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Falynn. Beautiful, forbidden Falynn.
A grunt is my only answer. Louis continues. “She’s got no use now that Gio is gone. She was a dancer at the Dollhouse before they got together. She’d like to return to her old job.”
“No.”
“She ain’t doing nothing but taking up space in that penthouse,” he says in his best attempt at being impartial. “You don’t have time to babysit her and you’re sending me back to NYC. You might as well let her go.”
“No.”
“What about if I stay? I can look after the girl. Gio always tasked me with guarding her.”
Louis Civella is more pathetic than I realized. He’s bartering for her safety, but like with most things in life, he’s not very good at it. Apparently, I’m not the only one seeking a taste of what’s between Falynn’s legs.
“She would never fuck you,” I say bluntly. “Is that what this is about? You think now that Gio is gone, she will cry on your shoulder and you can sweep her off her feet? She will be yours, like some sappy chick flick bullshit?”
“It’s not like that. The girl reminds me of my kid sister.”
“Is that it?” I ask, a darkly amused smile emerging. “You’re worried I’ll do something bad to her.”
“Giancarlo, I don’t mean to imply anything. I’m saying it might be best for everyone to let the girl go.”
“You’re right to be worried,” I confess. His neanderthal-sloped forehead furrows in confusion, making the moment that much more fun. Tormenting people is one hobby I enjoy. “But you’re wrong to think you can do anything about it. In case it isn’t clear, I will do whatever the fuck I want because I can. That includes with the crew and casino and even my brother’s plaything you’re so concerned about. Is that understood?”
Louis falls into discontented silence for the rest of the drive. I don’t need an answer to know he fucking hates my guts. He’s probably visualizing a scenario where he could defect and use his brute strength to bash my face in. His loyalty to Giovanni and Falynn knows no bound. Even in death, my brother’s held up as superior while I’m treated as some leper.
But it doesn’t matter what any of them think. The throne is mine to ascend, and I will finally prove I’m just as worthy.
Falynn will learn firsthand soon enough.
I show up to my brother’s old penthouse expecting Falynn to be obediently waiting for me. The dinner at La Pergola starts at seven o’ clock. Several big names in the city will be attending to celebrate Captain Rodrigo’s promotion to deputy chief. It’s good news for the Sorrentino operation—Rodrigo’s been in our back pocket from the moment he earned his badge. Falynn will be on my arm, just like she would’ve been on my brother’s arm.
I enter the penthouse to the sound of the TV in the bedroom. Some sort of cheesy reality tv show. Definitely something Falynn would watch.
You’d think she’d learned yesterday why not to test me. You’d think she’d be seated, dressed and ready to go.
She’s under the covers in a hoodie that must belong to my brother. It’s three times her size, so baggy she’s swimming in it. Her face is bare. Her curls a mess. What the fuck does she think she’s doing?
I stop in the doorway and stare. She ignores me, her attention devoted to the TV screen. She’s chosen to defy me rather than obey. She’d rather create unnecessary strife for herself.
Foolish.
I show her, stepping forward. I clench my right hand into a fist and smash the TV screen with full force. The glass cracks, broken lines webbing across the electronic surface. Falynn screams in alarm. I yank open a dresser drawer and wrap my bleeding hand in one of her tank tops.
“No more TV,” I say, my tone flat. I’m not mad. I’m simply not to be disrespected. I motion to the closet. “Get up. Get dressed. We leave in five minutes.”
Falynn stays where she is, her features frozen with horror. Apparently, she wasn’t expecting me to smash my fist through her TV. She should realize there’s more to come the more she tests me.
“Five minutes,” I growl. “If you are not dressed,Iwill dress you myself. Your choice.”
The threat lights a fire under her ass. She scurries off the bed and darts into the closet. I stand where I am and listen to the sounds of clothes rustling and hangers scraping across the closet rods. She’s throwing on whatever’s within reach. It better be something within La Pergola’s dress code, or I will definitely be taking over and doing it myself. And I can’t promise my hands won’t take liberties.
She emerges in a black cocktail dress that hangs lopsided due a problem with the zipper. Her arms are twisted behind her back fussing with it, wobbling in her heels the longer she struggles. I stride over, clenching a hand around her arm and whipping her around. She stumbles, but my tight grip steadies her. With my free hand, I jerk the zipper the rest of the way up her spine.
She’s so close, clenched within my hold, I luxuriate in the scent of her. Light and sweet.
The scent my brother enjoyed. I inhale another whiff only for her to notice what I’m doing and jerk away.
“Are you smelling me? Get off!”
