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“I’ve never had one of those.” Looking up, she stills. “If we…came from the same world, nothing would stop me from—”
“If you want to give this thing a chance, I will find a way.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” She unlinks our hands and strides toward the bakery.
One thing I know for certain is that I won’t leave her to fend for herself.
The woman is a queen with neither crown nor kingdom, and until I can figure out a way to change that, I’m gonna make sure she’s protected.
An hour later, I pull away and watch the sun casting a golden glow over Abby’s family home. The memory of her mouth against my cheek lingers like smoke from a fire as I make my way across the city.
What the hell did I just start with the promises I made? I grip the steering wheel tightly as I zig-zag through traffic. Why am I allowing myself to feed the attraction?
Because you have no choice.
My mind jumps from one possibility to the next. I reshuffle facts, and one thought returns again and again.
I have three markers.
One from my brother, one from the Don, and finally, one from Gianna’s husband, the Pakhan.
Would calling one in allow me to marry outside the family? My grandfather never agreed to such an arrangement, and I don’t know if my cousin would consider it.
Especially for someone like me. I’m not only trusted at the highest level, but I’m bound tightly in blood. A flash of annoyance sparks in my gut, and I swallow it down.
This is just a test. A way to prove to myself that I’m all the things I say that I am. Loyal. Steadfast. A true Bianchi. Nothing comes before the family. And the strong, resourceful, and fiercely determined woman won’t make me veer off course.
Unless I can somehow do the impossible and chart one that my family accepts.
Either way, I will do as promised and extinguish the threat Rodrigo seems intent on pursuing. Wiping away the picture of her smile, I focus on the road and accept the weight that settles on my chest as I drive through the compound gates and nod to the men on guard.
Gravel flies as I stop my car next to the others. “Patience,” I instruct myself sternly as I step out. Before I can button my coat, I see my brother striding in my direction. “Franco.”
“What the hell is going on with Rodrigo Vargas?” He adjusts his holster. “Word on the street is that he’s slinging insults our way.”
“Do you want the short version or the long one?” I reply as we walk toward the massive front doors of the house.
“What do you think?” he replies impatiently.
“A woman beat him in a card game, and he got butt hurt and made some threats.”
“The bastard is growing bolder.”
“I give him credit for swinging the hatchet in public.”
“Because that shows he won’t bother hiding his sins,” Franco finishes.
“Exactly.” My brother is the consigliere and bears the responsibility of stopping things before they start. And believe me when I say he never lets anything start. “Maybe he aligned himself with the Albanians and thinks they will protect him from our wrath.”
“Then he’s a bigger fool than I thought.”
“Foolish men can make a mess as easily as men capable of critical thinking.”
I nod, feeling the weight of the promise I made. “Are you giving me orders to handle the situation?”
“Not yet. I’m going to see who he’s in bed with before we make a move.”
“I’ll stand down until I hear otherwise.” We move down the grand hall, and my gaze falls upon a portrait of my great-grandfather. The first Bianchi to land on the shores of America provides a stern reminder of the expectations passed down through generations.
