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“Just like everything else since you broke into my house and killed my family.” Her voice disappears, and she tucks her face into the crook of her arm.
“It’s the way of the mafia and bratva.”
Her voice is muffled as she says, “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
I don’t like justifying my actions, especially not twice in one fucking day, but still, I say, “Your grandfather and uncle invaded our territories. They knew what would happen and still didn’t back down. We gave them warnings, which they ignored. Their deaths are on them, and you’re lucky to be alive.”
“Lucky,” she scoffs. Scrambling to her feet, she glares at me, but it has the same effect as a kitten hissing. “Tell me, was Iluckywhen you forced me to watch my uncle being slaughtered like a pig? Was Iluckywhen you ripped me from my home and killed my grandfather?” She steps closer, lifting her chin with more bravery than I thought she possessed. “Was Iluckywhen you strangled me?”
She sucks in a quivering breath, her composure quickly starting to crumble, but her voice is laced with hatred as she continues, “Was Iluckyevery time you yanked me around like some ragdoll and when you left bruises on my body?”
I take a step closer. “Yes,” I bite the word out. “You weren’t raped and tortured, Rosalie. That makes you fuckinglucky.”
Our eyes burn on each other, the atmosphere loaded with our anger.
“You’re a monster,” she hisses. “Nothing more than a despicable human being.”
“Still, I’m better than your family.”
Don’t. Rosalie might not know, and she can’t deal with another blow so soon after the trauma she’s already suffered.
Her features pull with disgust. “You’re not. My grandfather and uncle would never kidnap a girl and hold her against her will.”
No, they’d just get them addicted to drugs and sell them to the highest bidder when they can’t pay their outstanding debt.
That’s why the Cosa Nostra severed ties with Manno. The Sicilian mafia is only interested in dealing in arms, drugs, and racketeering, whereas the Mannos had a taste for the more depraved side of the criminal world.
But it’s clear Rosalie doesn’t know what her family dealt in, and I’m not about to drop that bomb on her.
“Lunch is at twelve,” I mutter before turning around and leaving the room.
“I’m not going,” she shouts after me.
“Either you fucking walk on your own two legs, or I’ll drag you there, but you will go,” I shout back.
“Asshole!”
I let out an unexpected burst of laughter and shake my head.
At least she isn’t crying. Honestly, I prefer her fighting with me. It shows the girl has some strength in her.
Walking into my office, I sit down at my desk and look at the monitors I installed on the entire left wall. I type in Rosalie’s details and watch as information fills the screens – everything from her birth and school records to her social media accounts.
Graduation is in two weeks. I’ll have to remember it, so Rosalie doesn’t miss out.
I notice she has no friends on social media, which I find weird. All the accounts she follows are travel related, and it’s clear she loves old castles and waterfalls from the images and videos she’s liked.
She doesn’t post anything about herself, though. Only staged pictures of food, fashion, and nature. Rarely does she write anything, so when I find a picture of a Labrador puppy with the caption, ‘One day,’ I take note.
Ugh. Puppies shit everywhere and chew on everything.
But it’s her birthday next week, and a puppy might be just the thing to cheer her up.
Before I know what I’m doing, I’m searching for Labrador breeders, but there are no available litters in the US.
“Never thought I’d smuggle a fucking dog into the country,” I mutter as I send an email to one of my contacts in the UK.
When I’m done gathering every bit of information about Rosalie I can find, I focus on work, making sure the incoming shipments are on schedule and all my men are taking care of business.
