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When he didn’t respond, I lifted my mouth into a smirk and twisted the knife into his gut.
“Fuck, okay, stop! You can have it—the money is yours.”
“As if the money matters to us. We have more than enough. It’s the fact that you betrayed us,” said Marco.
“It’s the only thing I have to give you now.”
“You have something else,” I said slowly.
“Whatever I have is yours. Just name it.”
“I want your daughter,” I growled.
“What?”
“You heard.”
“What for?”
“To marry her. I want to make her mine.” I saw Marco looking at me, but I kept my gaze focused on Ovidio. Cate had been my captive, and I could have just taken her in my bed then. But even then, I’d known that I wanted something more from her—I wanted to make her completely mine. I’d felt a hint of these emotions the first time I’d held her in my arms on that day when we rescued her from the warehouse. Her small body had felt so fragile and vulnerable in my arms, and since then, I’d felt an overwhelming need to have her, keep her and protect her.
“Have her,” replied Ovidio without hesitation. “I’ll give you whatever you want. I’ll give you my daughter in exchange for sparing my life.”
“I thought you’d agree. I’ve had a contract drawn up.” I already had an engagement contract drawn up. In the Mafia world it was customary to have an engagement contract signed by both parties. An engagement was usually a formal business arrangement, and the contract signified the joining of the two families.
Usually, the prospective bride and groom would sign the contract, but in this case, I would get Ovidio to sign on behalf of his daughter. I didn’t think she would be willing to sign the contract of her own accord.
“Sign it.” I handed over the contract, and he hastily signed it with a shaking hand. The little weasel would do anything to save his own skin, even give away his daughter to anyone who asked.
After he had signed, I took the papers from his hand.
Then I took out my revolver and killed him.
As I looked at his lifeless body, I recited the words every Made Man said upon a death: “Santa Maria, Madre di Dio, prega per noi peccatori, adesso e nell’ora della nostra morte.”
I thought about the meaning of those words: ‘Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death.’
The prayer was said as much for myself as for the dead man in front of me.
***
Back at home, Marco faced me across the desk in our office.
“So, you want the Russo girl?”
“The contract is signed. She’s mine now.” My tone was hard. I hadn’t consulted my Capo about this, but nothing was going to make me change my mind.
He looked at me for a few moments before reaching for the decanter and pouring us each a glass of whiskey. “As long as you know what you’re doing.”
We both raised our glasses. “To the Kings of Chicago,” said Marco.
“Long live the Kings,” I replied.
It was our usual toast and was Marco’s way of showing me he’d support me with this marriage idea, even if he didn’t fully agree with it.
As I knocked back my drink, I savored the taste in my mouth…and let my mind wander to the girl who would soon be my bride.
CHAPTER 12
