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It’s a business deal. Nothing else. Get married to secure your seat in The Commission and free Liam to be happy. It could have been anyone else.
During the few minutes we sat in Don Amato’s study waiting for him, I regained the rest of my control, focusing on the objective, leaving whatever doubts at the door.
“Matt.” Don Amato called from the door, entering the room and shaking my hand. “It’s good to see you again. Take a seat.”
“It’s good to see you, too, Don Amato. Thank you for having us. I’m here to speak to your niece as we agreed.”
“Of course, she’ll be down shortly.” He poured us a couple of drinks, and I watched his every move. I thanked him and took the tumbler from his hand, but I didn’t take it to my lips.
Trust is earned, not given.
“That one, Matt? She has a mind of her own. She’s as precious as she is fierce. I’ve never seen a woman so power-hungry as her. I have three nephews, and still, given the chance, I’d choose her to take over my reign in a heartbeat.” He was proud of her, that was clear, but he wasn't telling me anything I hadn’t inferred already. Still, I played along.
“Is that so?”
“Damn right. But the Mafia is a men’s only club. The misogyny runs deep. It’s ingrained in its roots. Even the most capable of women would never stand the slightest chance of putting her pretty shoe in the door.”
As if right on queue, Francesca walked into the room, her head held high and shoulders squared in confidence. She had skin-tight leather pants on, combat boots, and a tank top. A far cry from the haute-couture look from the party, but fuck me, this suited her a whole lot better.
She walked right past us, not sparing me a single glance. Francesca placed a kiss on her uncle’s forehead before forcefully acknowledging us for the sake of good manners and nothing else.
“Gentlemen.” She muttered, “You called me, Uncle?”
“Yes, my dear. You’ve met Liam and Matteo Battaglia. They came to speak with you.”
Her gaze was set back on us, an annoyed eyebrow raised in protest, waiting for one of us to cut to the chase.
I placed my glass on the desk, standing to greet her, taking her hand in mine, and placing a searing kiss on her skin.
“Miss Amato, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”
“Mr. Battaglia,” She greeted, “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” It was clear by her tone that there was no pleasure on her part at all.
“We came to talk to you about the upcoming wedding.”
“Oh, right. That.”
“Yes, that. The plan has suffered some adjustments. You won’t be marrying Liam anymore.”
“That’s great news! So it’s over. I’m free?” She was so happy in her ignorance that I almost felt sorry for her. Almost.
“Not quite. I came here to give you this ring as a symbol of your engagement to me.” I pulled out the little black box and opened it in front of her.
Francesca’s face grew pale. Her smile had vanished completely while her chest was caught in an inhale that didn’t want to let the air back out. She was stuck looking at the ring for a moment before her jaw clenched, and she quickly spun to look at her uncle.
“You can’t be serious.”
“It’s true, Poppet. You’ll be marrying Matt instead of Liam. At the end of the day, he’s a better match for you.” Don Amato’s words meant to disarm, but they worked like gasoline on the already raging flames.
“You men are un-fucking-believable.”
“Language, Francesca.”
“No. I will not watch my language or my tone when you are tossing me around as if I’m a damn toy. I am not a thing you can pass around to each other as long as it suits your interests. That’s bullshit.” She shouted before turning to me and jabbing her index into my chest. “And you? This is all your fault, isn’t it?”
“That’s enough!” Don Amato roared, “It’s been decided. The Commission has agreed to this change, and the ceremony will take place as previously scheduled.” He turned her to him and grabbed her shoulders firmly. “You weren’t marrying for love in the first place. You weren’t ever marrying for love. So what difference does it make if it’s Matt instead of Liam? Don’t be rude, Francesca, and just accept the gift. We don’t want to insult the Battaglias.”
Francesca grabbed the box from me and stormed out of the study, and I couldn’t help but follow.
