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“It’s a sedating dart. And a huge one. Whatever liquid is inside didn’t get to be injected,” Francesca said, pulling the damn thing from my leg and handing it over to me before ripping a bigger hole in my slacks and inspecting the wound. “It should stop bleeding shortly.”
“Francesca!” Don Amato called, running over to us, pulling her up from her knees, “Ma che cazzo, Matteo?” His voice was loaded with accusation as he searched her body for injuries.
“What the fuck is exactly right, Don Amato. First time I have you in my city, and this is what happens. Anything you need to tell me?”
“Don’t try to pin this on me. This is your city, as you’ve very well pointed out. Nothing here tells me this wasn’t you.”
There was the talk of honor and bla, bla, bla, but still, mafiosi men were distrustful even of their own.
“Accidents happen every day. Wasn’t that what your nephews said?”
“They were merely comforting their sister and giving her the security she needed. You are the one with the means and opportunity here.”
“It wasn’t. Me.” My voice could be heard in the depths of Hell, such was the fall of my tone. “I have damage control to do and fucking assassins to catch. So if you don’t mind, take your fucking progeny out of my city.”
“We can help,” Francesca demanded beside me.
“You are not an Amato anymore. You just signed off on a new last name five fucking minutes ago, and you’ve already forgotten,” I saw her eyes squint into thin lines, daggers sharper than those bullets being shot right at me. “And I’ve got it covered. We’re more than capable.”
“She’s right, more men can never hurt. We can help,” her uncle cooed again, his temper taking a nosedive into submission.
“Fine. But don’t you ever question my word again. And you,” I pointed my finger right at my wife’s nose, “remember on which side of the track you belong on now.”
I darted back inside the hotel, ready for the heavy explaining I’d have to do to the clean guests I had attending my wedding. Francesca followed right behind me, but I didn’t want her hands drenched in blood. It was already a close call out there as it was.
“Gio, take Francesca back to the dining hall.” There was no way I’d let her set foot in this meeting and bury herself deeper in whatever danger was lurking behind those tinted windows and flying bullets.
“What?” Francesca sneered. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’ll come find you when I’m done,” I said, my tone final and commanding.
“I’m coming with you.”
“Like hell you are.” I turned towards her, stopping her march an inch before she collided against me. “Leave the business to the men.”
“Right. I forgot I’m only a Battaglia when it suits you. Right now, I’m better off as a disposable woman.” Francesca’s nose was flaring in rage, and whatever progress I’d made with her today had flown out the fucking window now. “I hope you choke on that bullshit.”
Chapter 4
Francesca
And just like that, the precious illusions that had stars shining so bright in my eyes that I couldn’t see the moon, burst into flames.
Gio marched behind me like a good little hound, following his master’s orders until we were inside the dining hall.
“You should be honored.” He said from behind me, and even though his words felt accusatory of some kind of ungratefulness, his tone suggested otherwise.
“Really? Honored to be treated like an incompetent? Like a Stepford wife? You all clearly don’t know the first thing about me.” They were all delusional if they thought I’d be the typical, complacent wallflower they expect a mafioso’s wife to be.
“Honored to have been chosen as his wife. He’s taking you out of harm's way, not belittling you.”
“The patriarchy is alive and well, everyone!” I mocked the absurdity coming out of his mouth.
“It’s not about dominance or superiority. It’s about protecting something you cherish.”
I couldn’t help but scoff at his remark. He couldn’t actually think that Matteo Battaglia had feelings for me. He couldn’t actually think that Matteo Battaglia had feelings at all.
“Mrs. Battaglia,” Gio started, standing closer to me as if what he was about to say was a secret, while that name he called me by sent a strange shiver down my spine. I stood my ground even though something in me wanted to knee him in the balls to keep him at an acceptable distance. “Mr. Battaglia has had a different woman on his arm every night. I’ve been working for him for years now, and I can’t remember seeing him with the same lady twice. So choosing you, specifically, means something. Feelings are a weakness in this trade. You, as a mafiosi princess, should know that better than anyone. So even if he chose you for power, for your looks,” his eyes skimmed down my body before meeting my eyes again, “Or for your mutual dissatisfaction in this union, he still chose you.”
