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“Doesn’t he have staff for that?”
“Are you declining his request?”
I shake my head. “Just trying to figure out why he chose me.”
Stefano Moretti doesn’t ask for help, certainly not from my family. He demands loyalty and respect, but help? Definitely not that.
“You should do it, Milana. It’ll be beneficial for your family.”
“How’s that?”
“When you present your proposal, make your demands. Your boldness is what caught my father’s attention. He’s challenging you.”
It caught my father’s attention as well. I was scolded for speaking up when it wasn’t my place to do so. My father feared I made him look weak in front of Stefano. How would he feel if I accepted Stefano’s request?
“I shouldn’t have said anything. All of you were talking business and I put my two cents in.”
“Jesus, you’re apologizing? I don’t recall you ever doing that before,” he teases. “Tell you what, we’ll brainstorm together over dinner.”
I laugh a little. “You and me?”
“We used to be inseparable.”
“I remember,” I reply. “Okay, we can brainstorm over dinner, but I get to pick the place.”
“I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“It’s a date.” My eyes go wide, and I shake my head. “Not like a date, date.”
He steps toward me, invading my personal space. Is this fun or torture? Still trying to decide.
“It’s a date, Milana.”
“Yes, sir,” I breathe out. Why in the world did I just say that?
Chuckling, Salvatore backs up, reminding me he’ll be here at seven. I opt not to respond, so I don’t say something ridiculous again.
8
Salvatore
Ipull up at the Genovese estate, and Milana walks outside before I can get out and go to the door. Clad in jeans and a T-shirt, she climbs into my passenger seat and looks at my suit, arching an eyebrow.
“You’re way overdressed.”
“Didn’t know we were going somewhere casual.”
“Brainstorming requires comfort. I know the perfect place.”
I drive off, one of my guys trailing us for protection. I’m somewhat shocked her father allowed her to leave without a guard. She tells me to take a left, being mysterious about where we’re going. Doesn’t bother me. Her excitement is enough. Makes me forget taking Malcolm’s thumbs. His screams. The blood.
My father believes I have to be more like him in order to be king. Willing to do whatever it takes. I convinced myself a long time ago I will never be like him. And would still be king.
Milana turns the radio down and angles herself toward me, breaking my train of thought.
“Tell me what you’ve been up to the past…I don’t know, several years.”
What have I been up to? Well, last night, I chopped off a guy’s thumbs. She doesn’t need to know that, though. I don’t want to see her disappointment.
