He lifted his arms and slowly crossed them over his chest. He turned quiet, his visible anger gone and his emotions contained once again. “I understand your perspective, but you still need to listen to me in public. Otherwise, it looks like you’re running the show instead of me.”
I gave a nod. “Yeah, I can see your point.” I was used to having a lot more room on the leash with Cosa Nostra. I was an attack dog sent off to rip people apart however I wanted. Working for Don Mancini was much more diplomacy than violence.
He stared at me for a while, the anger seeming to be absent now and replaced by a very distant sheen of affection. “I know you’re loyal to a fault and Francesca feels like a sister to you…”
Whoa, what the fuck?
“So I understand this rage comes from a good place. You aren’t trying to undermine or seize my authority or take over this business. You want to follow orders, but it’s hard to do when you don’t agree with them. That doesn’t mean you want to make them yourself.”
I didn’t listen to a word of what he said.
I did not, in any way, shape, or form, see Francesca as a fucking sister.
“But from now on, no confrontations at weddings or funerals. If it must be done, you wait until it’s over and follow them to their car or the bathroom or wherever the fuck there won’t be a scene.”
He really had no fucking idea.
Francesca was my woman, my property, my home.
She was not a goddamn sister.
I actually felt offended that he got it so wrong.
Don Mancini stared at me like he was waiting for a response from me.
“Yeah, got it,” I forced out. “We’re good, Don.”
I dropped off Don Mancini first, then Leo, and Francesca last. Thankfully, Francesca’s villa was closest to the road, so it just worked out that way. I stopped the car outside her villa and killed the engine so we could sit in the silence.
Now that it was just the two of us, her shoulders dropped and she let out a quiet sigh.
It was late, almost two in the morning. The music was supposed to have been off by midnight, but Italians in the mood to party didn’t give a shit about rules. They paid the fine instead.
I loved the dress she wore. It was a springtime green color, a perfect complement to the tones of olive in her slightly tanned skin. It went with her dark hair too, which was in soft curls all over the place. Those curls had loosened as the night went on, but a hint of them was still there.
She turned and looked at me, her makeup fresh like she’d reapplied it when she went to the bathroom during the reception. Usually when she was dead tired, her appearance started to come undone. Straps fell down her shoulders, and her mascara began to bleed, which I personally loved. “Did my father dismiss you?”
“No.”
Relief spread across her delicate features.
“He knows I’m irreplaceable.”
“And he knows you’re arrogant too.”
I smirked. “I just know my worth, baby.”
“So, what happened?”
“You really want to have this conversation out here in the car?” I asked.
“You think it’s smart for you to stay here after everything that just happened?”
“None of this is smart, Francesca.” I grabbed the handle and pushed the door open. “And you know I don’t give a damn.” I came around to the passenger side and opened the door for her. She slipped her shoes off on the drive because her feet were tired from standing in the five-inch heels, so now she was barefoot. She was about to step out and put her bare foot on the dirt when I scooped her into my arms and carried her.
She held her clutch and heels and pushed the door shut for me before I carried her inside the house. I took her directly up the stairs and gently placed her on the bed before I started to undress.
She tossed her heels across the room and pulled her phone out of the clutch. One of the straps over her shoulder had dropped. She had a little gold necklace around her throat, and it flashed in the light of the lamp across the room.
