AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Taking my phone from my pocket, I wait for the message to come through from St. Monarch’s, letting me know the funds have been paid to Luca’s account.
€11800000-00 DEPOSIT RECEIVED
A smile curves my lips as I say, “It was good doing business with you.”
I collect my knife from the floor and the other from the dead guy’s chest, then leave the office.
Fontana’s curses and fit of rage fade behind me as I leave the building and head to my car.
One down. Eight to go.
Fontana was the easiest of the nine. He’s still learning the trade.
Prodi, whom I’m keeping for last, will be a fucking nightmare.
But Tiana is worth every drop of blood I’ll spill, and once I’m done with this job, every fucker in Italy will know the name De Santis.
Chapter 22
Tiana
The house feels empty without Armani.
Wow, I’ve become used to having him around in such a short space of time.
If I’m honest with myself, I think I’m already in love with him.
Maybe it was love at first sight, the weekend of Misha’s wedding?
While I check the shopping list again to make sure I left nothing out, I think about the kisses we’ve shared. I’m starting to believe I might’ve read the situation wrong because Armani wouldn’t kiss me like that if he weren’t attracted to me. Right?
I’m lost in my thoughts, reliving how it felt to be in his arms. Kissing him always leaves me in a daze. A happy one.
Not once has he manhandled me, but instead, he treats me like I’m a treasure he has to safeguard.
A frown forms on my forehead.
Were all the things Mrs. Aslanhov taught me wrong?
The Aslanhovs’ marriage was the only example I had, so I believed everything I was shown and told.
Armani has not once been annoyed with me. Although I’ve only seen him angry maybe twice or three times, he never took it out on me.
The man is perfect – everything I could wish for.
“Piccola,” I hear Mrs. De Santis call from the direction of the courtyard. “Tiana?”
I open the door and smile when Mrs. De Santis and Zia Giada come up the steps. “Hi.”
“Our meeting at breakfast was so short,” she mutters with a frown on her face. “We didn’t even get to talk.”
They come inside and head straight for the kitchen. “We’ll have coffee, piccola.”
I rush after them and quickly take cups from the cupboard. “How do you like your coffee?”
“Sweet and creamy,” Mrs. De Santis answers.
Just how Armani likes his.
While I’m preparing three coffees, I say, “Thank you for breakfast this morning. Armani seems to love croissants. I want to learn how to bake them.”
Mrs. De Santis smiles widely. “I’ll teach you.”
I can feel their eyes on me, and as I turn around, Zia Giada quickly looks away.
“Armani told me you’re sisters?” I comment as I set the cups down on the table.
“I’m the oldest. Giada has always been shy. Don’t worry if she doesn’t say anything. I talk enough for both of us.”
My smile widens. “I was just about to go out and search for the grocery store to get a couple of things. The kitchen is empty.”
Mrs. De Santis takes a sip of her coffee, then gives me a nod of approval. “I’ll also teach you to make a good cappuccino. We’ll drink our coffee, then go with you to the store.”
I let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to find it again. There are so many alleys and bridges.”
Mrs. De Santis sets her cup down, then pins me with a curious gaze. “Tell me about yourself, piccola.”
“Ah…you asked earlier about my parents,” I reply, feeling a little nervous. “My brother and I were in an orphanage until I was eight. Mr. and Mrs. Aslanhov took us in. That’s how we came to be raised in the bratva.”
“Dio, so you have no other family besides Misha?”
I nod. “He’s a wonderful brother.”
She reaches across the table and pats my hand. “Well, now you have us, too.” A smile tugs at her lips. “And hopefully soon, God willing, you and Armani will have many children.”
“From your lips to God’s ears,” Zia Giade murmurs, signing the cross over her chest.
Mrs. De Santis stands up, then says, “Let’s go shopping and fill the cupboards. Armani will be hungry when he returns from work.”
I make sure I have my phone and the credit card before locking the door behind us.
When we walk down the narrow street, Mrs. De Santis says, “Armani loves pollo alla cacciatora. It’s braised chicken made with herbs, onions, tomatoes, bell peppers, and wine. I’ll show you how to make it so you can prepare it for him once he’s home.”
“That would be wonderful. Thank you.”
Reaching the store, Zia Giade grabs a cart and follows us up and down the aisles.
I show Mrs. De Santis the list, and soon we’re filling the cart with everything I need, and whatever else she feels I should get.
