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“It had its perks, that mask didn’t do you justice, though.” He says, licking the bottom of his lip, eliciting a shockwave of pleasure within me.
“I still have your jacket.” I blurt out.
“Keep it. You’ll be seeing me around a lot more.”
“At your wedding,” I say slowly.
“Wedding, business arrangement, or in your words, transaction, it’s all the same, baby.” He pushes his finger to my lips and slides it down my neck all the way to the middle of my breasts where I’m still wet from the wine, before bringing it to his lips and making me gasp involuntarily. “You taste sweeter than I imagined,” he says before unlocking the door and walking out.
I sit behind the door for a couple of minutes, digesting what just happened, except I can’t seem to process it. He is marrying Angela, and I am marrying Pietro, so what is he thinking? What am I thinking? Like Alice, I seem to be skipping down the infinite rabbit holeagain. Some people learn from their mistakes, but obviously I am not one of them. I am running through every red light with my foot firmly on the gas pedal, heading for danger while passing through a million warning signs.
“Like the old Zia said, can we not have a meal without somebody getting clipped?” Dominic asks sarcastically.
“That pussy Pietro really thinks he something, huh?” My other cousin Damon growls.
“Hello? Anyone in there?” Dominic asks sarcastically.
“What?” I reply irritably.
“Whatever you’re thinking, stop it,” Damon says warningly.
“What do you mean?” I say, flicking my lighter.
“You were practically salivating over Falcone’s only daughter, didn’t you see how the old Don was watching you?”
“I didn’t pay much attention,” I say truthfully. Sophia was the only thing that held my interest all night.
“Revenge on that little shithead Pietro might look attractive now, but it won’t be long-term. We need the Falcone’s and the Rossi’s on our side. They make up two of the powerhouse families. Like you said, with this marriage contract you’re unstoppable.”
The truth is I’m already unstoppable. Although I am ten years behind Falcone and Rossi, I had made up that time within a couple of years. What Falcone and Rossi have in experience, I make up for in mindset. They are set in the ‘old ways’, only wanting to work within their circles. I took a chance venturing out to Las Vegas, partnering up with an old friend, and that chance made me a very wealthy man. I had used my contacts in the west to secure heroin and cocaine trafficking from Colombia before shipping them through Mexico and Canada. I had also brought real estate and businesses on the East Coast, namely restaurants and clubs that I use as legitimate business fronts. That is where so many of the ‘old Dons’ have gone wrong, when the Feds come knocking, they can’t prove where most of their assets come from.
My net worth almost matches Paolo Falcone and Vincenzo Rossi combined, and my contacts span out politically and socially. Where my inept father had disgraced the name, I had picked it up and refurbished what he tarnished. I know what people say about him, and it’s true, but I will never talk about it again. Damon, Dominic, and the rest of my men never ask, and as far as I am concerned, the subject is as dead as he is.
“Have you thought about where you’re going to live yet?” Damon interjects my thoughts.
“In my fucking house, where else?” I say, confused.
“When you get married, Don,” he replies patiently.
“I’ll find her somewhere in the city,” I say, distractedly.
Like most made men, I knew I had to take a wife eventually. Dons who aren’t married after a certain age are deemed untrustworthy. Questions begin to rise regarding their masculinity and the ability to father children. Although I know for fucking sure I don’t want some broad cramping my style, marrying Angela Di Rossi is a shrewd power move. It would be near impossible for any of the other families to move against me now that I have brokered the marriage contract with Vincenzo for his daughter, it also sent a big fuck you out to anyone else who thought that the De Luca family was finished.
The Don’s daughter and I barely exchanged two words at our engagement. If I were honest, she bored me which suited me just fine. Her nature seems to be very meek and mild, which is another plus a less demanding wife will allow me time to pursue other more favourable activities of my inclination. Angela and I had sat there making strained conversation for the better half an hour, which was about when I excused myself because I wanted a cigarette and found myself on the rooftop withher.
I knew who she was despite her wearing the mask. Rumors of the infamous Sophia Falcone circulated around New York like wildfire, apparently, she ran off with a man a while ago. One that her papa didn’t approve of. After Paolo had put six rounds in him, he ensured Sophia was kept on a tight leash which I assume brokered the engagement deal to the witless Pietro Rossi. Hell, if I knew whether half the rumors about her were true or not, New York loved to gossip. I had been the hot topic of most of that gossip, a large percentage, muchly fabricated. What I did know was that Sophia Falcone was the only thing I had been able to think about since that night. Following her into the bathroom wasn’t exactly a great move, but…
I couldn’t help it.
A montage of Sophia flickers through my mind, like the kaleidoscopes you peer through on the boardwalks as a kid. I wonder if she knew just how much self-control it took to sit opposite her. Just one flicker of her green eyes was almost enough for me to shoot my almost brother-in-law Pietro. I can still taste the wine mixed with her perfumed scent on my tongue, and I smirk a little when I think of her shocked face the moment she saw me. My smugness is soon doused out when I realize it is Pietro who she will be in possession of soon.
If she had the balls to run off with some other guy, why does she seem so naïve and shy? Is it an act, or is she everything they say she is? In that case, why does Pietro want her? If I had been made aware she had been fucked by another man, would I still want her? I try to think of a cohesive response, but my fucking mind snaps back to her instead. Her long-tanned legs are wrapped around me as the back of her head bounces on my headboard in pleasure…
“Rocco?” Damon says, smirking. “You’re almost drooling.”
“He’s just thinking of his soon-to-be bride.”
“Lucky man, blondes are my favorite,” Dominic replies.
