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He had been digging his new role a little too much.
"I don't understand why I care so much about what happened to her," I admitted, my voice tinged with frustration. I’d just beat the shit out of one of my capos for hitting her in the head and knocking her out cold.
But why?
It’d prompt Dominic a little harder.
It’d feed into my plan a little better.
So why did I care?
It made sense to rough her up a little.
“Maybe you like her,” he joked, but I scowled in response.
“She’s just a pawn.”
Enzo chuckled again. “And how is she that?” He asked. “You still haven’t told me your plan.”
I knew he and Dimitri didn’t approve of her being a cop. But I also knew that deep down, he understood the complexity of the situation. I also knew he trusted me and my judgment.
"Dominic will be given two choices," I said, my tone resolute. "Either Annabelle dies, which will completely be his fault, or she becomes my wife, which would be a constant reminder of the leg up I have on him.”
Enzo's laughter burst out over the hallway.
“That’s fucking insane, Luca,” he bit out. “You know that he’s not going to let you marry her. He’ll find us and unleash holy hell on us.”
I knew Enzo knew about my parents’ twisted history. Everyone in our family knew. This situation was only a parallel to that. This was just a page out of my old man’s handbook. My dad had kidnapped my mom — and it had worked. Her dad relented.
Enzo looked at me knowingly.
“Are you sure this isn’t some weird thing you’re doing to get a bride? Because the fact that it worked out with your mom and dad is the exception and not the rule.”
I rolled my eyes, even more frustrated. “No,” I replied, exasperated. “You know that love has no place in this game for me.”
I sighed heavily.
“This time," I continued. "There will be no love. It will just be a way for me to make Dominic Betrami my bitch."
As the weight of my plan settled in my mind, I knew it was almost time to pull the trigger.
I needed to talk to her.
I needed to contact Dominic and lay out his options. But first, I wanted him to sweat it out; to wonder where the hell his precious daughter might have gone.
He wouldn’t notice a cop not coming home for a night. Something told me she stayed out often.
But he might notice her not coming home for a few days.
I pushed aside any lingering doubts or moral qualms that I might have had. I pushed them way, way aside.
I was a fucking mobster.
There wasn’t time to have a conscience. Whether I was starting to like her or not.
My life measured merit on how ruthless I could be, and I was going to win.
I leaned against the wall at the top of the stairs, my gaze fixed on the door to the apartment.
