound. I doubt she has much experience with them.
“Let me take care of this. Do you have spare clothes in your bag?” She shakes her head. “Follow me.”
Her guilty eyes settle on the rumpled duvet when we reach my bedroom. Why is it rumpled? Did she get in my bed when I wasn’t watching? Fuck, I don’t need to think aboutthat.
Leading her into the bathroom, I retrieve the first-aid kit from under my sink. “Sit.” I jerk my chin toward the empty space on the counter. For a brief time, Margareta’s makeup, lotions and fragrances littered it, but it wasn’t long before she slept and bathed in another part of the house.
When I remove my coat and start rolling up my sleeves, Matilde gulps and stares at me intently. She's probably afraid I’ll pull my knife again. “You always wear suit,” she comments.
“I wasn’t born in one. Let me clean your wound.” I hold out my hand until she’s forced to offer me hers. “You were not to leave the house.” I swipe the cut with antiseptic, and her nostrils flare either from the sting or the scolding.
