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“Bianca stays. Non-negotiable.”
I don’t bother arguing about it. He took the responsibility of handling Papa’s care, what he needs for services, keeping this all quiet, his staff, whatever he needs. He isn’t doing a terrible job. I think he’s growing soft in his old age and not wanting to put women out on the streets. I don’t like it.
“So we’re going on the hunt for wives?” Marco questions. “In hopes it’ll show the other families we’re following through with Amadeo’s wishes, so they’ll understand and accept the transition?”
The annoyance is dripping from his words. He doesn’t agree with this. But Marco is the least stubborn of all. He’ll agree just to stop talking about it.
Elio gives a half shrug, shaking his head. “I suppose it’s a start. Down the right road, at least. Papa wasn’t the only one who commented about us not building families. Though they don’t give a shit about us, they’ll respect the fact we’re making this decision.”
I reach for my glass, staring at the liquid and bringing it to my lips. “I’ve already found one,” I admit.
“What?” Marco barks out, while Elio gives me a what the hell? look. “Who?” Marco continues. “How? And better yet, when?”
“Matteo Delise’s daughter,” I say. “Recently.”
“Little Jordan? She’s young enough to be your daughter.” Marco barks out a laugh.
“So?” I say seriously, pinning him with a glare.
“I need details, Piccolino. Tell me how this happened,” Marco says humorously.
“It’s simple. Matteo owed money. He couldn’t pay. So I took Jordan.”
“Wasn’t she with the Canvani boy?” Elio asks carefully.
I nod. “The twit was fucking anything that could walk. She found out. Broke it off.”
“Oof,” Marco says. “So…”
“So I handled it,” I grit out, not appreciating the fifth degree from Marco.
“And when’s the big day?” Marco asks. “Do I get to be the best man? Please tell me it’s me. You can’t pick this surly fuck.” He points to Elio, who’s staring at Marco like he wants to pummel him.
“There won’t be an actual wedding, sfigato,” I say. “She’s not thrilled to be in this position. She’s being difficult.”
“Those Delises are spicy,” Marco says through another bout of laughter. I’m glad he can find humor in this. I guess it’s better than fighting me on it.
My phone rings, and when I pull it from my pocket, I see Antonio’s name on the screen. I frown, knowing this isn’t good. I left him back at the house to keep an eye on Jordan while Rocco came with me. What did my sweet angel get into?
“We’ve got a problem, boss,” he says the moment the call is answered, his hint of humor settling my riled up nerves.
“What?”
“The girl is destroying the house.”
“Excuse me?”
“She’s having a bit of a meltdown.” His words are strained as he holds back his laugh. All I feel is anger.
“Elaborate,” I grit out, getting to my feet.
“I don’t know what set her off. One minute she’s in the kitchen looking for a snack, the next minute she’s destroying the whole place.”
“Well, have you stopped her?”
“Didn’t want to put hands on her, boss. Not without your say so.”
“Do what you have to,” I growl and end the call.
