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Roman
Tony groans as he rubs the side of his neck. It’s 7 a.m. and we’re walking into his house.
“You still haven’t told me why you wanted to come here first,” he mutters.
I shrug. We spent last night overseeing a weapons and drug shipment and ensuring that everything was loaded and accounted for. It isn’t typical hands-on work, but considering the Russos’ behavior, I wasn’t taking any chances. If they hijacked those weapons, we’d lose our biggest client in China, which would be unacceptable. I even sent some capos along with the shipment to guard it all the way to China. That’s how fucking important this is. It’s my first big job since I took over as Don. Which means everyone’s watching to see how it’ll go.
Tony and I left thirty minutes before the plane took off, after we were sure it would go down without a hitch.
“Rome,” Tony says under his breath.
“I need to talk to your sister,” I inform him.
His dark eyebrows rise. “Why do you need to talk to Elena?”
“Because we have some unfinished business,” I reply vaguely.
He stares at me for a beat, wanting to question me further but also not wanting to seem disrespectful.
“Fine,” he says, shrugging. “Just don’t kill each other. I’m gonna go get some food.”
He walks off to the kitchen while I climb the flight of stairs. I knock on her bedroom door once and wait for a second or two but there’s no reply. When I knock again, she yells something indecipherable. Rolling my eyes, I rap my knuckles against the door loudly. I feel something slam against the door, presumably she threw a pillow.
“Go away!” she yells.
“Open the door, trouble.”
She falls silent. A minute later, she’s opening the door, revealing sleepy eyes and messy dark hair. My blood heats at the sight of her. She’s wearing a large T-shirt that practically swallows her, stopping at her mid-thigh. I let out a breath before tearing my gaze from her legs.
“Not a morning person?” I question, wanting to smile at the ticked-off expression on her face.
“I am,” she retorts. “Just not at seven a.m.”
“Right. Can I come in?”
“That depends. Are you holding any weapons?”
This time I smile. “Nope.” There’s a gun at the back of my shirt.
Her eyes narrow like she doesn’t quite believe me. But she eventually shifts away from the doorway, giving me access. Her room is neat and tidy. There’s a blue and white canopy bed and a few posters hanging on the wall. Two wooden doors stand side by side, one presumably leading into her bathroom and the other her closet. There are barely any pictures in here, which strikes me as odd. Then I remember this isn’t where she lives, only a childhood bedroom she occasionally returns to.
“Well?”
“Well, what?” I ask, turning to her.
Green eyes are fixed on me. “You were looking around the room, what do you think? Does it please your highness?”
I roll my eyes. “Whose shirt is that?” I ask, ignoring her and gesturing at the clothing on her body.
It’s bothering me and I’m curious. I expect her to say it’s Tony’s.
“My ex-boyfriend’s,” she says, letting out a tiny yawn.
I arch an eyebrow. “Don’t girls usually burn shit from their exes?”
“That would be a waste of a perfectly good shirt,” she says dryly. “Plus, the relationship didn’t end badly. We still talk on occasion.”
“Of course you do,” I mutter.
