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As Prez is about to say something, three SUVs pull up to the entrance, and men in suits step out. I didn’t know until this moment what Marco Rossi looked like. It’s immediately apparent who he is in the crowd of suit-clad men. He has an air of arrogance with his slicked-back hair, rugged features and cocky smirk. The cameras pan and follow the men as they make their way through the hotel. As the group reaches their destination, a door to the room across them opens, and a man who looks eerily familiar greets them. The shock on their faces is unmistakable. When the newcomer approaches them, he gestures to the room they intend to enter. They hesitate, saying a few words in what I assume to be Italian, but after another few clipped words from the newcomer, they enter the room. Our attention changes to another screen.
Bellamy huffs, and her head whips around to look at her mother who sits with a smug smirk and mischief in her eyes. I’m so fucking confused. Looking at Prez, I see I’m not the only one.
“You. When the hell did he get into town, and how come no one told me? And why is he there? And did she come with him? And…”
“Watch?” is all her mother says.
We hear a crackle, and everyone's focus returns to the screen.
“Marco Rossi, you, my friend, did not heed my warning. I explicitly told you not to come here. I told you that the club and that girl were under my protection. Did I not?” All we hear for a moment is a voice. It is deep and controlled and holds an air about it. It sends a shiver down my spine, and I'm not that guy. But that voice promises fucking death.
“Now… now, Don Barone, you know how it is. I was owed a bride, and she was being difficult, rather her father was. Did you know he has been consorting with the Widow Maker? I think that woman would be an excellent asset in my corner…” The smugness in his voice makes me want to reach through the screen and ring the slimy little fucker's neck.
“…That thought alone drove me to come personally to collect my bride. One can never have too many allies, alliances, and assassins.” He chuckles at his wailed threat.
“Wait, what? You told me… Mother, you said…”
Smack!
“Quiet, Paisley. You will need to learn to be a quiet and dutiful wife. Be seen and not heard, be beautiful and unattainable to everyone but your husband,” a voice I know to be Beverly’s hisses.
Ignoring the voices of the two women, the voice I know now belongs to Don Barone continues, “Did you know that the Widow Maker is a close, personal family friend of mine and is not someone that can or would be swayed by sentimental things such as a girl that shares no blood, especially one that is such a disrespectful little tart?” Barone says.
“Excuse me, I don’t know who you think you are, but I’m not a tart. I’m the future wife of a powerful Don, and I will not be spoken to or about as if I’m not in the room,” Princess hisses.
For fuck's sake.
Bellamy puts her head in her hands and murmurs, “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” quietly to herself.
A throat clears, and I tune back into the show because this is a damn show; Prez wasn’t wrong. We would have gone in guns blazing, and shit would have probably landed a few of us behind bars or dead.
“Don Barone, my name is Beverly Ferrari, and I’m Paisley's mother. I arranged this match.” Beverly clears her throat again, loudly. “It would have happened sooner if her father and that woman hadn’t gotten involved. My husband and I are distraught at how they have tried to divide our families and cause strife. As you can see, my daughter is more than willing to marry Marco of her own free will, and that is all that I want for my daughter. I want her to have the life she deserves, respect, and the station she was born into.” Beverly spouts off, attempting to sound demure and not like the slimy cunt that she is.
There are a series of groans, snorts, and curses from the brothers as they listen to the shit she is spitting.
“Is that right? So you and Marco didn’t lie to this girl. You didn’t manipulate or fill her head with the false hope of a lavish life filled with choices.” The long curtain that spans what I am assuming is the wall in the room opens, and the camera pans in to see that a large, suited man is standing in front of a window. It’s the newcomer from the hall. Princess’ dumb ass stands next to Marco, and Beverly is next to her weasel of a husband sitting smugly in a wing-back chair. “Interesting.” Barone runs his hand over his chin in thought.
“Of course not, I would never,” Beverly sputters. I can hear how scandalized she’s pretending to be. Her dainty hand goes to her chest, and her face looks offended.
“Marco, send your guards away for a late dinner.” Barone turns from the window, looking at Marco, whose face becomes thunderous. He does not like being told what to do. “Please.” I can hear the smile in Barone's voice, but I can't see it. Barone stands with his hands clasped behind his back, waiting patiently for his order to be followed. A few moments pass. Marco lifts his hands, and the men stationed throughout the room exit.
“Now, let's try this again, shall we? You tell me this young woman is here of her own free will. After receiving all the information available about her contract and the type of person her intended to be is. You are telling me she is happy to become the wife of a man with a history of violence…”
Laughter cuts Barone off from Beverly, who flicks fake tears of amusement from her eyes. “Oh, my. Don Barone, truly. The pot calling the kettle black. All the men in this life have a penchant for violence. It is a part of our world. My daughter grew up in a filthy motorcycle club filled with brutes and violent men. Violence is not something that would stop her from marrying a man such as Marco Rossi.” she says smugly. The tension in the room skyrockets, but the brothers hold their tongues. This hoity-toity shit is like watching a damn movie. The back and forth, I dare say, is intriguing. I chuckle at myself at the fuckery in my head right now. Fucking intriguing.
Shaking his head. “Abusing and putting his lovers in the hospital? Wasn’t your most recent lover the Prime Minister of Italy's daughter? That poor girl still has not been located. Has she, Marco?” He pauses, awaiting a response to his questions. No answer comes. Watching Marco’s face redden and his fist clench angrily makes me smile. Got ‘em.
Barone turns his back to them, looking out the window. His lips twitch as he winks at the camera.
“No matter.” He turns back around. “Miss Church said yes! Without coercion or falsehoods.” He pauses and hums. “So she knows he is being investigated for more than one previous lover's disappearance.” He continues, I am unsure if he received a response because he is now blocking Marco from our view.
“Good, good. She also knows that she is taking your place in the contract because you loathe Dominique Rossi, Marco’s father, so much that twenty years ago, you seduced and tricked a man into impregnating you, which caused your family to force that man to marry you. After all, you didn’t want the match with young Don Rossi's father. You knew the life you would lead would be filled with misery and violence toward you. You knew you would be controlled, not the one in control.” He stares at Beverly, whose mouth is agape. “So, you are telling me you told this young woman that the people are helping to protect her and prevent this...” he waves his hand, “…would not harm her or her father’s club, but wanted to right a wrong. Or did you lie? Telling her they were jealous, petty, and bitter, looking for revenge? If so, I would say that your daughter did not, in fact, receive all the truths you have sworn she has.” Barone looks down at his watch and nods slightly.
And then shit gets real.
Forty-Six
TAZ
